"Interesting work?"
"That depends on how you look at it," said Harry flippantly. "Would you like to try?"
Mr. Barclay waved his hand. "It isn't necessary. Did something of the same kind years ago—only, if I remember, it was rather wetter."
"Where was that?" Harry inquired with an air of languid politeness, at which Frank felt inclined to chuckle.
"Place called Forks Butte Creek. It was a twenty-foot trench."
Harry seemed astonished and his manner suddenly changed.
"You were with the boys at Forks Butte when they swung the creek?"
"Sure," assented Mr. Barclay with a laugh. "I didn't expect you'd have heard of it. You certainly weren't ranching then."
"I've heard of it lots of times," declared Harry, turning excitedly to Frank. "It was one of the biggest things ever done by a few men this side of the Cascades. The old-timers talk about it yet. A mining row—there were about a dozen of them working some alluvial claims on a disputed location. I don't know the whole of it, but the thing turned upon the frontage, and they stood off a swarm of jumpers while they shifted the creek."
"Something like that," said Mr. Barclay. "In those days they interpreted the mining laws with a certain amount of sentiment, which—and in some respects it's a pity—they don't do now." He paused and flicked the ash from his cigar. "I understand you have been seeing a mysterious schooner."