Tom Jones, tenderfoot and remittance-man, wandered down the wind-swept main street of Caspar on the look-out for a job. He had been working all summer at the range with the "Pick" outfit, and had since blown every dollar he possessed playing poker with the boys. Tom got on well enough with the cow-punchers, and had learned to ride a broncho with the best of them, while his superior education and business knowledge acquired in his Eastern city home, had aroused their envy and admiration; but gambling was his bane. No game of poker seemed complete without him; hence his present impecuniosity.

      It was, therefore, obviously opportune that at this stage he should run against Jack Earnest and Will Savage as they were entering Casey's corner saloon to set up the drinks. Jack and Will were two six-foot Westerners with chequered careers. They had been in turn trappers, hunters, scouts, cow-hands and mining prospectors; had assisted, but not as principals, in one or two lynching cases; had recently emerged triumphant from Caspar Court House, where Western justice of a sort was annually dispensed, acquitted in face of the clearest evidence, to the immense joy of the male population of Caspar, of a charge of mistaking the ownership of a steer; and were now on the point of starting for Grand Encampment on the Main Divide, where a mining boom was at its height, and where they had a claim or two to sell.

      The result of a couple of drinks and half an hour's conversation with these Western heroes was that Tom Jones, whilom cowboy, found himself some two weeks later chef de cuisine and general factotum to the Earnest-Savage mining outfit, with a minor share in prospective profits, should an advantageous sale be effected. Grand Encampment consisted of a selection of wooden shanties including one or two saloons, an eating-house and a blacksmith's shop, situated some 6000ft above sea-level, and about 100 miles further south and higher up the North Plate River than the town of Caspar. West of Grand Encampment gradually ascended the rolling pine-clad ridges of the Main Divide, whose fastnesses were a few years before known only to the trappers and hunters of the West.

      For some miles north and west of Encampment rich gold and copper bearing veins of ore had here and there been struck. Some of the copper properties, in particular, had already become largely capitalised and productive mines. A smelter had recently been erected between Encampment and Saratoga, the mining metropolis of the district, to which a new stage line ran, from Rawlins on the U.P.R.R., now conveying mining experts and capitalists from Denver and other large mining centres. Men who had claims of fabulous richness to sell were not uncommon in Saratoga, and local mining circles generally beginning to hum.

      A few miles west of Encampment, on one of the rocky ridges of the eastern slope, a rough log shanty, a primitive wooden hoist, and appurtenances, and some 20ft of shaft, comprised the buildings, plant, and development work of the enterprising Earnest-Savage-Jones Syndicate, who owned two claims on what was thought to be an extension of the celebrated Golden Hill vein. In the gulch below on the adjoining property was the mouth of the tunnel into Golden Hill itself, recently described in the local Press as a "mountain of gold," and from which, it was confidently reported, free-milling quartz-ore, running l0oz or more to the ton, was daily being extracted. However this might be, old Ike Irving, who ran the Golden Hill outfit, guarded its secret jealously, and no outsider knew to a certainty what the ore-bin at the mouth of the tunnel actually contained.

      Will Savage bossed the mining operations of the Earnest-Savage-Jones partnership, superintended the four men who were sinking the shaft, and panned the ore. Tom Jones's practical knowledge of mining was small, but he was quick of observation and had some mining philosophy of his own. He constantly watched the delicate process of washing and sifting in the pan the crushed samples of the ore as performed by Will's experienced hands for the final residuum of gold or "colour." By this process the value of the ore vein was constantly and roughly ascertained.

      "Guess we'll have this property in shape to sell pretty soon now," remarked Savage to Tom one evening between shifts. "We've got as pretty a quartz vein at the bottom of the Golden Turkey shaft as you'd want to see; and I can pan colour most of the time."

      "I've seen you fail to show gold once or twice," remarked Tom.

      Will looked at him sharply. "Wal, it don't always pan even, of course," was all he said.

      A day or two later Jack drove up to the shanty with news from Saratoga. Yes, he'd got a deal on hand. J. B. Hart, mining expert, representing Eastern parties of fabulous wealth, was coming up next week to examine the Golden Turkey claims, with a view to purchase. Guessed he meant business, and thought he knew a quartz vein when he saw one.

      That night Jack and Will held a council, to which Tom was not admitted, with the somewhat surprising result that the four working miners were dismissed, while the two senior partners superintended some mysterious operations at the shaft involving a conference with old Ike Irving, of the Golden Hill, and a night journey of the syndicate waggon and team, for which Tom's services were not required. The day before the expert's arrival Tom strolled up to the shaft, after the dinner hour, and noticed that the dump in the shaft house looked larger than before. Fresh waggon-tracks coming from Ike Irving's ore-bin were also plainly visible. He then descended the rough ladders to the bottom of the shaft, and idly picked a piece of ore from the well-defined vein. At his feet he noticed other loose pieces of quartz, and a thought occurred to him. A little later he strolled back to the cabin with three small sample bags of ore, one from the vein, one from the loose ore in the shaft, and one from the dump in the shafthouse. He did not think it necessary to show these samples to Jack and Will.

      Next day J. B. Hart, mining expert, of Cleveland, a smart, dapper little man, rapid in speech and movement, appeared on the scene. He examined the vein in the shaft and the outcrop which ran clear through the property, and which had also been opened up here and there, interviewed Ike of Golden Hill, who appeared interested in a prospective deal, took general samples from the vein and the dump, and then descended to the cabin for his dinner. At length Mr Hart mounted his buckboard to drive away with his samples of ore under his seat.

      "What's your price for the property, Mr. Earnest?" he asked, as he gathered the reins.

      Jack did the talking for the Syndicate. He had just enjoyed a square meal, and was feeling good.

      "Thirty thousand dollars; half cash down, balance on time," was the prompt reply.

      "You can meet me in Saratoga in a week," said Mr Hart. "If the samples assay good, the property's mine." And he drove away.

      "Wal, I'm darned," observed Will. The rapidity and magnitude of the deal appeared to stagger the impecunious old-time miner.

      "He tumbled easy," was all Jack said.

      A few days later the scene changed to a room in the Grand Hotel of Saratoga, where Mr Hart and a. local lawyer met the three owners, and concluded with characteristic lightning promptness the details of the purchase of the Golden Turkey claims. The assays of his samples had been satisfactory. Shortly after the Earnest-Savage-Jones Syndicate were seated alone round the table intent on the division of 15,000dol of crisp new greenbacks.

      "See here, Tom," observed Jack, "Ike's in this deal. Your share comes to 2000dol," and ho handed over a pile of green paper.

      Tom, who looked pale and determined, took two fifty-dollar bills from the pile, returned the rest, and walked to the door. The two Westerners gazed at him with some surprise. Turning, he said, "I take 100dol for my work, but I'll have no share in the price of a salted mine. I have taken my own samples and had them assayed, and I know where that dump came from."

      The next moment he was looking down the barrel of Will's gun. Jack thought it was time to interfere.

      "Let the lad alone," said Jack, as he struck up the muzzle of the revolver. "He don't know what he's talking about." Then, turning to Tom, "See here, young man, I reckon this place is unhealthy for you. Get, and get quick, or there'll be a funeral to pay for. Don't let us see you in Saratoga again."

      Some few months later Tom, who had obtained work in Denver, there by chance ran against Mr J. B. Hart, of Cleveland, looking spruce and cheerful as ever, with a general air of prosperity and in his necktie a diamond pin. Tom tried to avoid him, but the effort was unavailing. Mr Hart insisted on supplying refreshment at the nearest hotel. Tom accompanied him with a dazed feeling.

      "Great property that you and those other fellows sold me. Yes, sir, that is so." Tom was speechless. He had of late carefully avoided reading Saratoga mining news.

      "Curious thing was," continued the irrepressible Hart, "that the Golden Turkey vein I bought it on didn't pay worth a cent after another ten feet. Values ran down to nothing at all. But we cross-cut, and found a parallel vein that runs all through over an ounce to the ton, and a vein that don't outcrop on the surface, either, I guess there was a break in the formation that you didn't know of. Yes, sir, we've turned it over to a Denver crowd for a 500,000dol capital, and I'm now on to a Cripple Greek property that looks equally well. Say, mister," he went on, handing Tom his card, "you look a bit down on your luck. If a loan of 1000dol is any use, I'm your man. Well, so long!"

      Tom walked down the street in a paralysed condition. It was true, no doubt, that Jack and Will had known that the original Golden Turkey vein was worthless thirty feet down; had, in concert with Ike Irving, salted the shaft and the dump with rich ore from, the adjoining Golden Hill tunnel, and had then sold the property on false samples. It was true, no doubt, that Tom, having in his own way discovered the facts of the case, had declined to share in what he believed to be a robbery. But it was equally true that the Golden Turkey claims had developed into a valuable mine after all, and that Tom's virtue had, to that extent at all events, been displayed in vain.

      Next day he borrowed 1000dol from Mr Hart.

(THE END)