“Defiance lies off there,” the miner said, pointing to the blue horizon, “twenty-five miles in a straight line north. He meant to run a railroad right across the sagebrush. It’s down grade all the way, so the cars could go out by gravity. They reckoned on gettin’ power for the trolley from the river, by damming it above the smelter.” “It was to be developed on a big scale!” Brainard exclaimed, impressed by the scope of Krutzmacht’s plans. “You bet!” the miner agreed. “It ain’t no use to do things in a small way in this country. Krutzmacht knew that.” Brainard scanned the steep, savage mountains above the shaft. They were devoid of all vegetation on the lower slopes, dull brown in color, with their flanks seamed by little gullies. Behind, the higher peaks lifted their heads in broken lines of serrated edges; and in the far distance, glittering in the cloudless sky, were snowy tips of dazzling white. The miner picked up a piece of purplish ore from the pile heaped high about the mouth of the shaft. “Look at that!” he said admiringly. “There’s enough ore of that sort right under our feet to pay almost to tote it out to Defiance. And they had just scratched the surface, here and there. The old man didn’t reckon to begin mining until he had things fixed right.” They descended from the ore pile and proceeded to the entrance of the main shaft. It was cluttered with timber and abandoned machinery, some of which had never been installed. They spent a couple of hours examining the mine, stumbling about the dark tunnels by the light of a candle which the old miner had brought, looking at the ore bodies already exposed, ready to be worked. When at last they emerged into the dazzling sunlight, and were resting, Brainard remarked wonderingly: “It’s queer that a man like Krutzmacht should have abandoned a large property such as this, when he had gone so far with it.” “He hain’t abandoned it, I tell you. He paid the taxes up to last year. It takes an awful sight of money, stranger, to develop a big mine so far from the railroad. Krutzmacht’s pile wasn’t big enough, and he wasn’t the kind who’d take anybody in with him. All or nothing for him—that was his way. So he went back to California to get his stake. If he’s alive still, he’ll be coming in here some day ready to work this bonanza!” “I am afraid that will never be,” Brainard said slowly. “Krutzmacht died in New York two months ago.” The miner stared in astonishment, exclaiming at last: “Well, well! So the old man died before he made good!” Brainard nodded. “Maybe you are looking at the property for yourself?” “Do I look like a miner? No, I came to Monument to find out if the old man left an heir.” “I reckon the only folks he had was that girl and her mother, and one is dead and the other gone goodness knows where,” the old miner replied. “So the Melody mine don’t belong to nobody now!” “It belongs to that girl, if we can find her.”