"Hello, Grant!" Sandy exclaimed, stopping abruptly just inside the door. "What's up? Why another bunk? Goin' t' take boarders? Any relations droppin' in t' attend our festivities up here?" Ross looked over his shoulder laughingly. "Nope. Give another guess." Sandy came nearer. Waymart shut the door and sat down beside the stove. Weimer turned his back on "dem darned McKenzies," and put on his goggles that he might not be tormented by a view of their faces. It was a never-ending source of vexation to him that they came sociably to his shack. "I haven't any more guesses in stock," declared Sandy, but the smile on his face was succeeded by a frown and he bit his red beard restlessly. "Hired man is coming to-morrow," Ross formed him as the hammer sent another nail home in the side wall. "Hired man!" exploded Sandy. "Where the deuce will you get a hired man?" "Right here in the valley," exulted Ross. "Leslie Jones." "Leslie Jones!" repeated Sandy. "Leslie Jones," muttered Waymart. "By and by," Ross confessed, "when all you fellows go below, it will seem a little more livable up here to have a third one around. I'd pay a man wages just to stay here to say nothing of working for me." Neither Sandy nor Waymart made any comment. Sandy stood watching the work in silence, while Waymart allowed his pipe to go out. Then both departed. They said they were going up to see Wilson, but Ross noticed that they returned to their own cabin instead. "Something doesn't seem to please our friends the enemy," he chuckled after their departure. "They see the Weimer-Grant claims getting further and further from their reach." "Ve vill peat dem McKenzies yet," gloated Weimer rubbing his hands gently on his knees. "Ven dot oder poy comes de work vill run und jump!" Ross did not see the McKenzies again until Leslie was occupying the third bunk, Wilson having, good-naturedly, sent him down within a week after the boys had completed their bargain. "Clear out if ye want to," Wilson had said kindly. "It's white of ye t' leave the grub. I hain't a cent t' pay fer it. There's a fortune in these claims of mine, but it's too late t' dig it out this year. Next summer----" and he was launched on the glowing prospects for the next season. Leslie entered on his task with a grim determination which seemed foreign to his disposition. "I don't want you to get sick of your bargain the first week," he said one day in answer to Ross's remonstrance when he refused to stop work on account of a bruise on his wrist. "You open up that little emergency chest and I can go on digging just the same. I don't want any delayed wages in mine!"