"How you mean 'take him on?'" inquired the Professor all excitement but Denver waved him away. "Go on now," he said, "and give him his gun. I guess he'll know what I mean." But if Chatwourth understood the hidden taunt he did not respond to the challenge and Denver's mind reverted to H. Parkinson Dodge and his flattering offers for the mine. Ten thousand dollars cash, from a mining promoter, was indeed a princely sum; better by far than the offer of half a million shares that went with Bunker's option. For stock is the sop that is thrown to poor miners in lieu of the good hard cash, but ten thousand dollars was a lot of money for a promoter to pay for a claim. It showed that there were others beside himself who believed in the value of his property, yet who this Colonel Dodge was or who were his backers was a question that only Bunker could answer. Denver waited in a sweat, now wondering if Bunker would speak to him, nor exulting in the offer for his mine; and when at last he saw Bunker Hill drive in he threw down his tools and hurried towards him. But Bunker Hill was surly, he barely glanced at Denver and went on caring for his horses; and Denver did not crowd him. He waited, and at last Old Bunk looked up with jaw thrust grimly out. "Well?" he said, and Denver forgot everything but the question that was on his tongue. "Say," he burst out, "who is this Colonel Dodge that came up and bought your mine? Is he working for Murray, or what?" "Search me," grumbled Bunker, "I got his thousand dollars, and that's about all I know." "He was up here to see me the same day you left, with a whole load of six-buckle experts; and say, he offered me a check for ten thousand dollars if I'd sell him the Silver Treasure claim. And when I refused it he got into his machine and went right over to Murray's. I'll bet you you're sold out to Bible-Back." "Well, he's stuck then," said Bunker. "I guess you haven't heard the news--Murray's closed down his camp for good." "He has!" exclaimed Denver, and then he laughed heartily. "He's a foxy old dastard, isn't he?" "You said it," returned Bunker. "Never did have any ore. Just pretended he had in order to sell stock and recoup what he'd lost on the drilling. They're offering the stock for nothing." "Who's offering it?" demanded Denver suddenly taking the matter seriously. "I'll bet you it's nothing but a fake!" "All right," shrugged Bunker, "but I met a bunch of miners and they were swapping stock for matches. Old Tom Buchanan down at Desert Wells won't accept it at any price--that shows how much it's a fake." "Aw, he pulled that once before," answered Denver contemptuously, "but he don't fool me again. Like as not he's made a strike and is just shutting down so he can buy back the stock he sold." Bunker looked up and grunted, then gathered together his purchases and ambled off towards the house. "That's all you think about, ain't it?" he said at parting. "I'll mention it when I write to Drusilla."