"Oh, sure, sure!" protested Bunker, "take all the time you want, but this offer is only good for one week. I've got a special reason for wanting to make a sale or I'd never let you look at this claim. Why, the Professor himself has told me a thousand times that it's a better proposition than the Burro, so you can see that I am making it attractive. And I ain't pretending that I'm making you the offer for any bull-con reason. I might say that I wanted you to do some work, or to open up the district; but the fact of the matter is I need the five hundred dollars. I've seen times before this war when a hundred thousand cash wouldn't pry me loose from that claim, but now it's yours for five hundred dollars if you honestly think it's worth it. And if you don't, that's all right, there's no hard feeling between us and you can go and buy from the Professor. You wasn't born yesterday and you're a good, hard-rock miner; so enough said, there's the claim, right there." He waved his hand at the steep shoulder of the hill, where the canyon had cut through the rim-rock; and as Denver looked at the formation of the ground a gleam came into his eyes. The claim took in the silted edge of the rim, where the strata had been laid bare, and along through the middle of the varicolored layers there ran a broad streak of iron-red. Into this a streak of copper-stained green had been pinched by the lateral fault of the canyon and where the two joined--just across the creek--was the discovery hole of the claim. "Let's go over and look at it," he said and, crossing the creek on the stones, he clambered up to the hole. It was an open cut with a short tunnel at the end and, piled up about the location monument, were some samples of the rock. Denver picked one up and at sight of the ore he glanced suspiciously at Bunker. "Where did this come from?" he asked holding up a chunk that was heavy with silver and lead, "is this some high-grade from the famous Lost Burro?" "Nope," returned Bunker, "'bout the same kind of rock, though. That comes from the tunnel in there." "Like hell!" scoffed Denver with a swift look at the specimen, "and for sale for five hundred dollars? Well, there's something funny here, somewhere." He stepped into the tunnel and there, across the face, was a four inch vein of the ore. It lay between two walls, as a fissure vein should; but the dip was almost horizontal, following the level of the uptilted strata. Except for that it was as ideal a prospect as a man could ask to see--and for sale for five hundred dollars! A single ton of the ore, if it was as rich as it looked, ought easily to net five hundred dollars. Denver knocked off some samples with his prospector's pick and carried them out into the sun. "Why don't you work this?" he asked as he caught the gleam of native silver in the duller gray of the lead and Old Bunk hunched his shoulders.