"Takes it hard," observed Bunker, "never was a good loser. You want to watch out for him, now--he's going over to report to Murray." "So that's the combination," nodded Denver. "I was over there yesterday and Murray knew all about me--gave me a tip not to buy this property." "Danged right he's working for him," returned Old Bunk grimly. "He runs to him with everything he hears. It's a wonder I haven't killed that little tub of wienies--he crabs every trade I start to make. What's the matter with Old Bible-Back now?" "Oh, nothing," answered Denver, "but if it's all the same to you I'd like to just locate that ground. Then I'll do my discovery work and if there ever comes up a question I'll have your quit-claim to boot." "Suit yourself," growled Bunker, "but I want to tell you right now I've got a perfect title to that property. I've held it continuously for fifteen years and----" "Give me a quit-claim then; because Murray questions your title and I don't want to take any chances. He says you haven't kept up your work." "He does, hey!" challenged Bunker thrusting out his jaw belligerently, "well, I'd like to see somebody jump me. I'm living on my property, and possessory title is the very best title there is. By grab, if I thought that Mormon-faced old devil was thinking of jumping my ground----" He went off into uneasy mutterings and wrote out the quit-claim absently; then they went up together and, after going over the lines, Denver relocated the mine and named it the Silver Treasure. "Think you guessed right, do you?" inquired Bunker with a grin. "Well, I hope you make a million. And if you do you'll never hear no kick from me--you've bought it and paid my price." "Fair enough!" exclaimed Denver and shook hands on the trade, after which he bought some second-hand tools and went to work on a trail. Not a hundred feet down-stream from where the vein cropped out, the main trail crossed to the east side of the creek, leaving the mine on the side of a steep hill. A few days' work, while he was waiting for his powder, would clear out the worst of the cactus and catclaws and give him free access to his hole. Then he could clean out the open cut, set up a little forge and prepare for the driving of his tunnel. The sun was blazing hot, not a breath of wind was stirring and the sweat splashed the rocks as he toiled; but there was a song in Denver's heart that made his labors light and he hummed the "Barcarolle" as he worked. She was scornful of him now and thought only of her music; but the time would come when she would know him as her equal, for a miner can be an artist, too. And at swinging a double-jack or driving uppers Denver Russell was as good as any man. He worked for the joy of it and took pride in his craft--and that marks the true artist everywhere.