"Vot--_copper_?" demanded the Professor making a clutch at the specimen and examining it with his myopic eyes, and then he broke into a roar. "Vot--dat copper?" he cried, "you think dat is copper? Oh, ho, ho! Oh, vell! Dis is pretty rich. It is nutting but manganese!" "That's all right," returned Denver, "you can think whatever you please; but I've worked underground in too many copper mines----" "Where'd you get this?" broke in Bunker, giving Denver a dig, and as they went into the tunnel he whispered in his ear: "Keep it dark, or he'll blab to Murray!" "Well, let him blab," answered Denver, "it's nothing to me. But all the same, pardner," he added _sotto voce_, "if I was in your place I wouldn't bank too much on holding them claims with a lead-pencil." "I'm holding 'em with a six-shooter," corrected Bunker, "and Murray or nobody else don't dare to jump a claim. I'm known around these parts." "Suit yourself," shrugged Denver as they came to the face, "I guess this ore won't start no stampede. That seam in the hanging wall is where it comes in--I'm looking for the veins to come together." "Judas priest!" exclaimed Bunker jabbing his candlestick into the copper streak, "say, this is showing up good. And your silver vein is widening out, too. Nothing to it, boy; you've got a mine!" "Not yet," said Denver, "but wait till she dips. This is nothing but a blanket vein, so far; but if she dips and goes down then look out, old-timer, she's liable to turn out a bonanza." "Well, who'd a thought it," murmured Old Bunk turning somberly away, "and I've been holding her for fifteen years!" He led the way out, stooping down to avoid the roof; and outside the stoop still remained. "Where's the Professor?" he asked, suddenly looking about, "has he gone to tell Murray, already? Well, by grab then, he knew it was." "Oh, _was_ it copper?" quavered Drusilla catching hold of his hand and looking up into his tired eyes, "and you sold it for five hundred dollars! But that's all right," she smiled, drawing his head down for a kiss. "I'll just have to succeed now--and I'm going to!" CHAPTER XIII SWEDE LUCK As the sun set that evening in a trailing blaze of glory Denver Russell came out and sat with bared arms, looking lazily down at the town. The news of his strike had roused them at last, these easy-going, do-nothing old-timers; and now, from an outcast, a crack-brained hobo miner, he was suddenly accepted as an equal. They spoke to him, they recognized him, they rushed up to his mine and stared at the ore he had dug; and even the Professor had purloined a specimen to take over and show to Murray. And all because, while the rest of them loafed, he had drifted in on his vein until he cut the stringer of copper. It was Swede luck again--the luck of that great people who invented the wheel-barrow, and taught the Irish to stand erect and run it.