An hour passed by, and half the length of the drill was buried at the end of the stroke; and then, as he paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes, Denver saw that his activities were being noted. Drusilla was looking on from the trail below, and apparently with the greatest interest. She was dressed in a corduroy suit, with a broad sombrero against the sun; and as she came up the slope she leapt from rock to rock in a heavy pair of boys' high boots. There was nothing of the singer about her now, nor of the filmy-clad barefooted dancer; the jagged edge of old Pinal would permit of nothing so effeminate. Yet, over the rocks as on the smooth trails, she had a grace that was all her own, for those hillsides had been her home. "Well, how's the millionaire?" she inquired with a smile that made his fond heart miss a beat. "Is _this_ the way you do it? Are you just going to drill one hole?" "That's the dope," replied Denver, "sink it down ten feet and blow the whole bank off with one shot. It's as easy as shooting fish." "Why, you're down half-way, already!" she cried in amazement. "How long before you'll be done?" "Oh, half an hour or so," said Denver. "Want to wait and see the blast? I learned this system on the railroad." "You'll be through, then, before noon!" she exclaimed. "You're actually making money." "Well, a little," admitted Denver, "but, of course, if you're not satisfied----" "Oh, I'm satisfied," she protested, "I was only thinking--but then, it's always that way. There are some people, of course, who can make money anywhere. How does it feel to be a millionaire?" "Fine!" grinned Denver, chugging away with his drill, "this is the way they all got their start. The Armstrong method--and that's where I shine; I can break more ground than any two men." "Well, I believe you can," she responded frankly, "and I hope you have a great success. I didn't like it very well when you called me a quitter, but I can see now what you meant. Did you ever study music at all?" Denver stopped his steady churning to glance at her quickly and then he nodded his head. "I played the violin, before I went to mining. Had to quit then--it stiffens up your fingers." "What a pity!" she cried. "But that explains about your records--I knew you'd heard good music somewhere." "Yes, and I'm going to hear more," he answered impressively, "I'm not going to blow my money. I'm going back to New York, where all those singers live. The other boys can have the booze." "Don't you drink at all?" she questioned eagerly. "Don't you even smoke? Well, I'm going right back and tell father. He told me that all miners spent their money in drinking--why wouldn't you come over to supper?" She shot the question at him in the quick way she had, but Denver did not answer it directly. "Never mind," he said, "but I will tell you one thing--I'm not a hobo miner."