"I'd like to see Mr. Murray," announced Denver shortly and the floor-walker glanced at him again before he answered that Mr. Murray was out. It was the same at the bank, and out at his house; and at last in disgust Denver went down to the station, where he had been told his ore was lying. The stifling heat of the valley oppressed him like a blanket, the sweat poured down his face in tiny streams; and at each evasion his anger mounted higher until now he was talking to himself. It was evident that Murray was trying to avoid him--he might even have started back to the mine--but his ore was there, on a heavily timbered platform, where it could be transferred from wagon to car without lifting it up and down. There was other ore there too, each consignment by itself, taken in by the store-keeper in exchange for supplies and held to make up a carload. The same perfect system, efficiency in all things--efficiency and a hundred per cent profit. Denver leapt up on the platform and cut open a sack, but as he was pouring a generous sample of the ore into his handkerchief a man stepped out of the next warehouse. "Hey!" he called, "what are you doing, over there? You get down and leave that ore alone!" "Go to hell!" returned Denver, tying a knot in his handkerchief, and the man came over on the run. "Say!" he threatened, "you put that ore back or you'll find yourself in serious trouble." "Oh, I will, hey?" replied Denver with his most tantalizing smile. "Whose ore do you think this is, anyway?" "It belongs to Mr. Murray, and you'd better put it back or I'll report the matter at once." "Well, report it," answered Denver. "My name is Denver Russell and I'm taking this up to the assayer." "There's Mr. Murray, now," exclaimed the man and as Denver looked up he saw a yellow automobile churning rapidly along through the dust. Murray himself was at the wheel and, sitting beside him, was another man equally familiar--it was Dave, his hired gun-man. "What are you doing here, Mr. Russell?" demanded Murray with asperity and Denver became suddenly calm. Old Murray had been hiding from him, but they had summoned him by telephone, and he had brought along Dave for protection. But that should not keep him from having his way and forcing Murray to a show-down. "I just came down for a sample of that ore I sent you," answered Denver with a sarcastic grin. "McGraw said you claimed it was no good, so I thought I'd have it assayed." "Oh," observed Murray and for a minute he sat silent while Dave and Denver exchanged glances. The gun-man was slight and insignificant looking, with small features and high, boney cheeks; but there was a smouldering hate in his deep-set eyes which argued him in no mood for a jest, so Denver looked him over and said nothing.