"Hello, there!" he hailed, reining in before the tunnel; and after a minute the man rose up with his pistol poised over his shoulder. It was Dave, Murray's gun-man, and at sight of his enemy Denver was swept with a gust of passion. From the moment he had first met him, this narrow-eyed, sneering bad-man had roused all the hate that was in him; but now it had gone beyond instinct. He found him in adverse possession of his property and with a gun raised ready to shoot. "What are _you_ doing here?" demanded Denver insolently but Chatwourth did not move. He stood like a statue, his gun balanced in the air, a thin, evil smile on his lips, and Denver gave way to his fury. "You get out of there!" he ordered. "Get off my property! Get off or I'll put you off!" Chatwourth twirled his gun in a contemptuous gesture; and then, like a flash, he was shooting. He threw his shots low, between the legs of the horse, which reared and whirled in a panic; and with the bang of the heavy gun in his ears, Denver found himself headed down the trail. A high derisive yell, a whoop of hectoring laughter, followed after him as he galloped into the open; and he was fighting his horse in a cloud of dust when Bunker Hill and the crowd came up. CHAPTER XIX THE MAN-KILLER "Did he hit ye?" yelled Bunker when Denver had conquered his pitching horse and set him back on his haunches. "Hell's bells, boy, I told you to stay out of there!" "Well, you lend me a gun!" shouted Denver in a fury, "and I'll go back and shoot it out with that dastard! It's him or me--that's all!" "Here's a gun, pardner," volunteered a long-bearded prospector handing up a six-shooter with tremulous eagerness; but Bunker Hill struck the long pistol away and took Denver's horse by the bit. "Not by a jugful, old-timer," he said to the prospector. "Do you want to get the kid killed? Come on back to the meeting and we'll frame up something on these jumpers that'll make 'em hunt their holes. But this boy here is my friend, understand?" He held the prancing horse, which had been spattered with glancing lead, until Denver swung down out of the saddle; and then, while the crowd followed along at their heels, he led the way back to the store. "What's going on here?" demanded Denver, looking about at the automobile and the men who had popped up like magic, "has Murray made a strike?" "Danged right," answered Bunker, "he made a strike last month--and now he has jumped all our claims. Or at least, it's his men, because Dave there's the leader; but Murray claims they're working for themselves. He's over at his camp with a big gang of miners, driving a tunnel in to tap the deposit--it run forty per cent pure copper." "Well, we're made then," exulted Denver, "if we can get back our claims. Come on, let's run these jumpers off!"