If he had ever doubted the virtue of Mother Trigedgo's prophecy he put the unworthy thought behind him. He knew it now, knew it absolutely--every word of the prophecy was true. He had staked his life to prove the blackest line of it, and Chatwourth's bullet had been turned aside. No, the silver treasure was his, and the golden treasure also, and no man but his best friend could kill him; but the beautiful artist with whom he had fallen in love--would she now confer her hand upon another? He had come back to Pinal to set the prophecy at defiance and ask her to be his dearest friend; but now, well, perhaps it would be just as well to stick to the letter of his horoscope. "Beware how you reveal your affections," it said--and he had been rushing back to tell her! And besides, she had met his advances despitefully, and practically called him a coward. Denver brushed off the dust from his shiny phonograph and put on the "Anvil Chorus." The next morning, early, he was up at his mine, with Chatwourth's gun slung low on his leg; and while he remained there, to defend it against all comers, he held an impromptu reception. There was a rush of miners, to look at the mine and inspect the specimens of copper; and then shoestring promoters began to arrive, with proposals to stock the property. The Professor came up, his eyes staring and resentful; and old Bunker, overflowing with good humor; and at last, when nobody else was there, Drusilla walked by on the trail. She glanced up at him hopefully; then, finding no response, she heaved a great sigh and turned up his path to have it over and done with. "Well," she said, "I suppose you despise me, but I'm sorry--that's all I can say. And now that I know all about your horoscope I don't blame you for treating me so rudely. That is, I don't blame you so much. But don't you think, Denver, when you went away and left me, you might have written back? We'd always been such friends." She checked herself at the word, then smiled a sad smile and waited to hear what he would say. And Denver, in turn, checked what was on his lips and responded with a solemn nod. It had come to him suddenly to rise up and clasp her hands and whisper that he'd take a chance on it, yet--that is, if they could still be friends--but the significance of the prophecy had been proved only yesterday, and miracles can happen both ways. The same fate, the same destiny, which had fended off the bullet when Chatwourth had aimed at his heart, might turn the merest accident to the opposite purpose and make Drusilla his unwilling slayer. "Yes," he said, apropos of nothing, "you see now how I'm fixed. Don't dare to have any friends."