"Nope!" denied Denver, "there was no figure of speech about that. It said: 'at the _hands_ of your dearest friend.' These jumpers ain't my friends and never was--come on, let's take a chance. I'll run 'em off the claims if your father will give you half of 'em, and then you can turn around and sell out for cash and go back to New York like a queen. You stand off the tenors and I'll stand off the jumpers; and then, perhaps--but we won't talk about that now. Come on, will you shake hands on the deal?" She looked at him questioningly, his powerful hand reached out to help her, the old, boyish laughter in his eyes, and then she smiled back as bravely. "All right," she said, "but you'll have to be careful--because now I'm your dearest friend." "I'm game," he cried, "and you don't have to kiss me either. But if some Dago tenor----" "No," she promised looking up at him wistfully. "I'll--I'll save the kiss for you." CHAPTER XXI BROKE AGAIN The industry of four jumpers, digging in like gophers on the best of Bunker Hill's claims, was brought to an abrupt termination by the appearance of one man with a gun. He came on unconcernedly, Dave's six-shooter at his hip and the strength of a lion in his stride; and the first of the gun-men, after looking him over, jumped out of his hole and made off. Denver tore down his notice and posted the old one, with a copy of his original affidavit that the annual work had been done; and when he toiled up to the remaining three claims the jumpers had fled before him. They knew him all too well, and the gun at his hip; and they counted it no disgrace to give way before the man who had conquered Dave Chatwourth with rocks. So Denver changed the notices and came back laughing and Bunker Hill made over the claims. "Denver," he said clasping him warmly by the hand, "I swow, you're the best danged friend I've got. For the last time, now, will you come to dinner?" "Sure," grinned Denver, "but cut out that 'friend' talk. It makes me kind of nervous." "I'll do it!" promised Bunker, "I'll do anything you ask me. You saved my bacon on them claims. That snooping Dutch Professor tipped them jumpers off that I'd promised my wife not to shoot, but I guess when they see you come rambling up the gulch they begin to feel like Davey Crockett's coon. "'Don't shoot, Davey,' he says, 'I know you'll get me.' And he came right down off the limb." Old Bunker laughed uproariously and slapped Denver on the back, after which he took him over to the house and announced a guest for dinner. "Sit down, boy, sit down," he insisted hospitably as Denver spoke of going home to dress, "you're company just the way you are. As Lord Chesterfield says: 'A clean shirt is half of full dress.' And a pair of overalls, I reckon, is the rest of it. Say, did you hear what Murray said when we took Dave over there, looking like something that the cat had brought in? "'My Gawd,' he says, 'what has happened to the _mine_?'