It was being built by contract, and more solidly than ever, and already it was through the gorge and well up the canyon towards Panamint and the Homestake Mine. And the mud and rocks that the cloudburst had deposited had been dug out and cleared away from their trees; the ditch had been enlarged, her garden restored and everything left tidy and clean. But something was lacking and, try as she would, she failed to feel the least thrill of joy. Their poverty had been hard, and the waiting and disappointments; but even if the Homestake Mine turned out to be a world-beater she would always feel that somehow it was _his_. But when Wunpost came back he did not stop at the ranch--she saw him passing by on the trail. He rode in hot haste, heading grimly for Blackwater, and when he spurred down the main street the crowd set up a yell, for they had learned to watch for him now. When Wunpost came to town there was sure to be something doing, something big that called for the drinks; and all the pocket-miners and saloon bums were there, lined up to see him come in. But whether he had made a strike in his lucky way or was back for another bout with Eells was more than any man could say. "Hello, there!" hailed a friend, or pseudo-friend, stepping out to make him stop at the saloon, "hold on, what's biting you now?" "Can't stop," announced Wunpost, spurring on towards the bank, "by grab, I've had a bad dream!" "A dream, eh?" echoed the friend, and then the crowd laughed and followed on up to the bank. Since Wunpost had lost in his bet with Eells and deposited all his money in the bank he was looked upon almost with pride as a picturesque asset of the town. He made talk, and that was made into publicity, and publicity helped the town. And now this mad prank upon which he seemed bent gave promise of even greater renown. So he had had a bad dream? That piqued their curiosity, but they were not kept long in doubt. Dismounting at the bank, he glanced up at the front and then made a plunge through the bank. "Gimme my money!" he demanded, bringing his fist down with a bang and making a grab for a check. "Gimme all of it--every danged cent!" He started to write and threw the pen to the floor as it sputtered and ruined his handiwork. "Why, what's the matter, Mr. Calhoun?" cried Eells in astonishment, as the crowd came piling in. "Gimme a pen!" commanded Wunpost, and, having seized the cashier's, he began laboriously to write. "There!" he said, shoving the check through the wicket; and then he stood waiting, expectant. The cashier glanced at the check and passed it back to Eells, who had hastened behind the grille, and then they looked at each other in alarm. "Why--er--this check," began Eells, "calls for forty-two thousand, eight hundred and fifty-two dollars. Do you want all that money now?" "W'y, sure!" shrilled Wunpost, "didn't I tell you I wanted it?"