rattle of clods and small rocks fell from their high flight into
the sweet air of a mountain sunset.

"Good execution, that was," Cash remarked, craning his neck
toward the hole. "If you're a mind to go on ahead and cook
supper, I'll stay and see if we opened up anything. Or you can
stay, just as you please."

Dynamite smoke invariably made Bud's head ache splittingly.
Cash was not so susceptible. Bud chose the cooking, and went away
down the flat, the bluejay screaming insults after him. He was
frying bacon when Cash came in, a hatful of broken rock riding in
the hollow of his arm.

"Got something pretty good here, Bud--if she don't turn out
like that dang Burro Lode ledge. Look here. Best looking quartz
we've struck yet. What do you think of it?"

He dumped the rock out on the oilcloth behind the sugar can and
directly under the little square window through which the sun was
pouring a lavish yellow flood of light before it dropped behind
the peak. Bud set the bacon back where it would not burn, and
bent over the table to look.

"Gee, but it's heavy!" he cried, picking up a fragment the size
of an egg, and balancing it in his hands. "I don't know a lot
about gold-bearing quartz, but she looks good to me, all right."

"Yeah. It is good, unless I'm badly mistaken. I'll test some
after supper. Old Nelson couldn't have used powder at all, or