"And Jim can bring back half a dozen men to help us sink the first
shaft," proposed Tom.

"That's where I feel like a fool," muttered Ferrers. "I haven't
a blessed dollar to put in as capital."

"We'll take your honesty for a good deal in the way of capital,
Jim," Tom hinted cheerfully.

"Harry, you might get out the transit, the tape, markers and other
things. If we stake out a claim we'll do it so accurately that there
can be no fight, afterward, as to the real boundaries of our claim."

"What shall we call the claim?" inquired Hazelton, as he came
back with the surveying outfit.

"Suppose we wait until the assay is done, and find out whether
the claim is worth anything better than a bad name," laughed Tom.

The crucibles were in the furnace now, and a hot flame going.
Jim Ferrers sat by, puffing reflectively at his pipe as he squatted
on the ground nearby. Alf Drew was smoking, too, somewhere, but
he had taken his offensive cigarettes to some place of concealment.

Harry anxiously watched the course of the sun, while Tom kept
his gaze, most of the time, near the furnace.

"Come on, Harry!" called Tom at last. "We'd rake out the crucibles.
My, but I hope the buttons are going to be worth weighing."