hills.

It was almost dawn when it was announced that the ore had fused. And it
was high time, for the pot was slowly sinking into the fast-crumbling
oven. Concho uttered a jubilant "God and Liberty," but Don Jose Wiles
bade him be silent and bring stakes to support the pot. Then Don Jose
bent over the seething mass. It was for a moment only. But in that
moment this accomplished metallurgist, Mr. Joseph Wiles, had quietly
dropped a silver half dollar into the pot!

Then he charged them to keep up the fires and went to sleep--all but one
eye.

Dawn came with dull beacon fires on the near hill tops, and, far in the
East, roses over the Sierran snow. Birds twittering in the alder fringes
a mile below, and the creaking of wagon wheels,--the wagon itself a
mere cloud of dust in the distant road,--were heard distinctly. Then
the melting pot was solemnly broken by Don Jose, and the glowing
incandescent mass turned into the road to cool.

And then the metallurgist chipped a small fragment from the mass and
pounded it, and chipped another smaller piece and pounded that, and then
subjected it to acid, and then treated it to a salt bath which became
at once milky,--and at last produced a white something,--mirabile
dictu!--two cents' worth of silver!

Concho shouted with joy; the rest gazed at each other doubtingly and
distrustfully; companions in poverty, they began to diverge and suspect
each other in prosperity. Wiles's left eye glanced ironically from the
one to the other.