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 fry-
ing 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 he'd have uncovered

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