. Yet, when
knocking-off time came, they had to admit that they had no better
basis for hope.

"I wonder, Tom, if we'd better get out and hustle for Jobs?" Harry
asked.

"You might, Harry. I'm going to stick."

Mr. Dunlop dropped in at camp, that evening, after dark.

"You young men are doing nothing," said the mine promoter. "I
can use you a couple of months, if you'll stop this foolishness
here and come over to me."

"Why, I suppose Hazelton could go over and work for you, Mr. Dunlop,"
Tom suggested.

"That would be of no use. I need you both, but you, Reade, most
of all."

"I can't go to you now, Mr. Dunlop," Tom replied regretfully. "I'm
committed to the development of this piece of property, which is
only a third my property."

"Bosh! A decent farm would be worth more to you than this claim,"
argued Mr. Dunlop derisively.

"Perhaps. But neither of my partners has quit, Mr. Dunlop, and I'm
not going to quit, either."

"This is the last chance I can give you, Reade. You'd better take it."

"No; though I beg you to accept my best thanks, Mr. Dunlop. However,
Hazelton can go over and help you."

"Both, or neither," returned Mr. Dunlop firmly.

Harry looked half eagerly at Reade, but Tom shook his head.

"What do you say, Mr. Reade?" pressed the promoter. "Last call
to the dining car. With your funds running low, and a hard winter
coming on you'll soon know what it means to be hungry."

"I'm much obliged, sir but I'm going to stick here at my own work."

"What do you say, Hazelton?" coaxed the promoter.

"Nothing," Harry replied loyally. "You heard what my partner had
to say. In business matters he talks for both of us."

"Good night, then," grunted Mr. Dunlop, rising. "If you should
change your minds in the morning, after breakfast, come and tell me."

After Dunlop had gone Tom and Harry walked up and down the trail
together under the stars.

"Sixteen hundred dollars a month Dunlop is offering the two of
us," half sighed Hazelton. "Two months of that would mean thirty-two
hundred dollars. How much money have we now, Tom?"

"Six hundred and forty-two dollars and nineteen cents," Reade
answered dryly.

"That won't last us long, will it?"

"No; especially as we owe some of it on bills soon due at Dugout."

"Then---what?"

"I don't know," Tom answered almost fiercely. "Yes; I do know!
As soon as our present few pennies are gone it means a future of
fight and toil, on empty