from what
section of the slope each particular lot of rock comes."

Dinner was eaten in silence. For one thing the campers were
ravenously hungry. In the second place, though each kept as quiet
as possible, he was deep in the thrall of the fever to dig up
hidden gold.

The meal was nearly over when Alf Drew came into camp.

"Are you leaving anything to eat?" he asked.

"Maybe," said Jim Ferrers grimly, "but you were left to wash the
breakfast dishes, and you haven't done it yet. Now, you'll wash the
breakfast things, and then the dinner things, before you get even a
cold bite to eat."

Alf didn't protest. Now that he was back safe in camp he felt
much ashamed of himself for having run away and left the camp
unwatched.

As soon as he had eaten his dinner Tom Reade went back to the
assay furnace to improve the fire.

"Now, Harry, we'll get the powdered stuff ready to roast," Reade
remarked. "We've a lot of it to rush through this afternoon."

"And we want to be sure to finish it at least two hours before
dark, too," Larry nodded. "If we decide to file a claim Jim ought
to be riding for Dugout City by dark, ready to file the papers
the first thing in the morning."

"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."

A withering blast of hot