are and I'll never ask any questions."

"Jim, we're going in for mining," Tom continued. "I can speak
for Mr. Hazelton now, for he has authorized me to do so. Mining
it is, Jim, but we three are young and tender, and not expert
with pickaxes. We'd better have some experts. Can you pick up
at least six real miners at Dugout City?"

"A feller usually can," Ferrers replied.

"Then if you'll put in a good part of tonight riding, tomorrow
you can do your best to pick up the men. Get the kind, Jim, who
don't balk at bullets when they have to face 'em, for we've a
hornets' nest over yonder. Get sober, level-headed fellows who
know how to fight---men of good judgment and nerve. Pay 'em what's
right. You know the state of wages around here. While you're
at Dugout, Jim, pick out a two-mule team and a good, dependable
wagon for carting supplies. Put all the chuck aboard that you
think we'll need for the next two or three weeks. I'll give you,
also, a list of digging tools and some of the explosives that
we'll need in shaft sinking. While you're in Dugout, Jim, pick
up two good ponies, with saddles and bridles. I guess I'd better
write down some of these instructions, hadn't I?"

"And write down the street corner where I'm to pick up the money,
Mr. Reade," begged Ferrers dryly. "You can't do much in the credit
line in Nevada."

"The street corner where you're to find the money, eh, Jim?" smiled
Tom. "Yes; I believe I can do that, too. You know the map of
Dugout, don't you?"

"'Course."

"You know where to find the corner of Palace Avenue and Mission
Street?"

"Sure."

"On one of those four corners," Tom continued, "you'll find the
Dugout City Bank."

"I've seen the place," nodded Ferrers, "but I never had any money
in it."

"You will have, one of these days," smiled Tom, taking out a fountain
pen and shaking it. Next he drew a small, oblong book from an
inside pocket, and commenced writing on one of the pages. This
page he tore out and handed Ferrers.

"What's this?" queried the guide.

"That's an order on the Dugout City Bank to hand you one thousand
dollars."

Ferrers stared at the piece of paper incredulously.

"What'll the feller pay me in?" he demanded. "Lead at twelve cents
a pound? And say, will he hand me the lead out of an automatic gun?"

"If the paying teller serves you that way," rejoined Reade, "you'll
have a right to feel peevish about it. But he won't. Hazelton
and I hav