of the necessary funds--making good terms for himself, you may be
sure--if Tom would provide the rest. The rest, however, was rather more
than the sum-total of Tom's scanty capital, and so he came to my father,
who was an old friend of his, and asked him to make up the difference.

My father declined to take any share in the enterprise, for, though most
of the ranchmen round about were more or less interested in mining, he
himself looked upon it as being too near akin to gambling; but feeling
well disposed towards Tom, and the sum required being very moderate, he
lent his friend the money, quite prepared, knowing Tom's optimistic,
harum-scarum character, never to see it again.

In this expectation, however, he was happily deceived. It is true he did
not get back his money, but he received his money's worth, and that in a
very curious way.

CHAPTER III

YETMORE'S MISTAKE

Three months had elapsed when Tom Connor turned up one day with a very
long face. All his drilling had brought no result; he was at the end of
his tether; he could see no possible chance of ever repaying the
borrowed money, and so, said he, would my father take his interest in
the drill in settlement of the debt?

Very reluctantly my father consented--for what did he want with a
one-third share in a core-drill?--whereupon Tom, the load of debt being
off his mind, brightened up again in an instant--he was a most mercurial
fellow--and forthwith he fell to begging my father's consent to his
making one more attempt--just one. He was sure of striking it this time,
he had studied the formation carefully and he had selected a spot where
the chances of disappointment were, as he declared, "next-to-nothing."

My father knew Tom well enough to know that he had been just as sure
twenty times before, but Tom was so eager and so plausible that at last
he agreed that he should sink one more hole--but no more.

"And mind you, Tom," said he, "I won't spend more than fifty dollars;
that is the very utmost I can afford, and I believe I am only throwing
that away. But I'll spend fifty just to satisfy you--but that's all,
mind you."

"Fifty dollars!" exclaimed Tom. "Fifty! Bless you, that'll be more than
enough. Twenty ought to do it. I'm going to make your fortune for twenty
dollars, Mr. Crawford, and glad of the chance. You've treated me
'white,' and the more I can make for you the better I'll be pleased.
Inside of a week I'll be coming back here with