n connection with the development of the mine awakened hopes of
wealth in many hearts. After all, what could they hope from a young
man without capital, without backing, without experience? True, it
was a pity he should lose his mine, but men soon forget the losses
and injuries of others under the exhilaration of their own ambitions
and dreams of success. Kalman's claims and Kalman's wrongs were soon
obliterated. He had been found guilty of the unpardonable crime of
failure. The new firm went vigorously to work. Cabins were erected
at the mine, a wagon road cut to the Saskatchewan. In three weeks
the whole face of the ravine was changed.

It was in the end of April before French returned from his tie
camp, with nothing for his three months' toil but battered teams
and empty pockets, a worn and ill-favoured body, and with a heart
sick with the sense of failure and of self-scorn. Kalman, reading
at a glance the whole sordid and heart-breaking story, met him with
warm and cheery welcome. It was for French, more than for himself,
that he grieved over the loss of the mine. Kalman was busy with his
preparations for the spring seeding. He was planning a large crop
of everything the ranch would grow, for the coming market.

"And the mine, Kalman?" enquired French.

"I've quit mining. The ranch for me," exclaimed Kalman, with
cheerful enthusiasm.

"But what's up?" said French, with a touch of impatience.

"Jack, we have lost the mine," said Kalman quietly.
And he told the story.

As he concluded the tale, French's listlessness vanished.
He was his own man again.

"We will ride down and see Brown," he said with decision.

"No use," said Kalman, wishing to save him further pain. "Brown saw
the entry at the Land Office, and the agent plainly told him
nothing could be done."

"Well, we won't just lie down yet, boy," said Jack. "Come
along--or--well, perhaps I'd better go alone. You saddle my horse."

In half an hour French appeared clean shaven, dressed in his
"civilization clothes," and looking his old self again.

"You're fine, Jack," said Kalman in admiration. "We have got each
other yet."

"Yes, boy," said Jack, gripping his hand, "and that is the best.
But we'll get the mine, too, or I'm a Dutchman." All the old, easy,
lazy air was gone. In every line of his handsome face, in every
movement of his body, there showed vigour and determination. The
old English fighting spirit was roused, whose tradition it was to