I
ought to be."

"Then," said Weston, reflectively, "unless they ask your opinion,
which isn't very probable, I'd say nothing about it. Some people don't
take kindly to being told they're wrong. The thing doesn't affect you,
anyway."

He was a little astonished at the change in his companion, for a
sparkle crept into Grenfell's watery eyes, and his voice grew sharper.

"You haven't the miner's or the engineer's instinct; it's the same as
the artist's," he said. "He can see the unapproachable, beautiful
simplicity of perfection, and bad work hurts him. I don't know that
it's a crime to throw away money, but it is to waste intelligence and
effort that could accomplish a good deal properly directed. Why was
man given the power to understand the structure of this material
world? I may be a worn-out whisky wreck, but I could tell them how to
strike the copper."

"Still," said Weston, dryly, "I'd very much rather you didn't. I don't
think that it would be wise."

His companion left him shortly afterward, and it was some days later
when the subject was reopened. Then Grenfell came to him with a rueful
face.

"I've had an interview with the manager," he explained.

"Well," said Weston, sharply, "what did he say?"

Grenfell shrugged his shoulder.

"Told me to get out of camp right away."

Just then Colvin approached them, and his manner was for once slightly
deprecatory.

"It doesn't pay to know more than the boss," he said; and then he
looked at Weston. "He has to get out. What are you going to do?"

He had Weston's answer immediately.

"Ask you for my time."

"Well," said Colvin, with a gesture of expostulation, "I guess you
know your own business. Still, I'm quite willing to keep you."

Weston thanked him, and then went with him to his shanty where he was
handed a few bills, and in another hour he and Grenfell had once more
strapped their packs upon their shoulders. He did not know where he
was going, or what he would do, but he struck into the trail to the
railroad, and it was dusk when they reached a little wooden
settlement. He went into the post-office to make a few inquiries
before he decided whether he should stay there that night, and the
woman who kept it, recognizing him as a man from the mine, handed him
a letter. When he opened it he saw, somewhat to his astonishment, that
it was from Stirling. It was very terse, but it informed him that Miss
Stirling and her friends purposed camping among the