uncertainly. He looked at the great, singing
pines that laced their branches together high over their heads. Fred,
he thought, had made a mistake when he hired experienced miners to do
this work. It might be better to let Murphy in....

"Still the timber on the claims is worth proving up, and more," he
ventured cautiously, with a sharp glance at Murphy's spectacles.

"A-ah, and there yer right," Murphy assented with the upward tilt to
his voice. "An' if it's the timber ye be wantin', I'll say no more
about the mine. Four thousand acres minin' claims no better than yer
own have I seen held fer the trees on thim--an' ain't it the way some
of these ole fellers thot goes around now wit' their two hands in
their pants pockets an' no more work t' do wit' 'em than to light up
their seegars--ain't it wit' the timber on their minin' claims that
they made their pile? A-ah--but them was the good times fer them that
had brains. A jackass like me an' Mike, here, we're the fellers thot
went on a lookin' fer gold an' givin' no thought to the trees that
stood above. An' thim that took the gold an' the trees, they're the
ones thot's payin' wages now to the likes of Mike an' me."

He straightened his back and sent a speculative glance at the forest
around him. "'Tis long sence the thrick has been worked through," he
mused, turning his plug of tobacco over in his hand, looking for a
likely place to sink his stained old teeth. "Ye'll be kapin' mum about
what's in yer mind, young feller, ef ye don't want to bring the dom
Forest Service on yer trail. Ef it was me, I'd buy me a bag of salt
fer me mines--I would thot."

"Well, by George!" The professor stared. "What has salt--?"

"A-ah, an' there's where ye're ign'rant, young feller, wit' all yer
buke l'arnin'. 'Tis gold I mean--gold thot ye can show t' thim thot
gits cur'us. But if it was me, I'd sink me shaf' in a likelier spot
than what this spot is--I wuddn't be bringing up durt like this, an'
be callin' the hole a mine! I kin show ye places where ye kin git the
color an' have the luke of a mine if ye haven't the gold. There's
better men than you been fooled in these hills. I spint me a winter
meself, cuttin' timbers fer me mine--an' no more than a mile from this
spot it was--an' in the spring I sinks me shaf' an' not a dom ounce of
gold do I git fer me pains!"

"Well, by George! I'll speak to Fred about it. I--I suppose you can be
trusted, Murphy?"

Murphy spat far from him and hi