hat is Richard Clement, the sole owner
of 'The Witch,' a mine valued at three millions of dollars." This in
itself was truly an epic.

Sweetwater Springs was a village in a canon, out of which rose two
wonderful springs of water whose virtues were known throughout the
land. The village was wedged in the canon which ran to the mighty
breast of Mogallon like a fold in a king's robe.

The village and its life centered around the pavilion which roofed the
spring, and Clement spent his evenings there in order to see the
people, at least, as they joyously thronged about the music-stand and
sipped the beautiful water which the Utes long, long ago called "sweet
water," and visited with reverence and hope of returning health.

Since the coming of his great wealth Clement had not allowed himself a
day's vacation, and he had grown ten years older in that time. There
were untimely signs of age in his hair and in the troubled lines of
his face. He was a young man, but he looked a strong and stern and
careworn man to those whose attention was called to him. He was a
conscientious man, and the possession of great wealth was not without
its gravities.

For the first time he felt it safe to leave his mine in other hands.
He had a longing to mix with his kind once more, and in his heart was
the secret hope that somewhere among the women of the Springs he might
find a girl to take to wife. He arranged his vacation for July, not
because it was ever hot at the Creek, but because he knew the Springs
swarmed at that time with girls from the States. It would have
troubled him had any one put these ideas into words and accused him of
really seeking a bride.

He was a self-unconscious man naturally, and he hardly realized yet
how widely his name had gone as the possessor of millions. He supposed
himself an unnoticed atom as he stood at the spring on the second
night of his stay in the village. Of a certainty many did not know
him, but they saw him, for he was a striking figure--a handsome
figure--though that had never concerned him. He was, in fact, feeling
his own insignificance.

He was standing there in shadow looking out somberly upon the streams
of people as they came to take their evening draught at the wonderful
water of the effervescing spring. The sun had gone behind the high
peaks to the west, and a delicious, dry coolness was in the canon.

It seemed to Clement to be a very fashionable and leisurely throng--so
long had he bee