Bunker, "he made a strike last month--and now
he has jumped all our claims. Or at least, it's his men, because Dave
there's the leader; but Murray claims they're working for themselves.
He's over at his camp with a big gang of miners, driving a tunnel in to
tap the deposit--it run forty per cent pure copper."

"Well, we're made then," exulted Denver, "if we can get back our claims.
Come on, let's run these jumpers off!"

"Yes, that's what _I_ said, a few hours ago," grumbled Bunker
biting savagely at his mustache, "and I never was so hacked in my life.
We went up to this Dave and all pulled our guns and ordered him out of
the district, and I'm a dadburned Mexican if he didn't pull _his_
gun and run the whole bunch of us away. He's nervy, there's no use
talking; and I promised Mrs. Hill that I'd keep out of these shooting
affrays. By grab, it was downright disgraceful!"

"That's all right," returned Denver, "he don't look bad to me. You just
lend me a gun and----"

"He'll kill ye!" warned Bunker, "I know by his eye. He's a killer if
ever there was one. So don't go up against him unless you mean business,
because you can't run no blazer on _him_!"

"Well--oh hell, then," burst out Denver, "what's the use of getting
killed! Isn't there anything else we can do? I don't need to eject him
because he's got no title, anyway. How about these lead-pencil fellows
that haven't done their work for years?"

"That's it," explained Bunker, "we were having a meeting when we seen
you horn in on Dave. These gentlemen are all men that have held their
ground for years and it don't seem right they should lose it. At the
same time it'll take something more than a slap on the wrist to make
these blasted jumpers let go. They've staked all the good claims and are
up doing the work on them and the question is--what can we do?"

"I'll tell you what I'll do," spoke up the old prospector vindictively
as the crowd surged into the store, "I'll get up on the Leap and shoot
down on them jumpers until I chase the last one of 'em off. They can't
run no rannikaboo on me!"

He wagged his long beard and spat impressively but nobody paid any
attention to him. They realized at last that they were up against
gun-fighters--men picked for quick shooting and iron nerves and working
under the orders of one man. That man was Dave Chatwourth, nominally
dismissed by Murray but undoubtedly still in his pay, and until they
could devise some plan to eliminate h