nquered Dave
Chatwourth with rocks. So Denver changed the notices and came back
laughing and Bunker Hill made over the claims.

"Denver," he said clasping him warmly by the hand, "I swow, you're the
best danged friend I've got. For the last time, now, will you come to
dinner?"

"Sure," grinned Denver, "but cut out that 'friend' talk. It makes me
kind of nervous."

"I'll do it!" promised Bunker, "I'll do anything you ask me. You saved
my bacon on them claims. That snooping Dutch Professor tipped them
jumpers off that I'd promised my wife not to shoot, but I guess when
they see you come rambling up the gulch they begin to feel like Davey
Crockett's coon.

"'Don't shoot, Davey,' he says, 'I know you'll get me.' And he came
right down off the limb." Old Bunker laughed uproariously and slapped
Denver on the back, after which he took him over to the house and
announced a guest for dinner.

"Sit down, boy, sit down," he insisted hospitably as Denver spoke of
going home to dress, "you're company just the way you are. As Lord
Chesterfield says: 'A clean shirt is half of full dress.' And a pair of
overalls, I reckon, is the rest of it. Say, did you hear what Murray
said when we took Dave over there, looking like something that the cat
had brought in?

"'My Gawd,' he says, 'what has happened to the _mine_?'

"That was something like a deacon that I worked for one time when he was
fixing to paint his barn. He slung a ladder on an old, rotten rope and
sent me up on it to work and about half an hour afterwards the rope gave
way and dropped me, ladder and all, to the ground. The deacon was at the
house when he heard the crash and he came running with his coat-tails
straight out.

"'Goodness gracious!' he hollered, 'did you spill the paint?'

"'No,' I says, 'but I will!' And I kicked all his paint-cans over.

"Well, old Murray is like that deacon; you touch his pocket and you
touch his heart--he's always thinking about money. He'd been planning
for months to slip in and jump these claims and here you come along and
do the assessment work and knock him out of five of 'em. The boys say
he's sure got blood in his eye and is cussing you out a blue streak.
That's a nice gun you got off of Dave--how many notches has it got on
the butt? Only three, eh? Well, say, if he ever sends over to ask for it
I've got another one that I'll loan you. You want to go heeled,
understand? Murray's busy right now bossing those three shifts of min