d_?"

"If not you, then somebody else," replied Rimrock confidently. "Some
feller that's out looking for sand. I heard about a sport over in
London that tried on a bet to sell five-pound notes for a shilling.
That's like me offering to sell you twenty-five dollars for the English
equivalent of two bits. And d'ye think he could get anyone to take
'em? He stood up on a soap box and waved those notes in the air, but
d'ye think he could get anybody to buy?"

He paused with a cynical smile and looked Hassayamp in the eye.

"Well--no," conceded Hassayamp weakly.

"You bet your life he could!" snapped back Rimrock. "A guy came along
that knowed. He took one look at those five-pound notes and handed up
fifty cents."

"'I'll take two of 'em,' he says; and walks off with fifty dollars!"

Rimrock scooped up his despised sand and poured it back into the bag,
after which he turned on his heel. As the doors swung to behind him
Old Hassayamp looked at his customers and shook his head impressively.
From the street outside Rimrock could be heard telling a Mexican in
Spanish to take his horse to the corrals. He was master of Gunsight
yet, though all his money had vanished and his credit would buy nothing
but the drinks.

"Well, what d'ye know about that?" observed Hassayamp meditatively.
"By George, sometimes I almost think that boy is right!"

He cleared his throat and hobbled towards the door and the crowd took
the hint to disperse.

On the edge of the shady sidewalk Rimrock Jones, the follower after big
dreams, sat silent, balancing the sack of ore in a bronzed and
rock-scarred hand. He was a powerful man, with the broad, square-set
shoulders that come from much swinging of a double jack or cranking at
a windlass. The curling beard of youth had covered his hard-bitten
face and his head was unconsciously thrust forward, as if he still
glimpsed his vision and was eager to follow it further. The crowd
settled down and gazed at him curiously, for they knew he had a story
to tell, and at last the great Rimrock sighed and looked at his
work-worn hands.

"Hard going," he said, glancing up at Hassayamp. "I've got a ten-foot
hole to sink on twenty different claims, no powder, and nothing but
Mexicans for help. But I sure turned up some good ore--she gets richer
the deeper you go."

"Any gold?" enquired Hassayamp hopefully.

"Yes, but pocketty. I leave all that chloriding to the Mexicans while
I do my discovery wor