the ribs and went forth into the brighter light. An hour
more and they were back in town. Harry reached for his mustache again.

"Go on down to Mother 'Oward's," he commanded. "I 've got to wander
around and say 'owdy to what's left of the fellows that was 'ere when I
was. It's been twenty years since I 've been away, you know," he
added, "and the shaft can wait."

Fairchild obeyed the instructions, looking back over his shoulder as he
walked along toward the boarding house, to see the big figure of his
companion loitering up the street, on the beginning of his home-coming
tour. It was evident that Harry was popular. Forms rose from the
loitering places on the curbings in front of the stores, voices called
to him; even as the distance grew greater, Fairchild could hear the
shouts of greeting which were sounding to Harry as he announced his
return.

The blocks passed. Fairchild turned through the gate of Mother
Howard's boarding house and went to his room to await the call for
dinner. The world did not look exceptionally good to him; his
brilliant dreams had not counted upon the decay of more than a quarter
of a century, the slow, but sure dripping of water which had seeped
through the hills and made the mine one vast well, instead of the free
open gateway to riches which he had planned upon. True, there had been
before him the certainty of a cave-in, but Fairchild was not a miner,
and the word to him had been a vague affair. Now, however, it was
taking on a new aspect; he was beginning to realize the full extent of
the fight which was before him if the Blue Poppy mine ever were to turn
forth the silver ore he hoped to gain from it, if the letter of his
father, full of threats though it might be, were to be realized in that
part of it which contained the promise of riches in abundance.

Pitifully small his capital looked to Fairchild now. Inadequate--that
was certain--for the needs which now stood before it. And there was no
person to whom he could turn, no one to whom he could go, for more. To
borrow, one must have security; and with the exception of the faith of
the red-faced Harry, and the promise of a silent man, now dead, there
was nothing. It was useless; an hour of thought and Fairchild ceased
trying to look into the future, obeying, instead, the insistent
clanging of the dinner bell from downstairs. Slowly he opened the door
of his room, trudged down the staircase,--then stopped in bewilderment.