heir
number had been hanged somewhere in Arizona for horse-stealing, I was
sorry to hear it, and hoped the other would mend his ways and so escape
lynching, for I wanted to settle with him myself.

At the time my story begins, however, I was on my feet again, as anyone
can be in that Western country who is suffering from reverses. I had a
home ranch and perhaps ten thousand dollars' worth of cattle ranging
near the Bad Lands, into which my small herd had been driven to be
killed for their hides; but I was poor enough and miserable enough when
Uncle Ezra sent me off to hunt up a gold mine. I didn't find it, of
course, but I took back to old Norton's ranch some specimens of quartz
that made him open his eyes. They looked like chunks of granite, with
little pieces of different-colored glass scattered through them. I had
no idea of the value of my find, but so certain was Uncle Ezra that I
had struck it rich that he took the specimens to Denver himself, and
some expert there assured him that he was a millionnaire. But he wasn't,
by a long shot, and neither was I. Uncle Ezra knew no more about
business outside of sheep-herding and trapping than an Apache knows
about astronomy, and the fifteen-year-old boy who was his only
counsellor knew less, and the usual results followed. We were euchred
out of our find, which meant the loss of bushels of dollars to us.
During my prospecting tour I camped on the banks of a little stream,
following through a secluded valley a hundred miles deep in the
mountains, and stumbled upon a rich deposit of rubies and sapphires.
Although there were no true red rubies nor true blue sapphires among
them, they were beautiful gems and worth money. The Denver expert told
Uncle Ezra that there was a sprinkling of fire opals among them, but
this I am inclined to doubt, for I never heard of those stones being
found together. Anyhow, that deposit, whose wealth was first presented
to my inexperienced eyes, covered sixteen acres of ground, and is being
worked by a syndicate with a cash capital of two million dollars. Uncle
Ezra and I saved a small stake for old age; but you bet I will know a
good thing the next time I see it.

Ben Hastings, as I have said, was the son of an army officer who was
stationed at the fort a few miles away, and this was the first time he
had ever been west of the Mississippi. He had the good sense to
acknowledge that he was a tender-foot, and perhaps that made me take to
him from t