y yet; why, that quartz there,"
waving his hand towards a heap of the debris that had been extracted
from the shaft and cast aside as waste, "if passed through a crushing
mill would yield a handsome premium."

"I know," said Mr Rawlings sadly. "But I couldn't afford the
machinery."

"We'll soon manufacture it, with a little help from the nearest town,
where we can get some of the articles we can't make," said Ernest Wilton
sanguinely; "we've got the power to drive the machinery, and that's the
main thing, my dear sir. We'll soon manage the rest."

"I'm sure I hope so," replied Mr Rawlings; but he had received such a
chock from the mine already, on account of its turning out so
differently to his expectations, that he could not feel sanguine all at
once, like the young engineer who had not experienced those weary months
of waiting and hope deferred, as he had.

Not so Seth, however. His tone of mind was very opposite to that of Mr
Rawlings.

The ex-mate was as confident of their success now as when they had
started from Boston, before he or the rest knew the perils and arduous
toil they would have to undergo. All those trials vanished as if by
magic from his memory, as quickly as the winter snow was now melting
away from the landscape around them, and he thought he could see the
golden future right in front of his mental gaze, all obstacles being
cleared away in a moment by Ernest Wilton's hopeful words.

"Hooray, Rawlings!" he exclaimed excitedly, twirling his "cheese-cutter"
cap round his head, and executing a sort of hop, skip, and jump of
delight. "The Britisher's the boy for us! I guess we'll strike ile
now, and no flies, you bet, sirree!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A HAPPY HUNTING-GROUND.

Within a few days after Ernest Wilton had joined the miners of Minturne
Creek, the winter seemed to vanish away at once, the "chinook wind"
coming with its warm breath from the Pacific through the gaps and passes
of the Rocky Mountains far-away to the west, and dissolving the last
remaining evidences of Jack Frost's handiwork.

The region of the Black Hills, as the young engineer had now the
opportunity of observing, as the mountains and valleys shook off their
snowy mantle and became clothed anew in the fresh green verdure of
spring, is one of the most picturesque in the States, partaking alike of
the lofty grandeur and rough magnificence of the sierras of the north,
and the spreading landscape feature