of friendship in his broncho's eyes, as well as at
the pony's neigh of welcome, back there at the yard, he had felt a
boundless pleasure in his veins. He patted the chestnut's neck, in his
rough, brusque way of companionship, and the horse fairly quivered with
pleasure.

For nearly two hours the willing animal went zig-zagging up the rocky
slopes. The day was warming; the sun was a naked disk of fire. It was
hard climbing. Van had chosen the shorter, steeper way across the
range. From time to time, where the barren ascent was exceptionally
severe, he swung from the saddle and led the broncho on, to mount
further up as before.

Thus they came in time to a zone of change, over one of the ridges, a
region where rocks and ugliness gave way to a growth of brush and
stunted trees. These were the outposts, ragged, dwarfed, and warped,
of a finer growth beyond.

Fifteen miles away, down between the hills, flowed a tortuous stream,
by courtesy called a river. It sometimes rose in a turgid flood, but
more often it sank and delivered up its ghost to such an extent that a
man could have held it in his hat. Nevertheless some greenery
flourished on its banks.

When Van at last could oversee the vast, unpeopled lands of the Piute
Indian reservation, near the boundary of which his salted claim had
been staked, he had only a mile or so to ride, and all the way down
hill.

He came to the property by eleven o'clock of the morning. He looked
about reflectively. The rough board cabin and the rougher shaft-house
were scarcely worth knocking down for lumber. There, on the big,
barren dike, were several tunnels and prospects, in addition to the
shaft, all "workings" that Briggs had opened up in his labors on the
ledge. They were mere yawning mockeries of mining, but at least had
served a charlatan's requirements. A few tools lay about, abominably
neglected.

The location was rather attractive, on the whole. The clear stream of
water had coaxed a few quaking aspens and alders into being, among the
stunted evergreens. Grass lay greenly along the bank, a charming
relief to the eye. The sandy soil was almost level in the narrow cove,
which was snugly surrounded by hills, except at the lower extremity,
where the brook tumbled down a wide ravine.

Van, on his horse, gazed over towards the Indian reservation idly. How
vain, in all likelihood, were the wonderful tales of gold ledges lying
within its prohibited borders. What