At the Time Appointed

"I hear they ask a pretty good price for the mine."

"Yes, they're trading on her reputation, but that's all past. The mine

is practically worked out. They've made a few good strikes lately, so

that there is some good ore in sight, and this is their chance to sell,

but there are no indications of any permanence. One of our own men was

over there a while ago, and he said there wasn't enough ore in the mine

to keep their mill running full force for more than six months."

"Is this Hunter an expert also?"

"Oh, no; Parkinson said he was a friend of his, just taking the trip for

his health."

Darrell smiled quietly, knowing Hunter to be a member of the syndicate

employing Parkinson, but kept his knowledge to himself.

A little later, when Darrell and Whitcomb left together for the

dining-car, quite a friendship had sprung up between them. There was

that mutual attraction often observed between two natures utterly

diverse. Whitcomb was unaccountably drawn towards the dark-eyed,

courteous, but rather reticent stranger, while his own frank

friendliness and childlike confidence awoke in Darrell's nature a

correlative tenderness and affection which he never would have believed

himself capable of feeling towards one of his own sex.

"I don't know what is the matter with me," said Darrell, as he seated

himself at a table, facing Whitcomb. "My head seems to have a

small-sized stamp-mill inside of it; every bone in my body aches, and my

joints feel as though they were being pulled apart."

Whitcomb looked up quickly. "Are you just from the East, or have you

been out here any time?"

"I stopped for a few days, back here a ways."

"In the mountain country?"

"Yes."

"By George! I believe you've got the mountain fever; there's an awful

lot of it round here this season, and this is just the worst time of

year for an easterner to come out here. But we'll look after you when we

get to Ophir, and bring you round all right."

"Much obliged, but I think I'll be all right after a night's rest,"

Darrell replied, inwardly resolved, upon reaching Ophir, to push on to

the Ajax as quickly as possible, though his ardor was considerably

cooled by Whitcomb's report.

When they left the dining-car the train was stopping at a small station,

and for a few moments the young men strolled up and down the platform. A

dense, bluish-gray haze hung low over the country, rendering the

outlines of even the nearest objects obscure and dim; the western sky

was like burnished copper, and the sun, poised a little above the

horizon, looked like a ball of glowing fire.