Beth Norvell

"Got yer b-b-bucket full, M-M-Mike?" he questioned, sending his deep,

sputtering voice far down into the depths below.

"Oi have thot," came the disgusted response from out the darkness. "Ye

measly spalpeen, ain't Oi bin shakin' of the rope fer twinty minutes?

Oi tought maybe ye'd run off an' left me to rot down in the hole. Whut

's up now, ye freckled-face ilephant, yer?"

Brown indulged in a cautious glance about, then stuck his almost boyish

face farther down within the safety of the hole before venturing an

explanation.

"B-B-Bill's g-gone to find s-s-some engi-n-neer w-with nerve 'nough ter

r-r-run our lines," he managed to spit out disjointedly. "S-s-says

he'll go plumb ter Denver 'fore he 'll g-g-give up, an' if he d-don't

f-find any sich he 'll c-c-come back an' p-p-perforate F-F-Farnham."

"Bedad!" a tinge of unrestrained delight apparent in the sudden roar,

"an' was he hot?"

"H-he sure was. He m-m-m-meant business all r-right, an' hed f-f-forty

rounds b-b-buckled on him. H-here goes, Mike," and Brown grasped the

warped handle of the windlass and began to grind slowly, coiling the

heavy rope, layer upon layer, around the straining drum. He brought

the huge ore-bucket to the surface, dumped its load of rock over the

edge of the shaft-hole, and had permitted it to run down swiftly to the

waiting Mike, when a slight noise behind sent the man whirling suddenly

about, his hand instinctively reaching forth toward the discarded but

ready rifle. A moment he stared, incredulous, at the strange vision

fronting him, his face quickly reddening from embarrassment, his eyes

irresolute and puzzled. Scarcely ten feet away, a woman, rather

brightly attired and apparently very much at her ease, sat upon a

rather diminutive pony, her red lips curved in lines of laughter,

evidently no little amused at thus startling him. Brown realized that

she was young and pretty, with jet black, curling hair, and eyes of the

same color, her skin peculiarly white and clear, while she rode man

fashion, her lower limbs daintily encased within leggings of buckskin.

She had carelessly dropped her reins upon the high pommel of the

saddle, and as their glances fairly met, she laughed outright.

"You mooch frighten, señor, and you so ver' big. It make me joy." Her

broken English was oddly attractive. "Poof! los Americanos not all

find me so ver' ter'ble."

Stutter Brown ground his white teeth together savagely, his short red

moustache bristling. He was quite young, never greatly accustomed to

companionship with the gentler sex, and of a disposition strongly

opposed to being laughed at. Besides, he felt seriously his grave

deficiencies of speech.