and that he was selling them at a fair margin of profit to young Eastern capitalists who hadn’t been in the country long enough to lose their roll and that trust in Mankind and Nature which was Youth’s most glorious possession.  Needed a bright young fellow to help him—­someone who could wear good clothes and not look as if he were in a disguise, and could spit out his words without chewing them up.  Would Thorn join him on a grub, duds, and commission basis?  Would Thorn surprise his skin with a boiled shirt and his stomach with a broiled steak?  You bet he would, and they hitched up then and there.

They ran along together for a year or more, selling a played-out mine now and then or a “promising claim,” for a small sum.  Thorn knew that the mines which they handled were no Golcondas, but, as he told himself, you could never absolutely swear that a fellow wouldn’t strike it rich in one of them.

There came a time, though, when they were way down on their luck.  The run of young Englishmen was light, and visiting Easterners were a little gun-shy.  Almost looked to Thorn as if he might have to go to work for a living, but he was a tenacious cuss, and stuck it out till one day when Jim came back to Leadville from a near-by camp, where he’d been looking at some played-out claims.

Jim was just boiling over with excitement.  Wouldn’t let on what it was about, but insisted on Thorn’s going back with him then and there.  Said it was too big to tell; must be taken in by all Thorn’s senses, aided by his powers of exaggeration.

It took them only a few hours to make the return trip.  When Jim came within a couple of miles of the camp, he struck in among some trees and on to the center of a little clearing.  There he called Thorn’s attention to a small, deep spring of muddy water.

“Thorn,” Jim began, as impressive as if he were introducing him to an easy millionaire, “look at thet spring.  Feast yer eyes on it and tell me what you see.”

“A spring, you blooming idiot,” Thorn replied, feeling a little disappointed.

“You wouldn’t allow, Thorn, to look at it, thet thar was special pints about thet spring, would you?” he went on, slow and solemn.  “You wouldn’t be willin’ to swar thet the wealth of the Hindoos warn’t in thet precious flooid which you scorn?  Son,” he wound up suddenly, “this here is the derndest, orneriest spring you ever see.  Thet water is rich enough to be drunk straight.”

Thorn began to get excited in earnest now.  “What is it?  Spit it out quick?”

“Watch me, sonny,” and Jim hung his tin cup in the spring and sat down on a near-by rock.  Then after fifteen silent minutes had passed, he lifted the cup from the water and passed it over.  Thorn almost jumped out of his jack-boots with surprise.

“Silver?” he gasped.

“Generwine,” Jim replied.  “Down my way, in Illinois, thar used to be a spring thet turned things to stone.  This gal gives ’em a jacket of silver.”