“No, sir.”

“Well, in order to hold the various claims legally, the owners have to do one hundred dollars’ worth of work a year on each claim.  If the work isn’t done, the claims can be ‘jumped.’  You’ll have to hire the men, buy the supplies, and see that the full amount is done.  We have a man out there named Davidson.  You can rely on him, and he’ll help you out in all practical matters.  He’s a good enough practical miner, but he’s useless in bossing a job or handling money.  Between you, you ought to get along.”

“I’ll try, anyway.”

“That’s right.  Then, another thing.  You can put in your spare time investigating what the thing is worth.  I don’t expect much from you in that respect, for you haven’t had enough experience; but do the best you can.  It’ll be good practice, anyway.  Hunt up Davidson; go over all the claims; find out how the lead runs, and how it holds out; get samples and ship them to me; investigate everything you can, and don’t be afraid to write when you’re stuck.”

In other words, Bennington was to hold the ends of the reins while some one else drove.  But he did not know that.  He felt his responsibility.

As to the assessment work, Old Mizzou had already assured him there was no immediate hurry; men were cheaper in the fall.  As to investigating, he started in on that at once.  He and Davidson climbed down shafts, and broke off ore, and worked the gold pan.  It was fun.

In the morning Bennington decided to work from seven until ten on Aliris.  Then for three hours he and Old Mizzou prospected.  In the afternoon the young man took a vacation and hunted Wild Western adventures.

It may as well be remarked here that Bennington knew all about the West before he left home.  Until this excursion he had never even crossed the Alleghanies, but he thought he appreciated the conditions thoroughly.  This was because he was young.  He could close his eyes and see the cowboys scouring the plain.  As a parenthesis it should be noted that cowboys always scour the plain, just as sailors always scan the horizon.  He knew how the cowboys looked, because he had seen Buffalo Bill’s show; and he knew how they talked, because he had read accurate authors of the school of Bret Harte.  He could even imagine the romantic mountain maidens.

With his preconceived notions the country, in most particulars, tallied interestingly.  At first Bennington frequented the little town down the draw.  It answered fairly well to the story-book descriptions, but proved a bit lively for him.  The first day they lent him a horse.  The horse looked sleepy.  It took him twenty minutes to get on the animal and twenty seconds to fall off.  There was an audience.  They made him purchase strange drinks at outlandish prices.  After that they shot holes all around his feet to induce him to dance.  He had inherited an obstinate streak from some of his forebears, and declined when it went that far.  They then did