“Is there no record of this claim having been entered before?” said Brown.

“None,” said the agent.

“This man,” Brown said at length to the agent, “never saw the mine.  He is not the discoverer.”

“Who is?”

“A young friend of mine, Kalman Kalmar.  To that I can swear.”  And he told the story of the discovery, adding such details as he thought necessary in regard to Rosenblatt’s character.

The official was sympathetic and interested.

“And how long is it since the discovery was made?” he enquired.

“Six months or so.”

“And why was there no application sent in?”

Brown was silent.

“The Government cannot be responsible for neglect,” he said.  “You have yourselves to blame for it.  Nothing can be done now.”

The door opened, and Brown turned to find Rosenblatt with a smile of triumph upon his face.  Before he was aware, his open hand had swung hard upon the grinning face, and Rosenblatt fell in a huddled heap into the corner.  He rose up sputtering and spitting.

“I will have the law on you!” he shouted.  “I call you as witness,” he continued to the agent.

“What’s the matter with you?” said the agent.  “I didn’t see anything.  If you trip yourself up and pitch into the corner, that is your own business.  Get out of this office, you disorderly beast!  Hurry up!” The agent put his hand upon the counter and leaped over.

Rosenblatt fled, terrified.

“Brute!” said the agent, “I can’t stand these claim jumpers.  You did that very neatly,” he said to Brown, shaking him warmly by the hand.  “I am awfully sorry, but the thing can’t be helped now.”

Brown was too sick at heart to reply.  The mine was gone, and with it all the splendid castles he and Kalman had been building for the last six months.  He feared to meet his friend.  With what heart now could he ask that this brute, who had added another to the list of the wrongs he had done, should be forgiven?  It was beyond all human strength to wipe out from one’s mind such an accumulation of injuries.  Well for Brown and well for his friend that forty miles lay before him.  For forty miles of open country and of God’s sun and air, to a man whose heart is open to God, work mighty results.  When at last they came together, both men had won their victory.

Quietly Brown told his story.  He was amazed to find that instead of rousing Kalman to an irrepressible fury, it seemed to make but little impression upon him that he had lost his mine.  Kalman had faced his issue, and fought out his fight.  At all costs he could not deny his Lord, and under this compulsion it was that he had surrendered his blood feud.  The fierce lust for vengeance which had for centuries run mad in his Slavic blood, had died beneath the stroke of the Cross, and under the shock of that mighty stroke the loss of the mine had little effect upon him.  Brown wondered at him.