time and much patience to get on familiar terms with them. On one of those perfect afternoons when the buoyancy of the mountain air seemed to stimulate all forms of life, the squirrels seemed to be more numerous than usual and their ordinary round of play, which consists of running at one another and stopping in a crouching position, was enlarged upon by a series of circling around as though they were playing a sort of loop game of "tag."

Two youngsters dashed into the game. They seemed to be all animation; they were so reckless in making their jumps over the rocks that they often tumbled over and over. They would scramble over the old ones with as little concern as they would climb over a good sized rock. For a time the old ones continued their play without paying any particular attention to the youngsters, then a large well collared old fellow who was crouching in a well beaten runway, watched for a youngster and as it came up he deliberately rooted it over backwards. But instead of falling the little one swung around on its right hind foot and landed feet under like a cat. Then an old one followed a little one and thay had something of a game of "leap frog" over a line of grown-ups that happened to be posted along the path. For a time there was a general scamper, every one going in a semi-circle after taking a few jumps along the path.

The two youngsters seemed to be getting more attention than the others; even among squirrels, it seems that the play. of the young furnishes entertainment for their elders. Soon after the game had assumed such proportions, there was an occasional whistle which was different from the ordinary call. It was the whistle of the young but it was so different from that of the adults that it was not immediately associated with those bits of animated fur that were flying around something like feathers in a whirlwind.

Soon after the young ones began to

whistle, another youngster was in the game. This one was older and larger than the other young ones; it was a little more than half grown but it was just as wild and care-free. Then there were several more youngsters and they seemed to be increasing while they were being counted. Like the proverbial chicken that ran around the old hen so fast that it could not be counted, this flashing, running and jumping pageant of intermingling fluffy tails and glistening eyes was difficult to enumerate. The adults could be more easily counted; while the game began with eleven there were fourten just after the third young one joined the party.

More of the young were joining in the game and their little squeaks and whistles were increasing. They came unnoticed and joined so easily into the game that about the only thing that the observer could be sure of was that there were more squarrels-more little ones than big ones. An actual count was impossible, but it seemed fair to estimate that there were twice as many young ones as there were old ones.

The play continued until there was almost a continuous squeak of the young, punctuated very frequently by a playful whistle of the old ones. These whistles were answered and repeated by others from more distant parts of the hillside but no more adults came to the party.

For about twenty minutes the spirit and animation of these youngsters increased and not infrequently one of them would miss its calculations and roll over. Sometimes these tumbles resulted in complete somersaults. The old ones seldom missed an opportunity to root over the young ones.

There came a shrill warning whistle from a distance and this was repeated almost among the players. A cloud of dust rose as the last three scampered into a large hole. The warning whistle continued as a large red-tailed hawk sailed overhead.

W fully.

ELL?" Frank Jinks grinned scorn"What're we going to do about it, Sam? Ol' Bill Shakespeare was right when he said, that 'there's a tide in the affairs of every man, what if taken at the flood, lead on to fortune but omitted lost,' you know. Shall we cash in?"

The sun flickered softly through a small cobweb covered window, upon a roll top oak desk in a dingy little office, in the little mining town of Gold Hill, Oregon. An assortment of ore was scattered broadcast over a large, dust covered table, standing in the middle of the room. The samples were from the Yellow Jacket group of claims. The mine was three miles out from the lazy little settlement, on the turbulent Rogue.

Sam McCall laid a paper on the desk. His hand trembled with emotion.

"If you are sure the assay is correct, and that the ore does not contain goldthen, Jesse Hunter, our lessor is brokepoor old dad is stung, for that money we borrowed at the bank to carry on the work-and, I would say that the Yellow Jacket is no mine," said the slightly built young man whom he addressed.

"Sam," said Jinks, "you amuse me— you sure do. You're the most unresourceful cuss. As my ol' dad'y would say, 'you're a damn fool.' After playing the game for twenty years, don't you think for a moment I'm quitting the Yellow Jacket. Forget it, guess again."

"But-how-can we continue?" asked Sam, as he gazed listlessly around the

room.

"I'll tell you the game," said the old veteran of many a wild cat promotion scheme in the mining regions of the West, as he reared back in his swivel chair, hoisting his feet upon the desk. Then, beginning to stroke his heavy

black mustache with a groggy hand, "while you're on your feet, Sam, hand over that bottle of Hunter's rye, and them glasses, will you? Yank that chair over here and sit down."

"Now," he continued, as the alcohol fumes from his breath and the well-filled glasses met pervading the musty quarters, "here's the proposition; none but you'n Hunter, me'n that ol' Doc Hig'ns at Los Angles shall profit from this deal. That ol' doc has made good on all his mining investments; and, several, on my recommend, too. His boob friends in the city are dying to get a hunch from ol' Doc to plunk their spare change into a mine. A word from the ol' doc will stampede the small fish. He'll be our financial agent."

"I have not the least idea," declared Sam, "what you are talking about."

Jinks suddenly dropped his feet to the floor with a thud, which startled Sam, and aroused him from his reverie. Then, with his black foxy eyes peering through narrow slits, Jink placed his trembling hand on Sam's knee, and in a low, firm tone said:

"Ol' pal, we'll salt her. I'll have ol' Doc come up from the city. When he returns-he'll pass the word around among his friends that Yellow Jacket is a trump card, and can be landed for a hundred thousand plunks; us four we'll split the melon."

"Excuse me if I am interrupting you but, what part, Jinks, am I to take in this-"

"Don't get excited! Keep cool, you cracked-brain creeter," said Jinks as he passed a glass of the Hunter's stuff to Sam, then gulping one down his own throat, "just let me explain, them victims of ol' Doc will incorporate a company down in Californey, but they'll have

to have three directors in Oregon to do business. The three of us will be given a few shares each in the company, and they'll elect us directors. My influence with ol' Doc will place me as general manager; you'n Hunter will be elected secretary and treas'r, two important positions for us. I'll have the appointing of the super-tendant too-great technical knowledge-his'n my salary will be fat and juicy. The Doc will instruct his boobs to vote fifty thousand to equip the dig'ins. We'll get a commission on all the machinery and supplies purchased for the mine- we'll run the boarding house, too."

"Stop! Say, Jinks, do we get the hundred thousand, and all those fat jobs, too?" Sam's voice was growing husky.

"You poor imbecile; I'll tell you mining is a risky and very uncertain business. I never did care for mining. The only safe plan is, risk other people's money, other people's money, my boy," counselled Jinks, emphasizing his statement by bringing his fist down on the desk with a thud. Then filling the two glasses to the brim, again he passed one to Sam, and quickly disposed of the other himself.

"Swim or sink-I-" gurgled Sam strangled by the strong spirits. "I'm with you, Jinks-go on and tell me how you are going to do it. I am sure I don't see." "Sam, Rube is our man. We'll use him -he's been there before. I just about own him-I can put him on the blink any ol' time, and he's onto it, too. He'll help us to do the job. Rube has made us a good foreman out at the dig'in's, he's a good, 'onest and capable fellow-we'll make him super-tendant, when we get organized, for assisting us. Ol' Bob Fitch, who found that bunch of gold nug'ets and rich ore that some ol' prospector buried years ago, and cashed in before he had a chance to call again, has got the dope we're needing to salt, the dig'ins. The quartz compares favorable with that of the Yellow Jacket's. I've got a bunch of it stored away, right now-I'm putting it on the market for Bob. He can't afford to squeal on us, for he's bein' hounded right now by the claimants of the cache."

"Excuse me if I am interrupting you

again; but why do you take me into-"

"Mostly, because I'm needing you'n Hunter to keep up the organization at this here end. You're born and raised here your ol' dad, with his fields and houses, he's 'onest. Hunter, he's in the mining game on the square, with his mill and mines-you two'll keep suspicions down until I can get the dig'ins equipped. Now you watch me," chuckled Jinks.

"Watch you! I will surely keep an eye on you, all right. A man that will skin his backers like this, will do most anything," said Sam loudly with a grin, as he arose from his seat and stood limply up before Jinks, his knees growing weaker and his voice stronger.

"But say, Jinks," continued Sam, "what will happen when the suckers find that the mine has been salted-do we go to prison?"

"Hell, no! That's easy, they'll never find it out," said Jinks, with a broadflushing smile. "After the money is spent for the equipment-we'll freeze them out -nothing but assessments. One disaster after another will follow and all that sort of thing. We'll do bum timbering-the miners will refuse to work in herthey'll strike. A few convenient blasts put in by Rube, will cause the works to cave in-she'll fill with water. It'll cost thousands to reopen her. After a few heavy assessments the stockholders will refuse to come through. Then we'll run the mine in debt-the lien holders will foreclose the machinery will be sold to satisfy the creditors. After that, we'll be at liberty to relocate the dig'ins, and go out and grab another bunch of suckers."

"Excuse me for the interruption, but say, Jinks, when does this thing start?" inquired the old man's victim, with a grinny smile, bowing his knees, and drawing up closer to the desk.

"You poor boob, she's started now," roared Jinks in rage, "you get a rig at the livery stable, go out to the dig'ins and get Rube. Don't you come back to the office with him, you keep away from here. There's no use of our mixing up in this affair right in broad daylight. You can't always tell how these things are going to come out-we may get into

mighty serious trouble. I'll lay the plans weil, and give Rube his instructions."

Big Gold Strike

So read the headlines in one of the leading coast journals. The article stated that the well known mine promoter, Frank Jinks, had uncovered fabulous wealth in the Yellow Jacket gold mine near Gold Hill, Oregon. A single blast in the mine had opened a pay-shoot, which displayed pure gold nuggets; the vein was lined with rich specimen ore. Using the term of the old-timer miner, "there are millions in sight." That Jinks and his associates had been operating the mine but a short time under a lease.

"Dr. Higgins, the successful mine operator of Los Angeles, was at the mine when the strike was made. He had just arrived to inspect the property with a view of purchasing it for people in his city and closed the deal for the mine, paying immediately $100,000 in cash. The doctor informed the Leader's correspondent that his people would organize a company and equip the property at once, and that Jinks would be made general manager," the article concluded.

One summer day a smooth-shaven young man of the blonde persuasion alighted from an early morning train passing through the town of Gold Hill. Around his tall gaunt frame a corduroy suit of tan hung loosely; his feet were encased in a pair of high-laced boots of the same shade. He wore a pair of rimless eye glasses; strapped over his shoulder hung a well-filled canvas bag, dangling at his side. In one hand he carried a gold pan, and a pick hammer. His general get-up was that of the typical tenderfoot of the region.

Doffing his corduroy cap, he accosted an old man standing at the edge of the depot crowd. "Say mister, where is the nearest quartz mine?"

"Just two blocks over there," replied the old stage driver, pointing up the street, leading past the depot.

"Well, I do declare, so near," queried the new arrival, "how long has it been in operation? Twenty years, did you say?"

Removing a pocket map from his side

pocket the stranger opened it hurriedly and gazed on its outlines. Then he continued by asking the old veteran:

"Which way points north?"

Being shown, he strode over across the street and entered the leading hostelry in the little town.

The next day, after his morning meal, the tenderfoot with the pick and gold pan could have been seen wending his way out of town, headed toward a neighboring foothill, covered with a growth of pine and madrone trees, where several abandoned quartz mines were located. He continued these trips daily for nearly a fortnight.

One morning the town attorney, Joe Skinner, on arriving at his office, found a new arrival awaiting him at the door. "Say, Judge, what will be your charges for drawing up a mining contract?" asked the tenderfoot of the attorney as he drew near.

"Five dollars, sir. If it should be an extraordinary document it will cost you more," abruptly spoke the student of Blackstone.

"Well! There is the lessor, and us three lessees. I will go and get my men and return at once," said the lessee, quickly disappearing down the street.

I

"Say, judge," began the new arrival, as the four parties to the lease filed into the attorney's office, "you make this instrument good and strong-and, I want three carbon copies to post on the mine. I will pay you ten dollars for your services. just come from Coeur d'Alene-I had a lease on a mine up there the blooming thing was showing up fine. Some fellows came along and told me that my lease was no good. They offered me five thousand dollars for all my right, title and interest in and to the said premises. They told me that the property never would amount to anything-that they wanted to run a railroad across the premises. I said, 'all right.' And, say, judge, what do you think? Well, sir, those fellows sold that mine the next day for five hundred thousand dollars. Never again-I want one of those leases, that I won't have to sell."

The lessor was Jim Dunn, an old time miner of the district. The other two les

sees were a couple of tenderfeet, who had arrived in town, on mining bent.

"What is your name, and the name of the mine you are buying?" asked the attorney of the new mine operator, after hè had completed the preliminaries of the lease on the typewriter.

"Robert Chamberline. Why, the Yellow Jacket."

Instantly the eyes of the attorney gazed over at Jim Dunn. Both he and Dunn were residents of the district in the palmy days of the Yellow Jacket.

"Well, Jim," said the attorney, with a broad smile, the next day, on meeting Dunn on the street, "how did you become possessed with the Yellow Jacket? Really isn't it a joke?"

"Why, hell, no!" replied Dunn flushing up. "Those Los Angeles people deserted the Yellow Jacket long ago. It has been five years since I located a mining claim over the old works. I am acquiring a mining title to the property for the timber that is on it. I don't expect the boob to ever buy it-I am just giving him the privilege of doing my annual assessment work for nothing."

Several weeks later the new mine operator and Jim Dunn entered the attorney's office.

"Well, judge," began Chamberline, "my two partners have deserted me. I want you to make out a new lease for Mr. Dunn to sign. We fellows milled ten tons of that ore taken from the Yellow Jacket and it did not produce a color. I am going to instal pumping machinery and commence at the bottom of the works. The consideration is two thousand dollars for the property in case I buy, just make the lease effective for six months from date, will you?"

One day several months after Chamber

line had procured the new lease from Dunn, Attorney Skinner received a wire from a brother attorney at Los Angeles, asking for a report on Yellow Jacket stock issued fourteen years before. It also stated 'that the shares were the assets of a very needy widow woman.'

With a copy of the reply to the message, the attorney was in the act of visiting the nearby telegraph office, when in strode Chamberline flushed with excitement. He wildly rushed across the room with a small sack of ore, which he deposited on the office table with a thud, and was turning to address Skinner, when the attorney bluntly began:

"What the devil is the matter with you, Chamberline? For God's sake, when are you going to get wise to your surroundings? Look here! Read that!" he said, flashing the prepared message in front of Chamberline's face.

Chamberline read: "Yellow Jacket mine was salted; investors buncoed; they abandoned it; now being worked, by a tenderfoot." With a smile on his face, Chamberline crushed the paper in the palm of his hand then cast it scornfully on the floor at the feet of the bewildered attorney.

"What are you doing?" snapped the excited Skinner, as he was in the act of picking the crumpled message from the floor.

"Look!" said Chamberline calmly, with beaming eyes, as he reached for the untied glittering gold nuggets and specimen ore in a string across the table.

"Great Heavens!" shrieked the amazed attorney, as he staggered toward the treasure, "where did you get it?" "The Yellow Jacket."

"How?"

"Struck it in a new drift."