The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GOLD GRABBERS. twenty-four ‘hour mill-run, should be left on the plates. But it isn’t there.” The best we can show, the best we've ever been able to show since Deane secured this property, is seven hundred to a thousand dollars for every two weeks’ clean-up.” ‘ “Fifty dollars a day,” mused Brem- erton; “not enough to pay expenses. You’re being robbed.” “Griggsby thought so, and Lacey was of the same opinion. But they couldn’t prove anything. The leak, wherever it is, has been too well covered. You are right in saying we don’t pay expenses with the mill. The cyanid plant is just able to cover the shortage. That, of course, doesn’t leave anything for Deane—and he’s not running a mine for the love of it.” “No, King, he doesn’t do much of anything for the mere love of it,” Bremerton remarked dryly. “ We'll go into all this later. I haven’t been myself for a couple of days, and the ride from town rather fagged me. I think I'll rest until after dinner. Where do I bunk?” King got up and opened a door off the side of the room. “Here is where Griggsby and Tacey had their sleeping quarters,” said he. “If you'd rather not sleep here, though, there’s a more comfort- able place down at the laboratory.” “This will do. Tell the miners to see me after the noon meal.” “Tl have them here—if they’ll come.” “The man that doesn’t come hunts another job. Impress that on them.” King left the office. As soon as he was gone, Bremerton got up, went to the table and removed a_handker- chief-wrapped package from one of the saddle-bags. He unlocked the desk and pushed hack the roll-top. A litter of papers lay under his eyes, just as left by Lacey. He brushed the papers aside, untied the handkerchief, seated himself, and leaned forward to examine the ball of amalgam. “ Tt’s a clue, all right,’ he muttered. 499 “ Here’s a bit wf luck right at the start-off. Let’s see how that ‘ M’ matches the mark on the mended chamois.” The chamois skin dropped from the pocket of the unconscious Big Steve was an old one. Almost in its very center a jagged, ‘ M ’—shaped tear had been mended with needle and thread. The sewing had been done by whipping the thread over and over along the edges of the tear, leaving an upraised surface. This surface mark matched the in- dentation in the bottom of the amalgam ball perfectly. It was evi- dence, indisputable evidence, that the mended chamois had been used in squeezing some of the quicksilver out of that particular lump of amalgam. Circumstances pointed a damning finger at Big Steve. They led also to interesting speculations regarding the finding of that stolen silver ball among the cottonwoods by the Phoenix town canal. While Bremerton bent thoughtfully over the desk, a sheet of paper met his eye on top of the heap he had pushed aside. Picking it out of the litter, he read the following, written in fine feminine chirography: Mr. LAcEy: If you will come to me at the arroyo, at nine this evening, I will tell you something of great importance to yourself, Trust me this once and you will not regret it. Mariguita MALLory. Bremerton dropped back in his chair, _a savage exclamation on his lips. “It’s the note that lured Lacey into a trap!” he murmured, and dropped it on the desk and struck it with his clenched fist. CHAPTER VII. THE FATE OF A PICTURE. BREMERTON’s long, hard ride from Phoenix had almost worn him out. He had spent the whole of the preceding COMicdoo S CO@