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The widow meanwhile got breakfast for the men, and as soon as they were off up the trail she set the awed and wondering Chinaman to hauling the sacks of ore out from beneath the shanty and piling them conveniently near the roadway. She watched every movement and checked off each sack like a shipping-clerk. “Merciful powers! the work that man did!” she exclaimed, alluding to Bidwell, who had dug all that mass of ore and packed it in the night from the mine to its safe concealment.

Of course, Mrs. Clark, the storekeeper’s wife, saw them at work and came over to see what was going on.

“Good morning, Mrs. Delaney. You’re not going to move?”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry. What’s the reason of it? Why, that looks like ore!” she said as she peered at a sack.

“It is ore! and I’m goin’ to ship it to the mill. Have ye anny objection?” asked Mrs. Delaney, defiantly.

“Where did it come from?”

“That’s my business. There’s wan more under there,” she said to the Chinaman, and as he came creeping out like a monstrous bug tugging a pair of Bidwell’s overalls (ore-filled), as if they formed the trunk of a man whom he had murdered and hidden, Mrs. Clark turned and fled toward the store to tell her husband.

“There ye go, now! Ye screech-owl,” sneered the Widow Delaney. “It’s all up wid us; soon the whole world will know of ut. Well–we’re here first,” she defiantly added.

Clark came over, pale with excitement. “Let me see that ore!” he called out as he ran up and laid his hand on a sack.

“Get off–and stay off!” said Maggie, whipping a revolver out of her pocket. “That’s my ore, and you let it alone!”

Clark recoiled in surprise, but the widow’s anxiety to protect her property added enormously to his excitement. “The ore must be very rich,” he argued. “How do I know but that comes from one of my claims?” he asked.

The widow thrust the muzzle of the revolver under his nose. “Would ye call me a thafe? ‘Tis well Bidwell is not here; he’d do more than make ye smell of a gun. Go back to yer own business–if ye value a whole skin–an’ stay away from phwat does not concern ye.”

All this was characteristically intemperate of Maggie, and by the time Bidwell came clattering up the trail with a big freight-wagon the whole gulch was aroused, and a dozen men encircled the heap of motley bags on which Mrs. Delaney sat, keeping them at bay.

When she heard the wagon her nerves steadied a little and she said, more soberly: “Boys, there comes Bidwell with a wagon to haul this stuff away, and, Johnson, you help him load it while I go see about dinner.”

As Bidwell drove up a mutter of amazement ran round the group and each man had his say.

“Why, Bid, what’s the matter? You look like a man found dead.”

“I’m just beginning to live!” said Bidwell, and the reply was long remembered in Bear Gulch.

“Well, now ye know all about it, ye gawks, take hold and help the man load up. I’ll have dinner ready fer ye in a snort,” repeated the widow.

Clark drew his partners aside. “He packed that ore here; he must have left a trail. You take a turn up the canyon and see if you can’t find it. It’s close by somewhere.”

Bidwell saw them conferring and called out: “You needn’t take any trouble, Clark; I’ll lead you to the place after dinner. My claim is staked and application filed–so don’t try any tricks on me.”

The widow’s eyes were equally keen, and the growing cupidity of the men did not escape her. Coming out with a big meat sandwich, she said: “‘Twill not do to sit down, Sherm; take this in yer fist and go. They’ll all be slippin’ away like snakes if ye don’t. I’ll take John and the ore–we’ll make it somehow–and I’ll stay wid it till it’s paid for.”