"It was the pick--strike, strike, strike; then stop an' begin, strike, strike, strike again.

I hear, I know." "Then they must be running a lateral, hoping to cut across our vein somewhere within their lines." "And will that give them the right, _senor_ ?" Westcott sat, his head resting on one hand, staring thoughtfully into the dying fire; the yellow flame of the oil lamp between them on the table flickered in the draft from the open window.

Here was a threatening combination of forces.
"I am not sure, Jose," he answered slowly.

"The mining law is full of quirks, although, of course, the first discoverer of a lead is entitled to follow it--it's his.

The trouble here is, that instead of giving notice of discovery, I have kept it a secret, and even blocked up the tunnel.