id of his six-shooter, and the
jack was then turned loose in the palisade.

"He's eatin' grass," piped up old Grease-top Jamie. "Say, I can see
twenty jackasses eatin', down to the boardin' house at Blue Tent any
day, an' I don't have to pay no dollar, neither. Turn out ye'r baar!"

"Hi! Here he comes! Eat 'im up, jack! Why, that ain't no grizzly.
Sufferin' stars, he's only a little scared cinnamon."

"He's goin' after mister-old-donk, though."

"Ye-aw. Lookin' fer protection. Hey, look at the donk landin' kicks
on 'is ribs. Ride 'im baar! Claw 'im up! Give 'im--" but the little
cinnamon bear reached the fence in three jumps, scaled it, and took
to the grease-wood thickets in record time in spite of the yells and
bullets of the disgruntled spectators.

Webfoot had made even better time than the bear, and only the placid
jack remained as a memento of the occasion. He was taken at the head of
a long procession of miners and made the occasion for a call upon the
whole round of fandango houses, and dispensaries of liquid rowdyism in
the camp.

"Partners, aren't you getting somewhat rough with the little fellow?"
asked a young man in unimpeachable black broadcloth.

"Why, it's Anthony Barstow! Look at the purple raiment! Man, you must
have struck pay dirt."

"Yes, thank you, my claim has turned out to be a rich one. What will you
take for the donk?"

"Help yourself. He's a maverick. What's that? Dog fight? Sic 'im,
Rover!" and the fickle and drink-befuddled mob hurried off down the
street to the newest excitement.

Anthony took half an apple from his pocket. "I was saving it for
tomorrow, but do you think you could manage it, Little Pard?" The
long ears lifted at once, and the soft hairy muzzle took the delicacy
daintily out of his fingers. Anthony petted him and sauntered on, into
the best of the gambling halls. He seated himself at a table presided
over by a woman dealer.

"Monsieur, it is not permitted zat ze gamblair shall play," she told him
courteously, with a flash of very beautiful white teeth.

"Ho! Ho! Barstow," roared Copper-down Hicks. "That's one on you! The
madam, here, sees your brand new togs and thinks you tickle the green
cloth for a livin'."

"It is monsieur's toilette zat 'ave cause ze mistake. I have now better
observe he's face. He is welcome."

"Don't think your friend can sit in, though," observed Champer-down,
grinning broadly.

Anthony turned. The donkey had followed him in, and