he hill to his dead wife, and Simon and
the child turned and walked hand in hand toward the lean-to. Half way
across the clearing Simon Jr. unabashed by his late ejection, joined the
pair.

"She's our little girl now, Simon," said the professor, gravely.

"Yes," quoth Eliza, with equal gravity.

Upon which Simon Jr. kicked up his heels in the most intelligent manner,
and pranced off in pursuit of the succulent yucca.

VII.

THE BOSS OF THE WHEEL.

When contrasted with the ordinary grog-shop and gambling den of Lame
Gulch, the barroom of the _Mountain Lion_ has an air of comfort and
propriety which is almost a justification of its existence. If men must
drink and gamble,--and no one acquainted with a mining-camp would think
of doubting the necessity,--here, at least, is a place where they may do
so with comparative decency and decorum. The _Mountain Lion_, which is
in every respect a well-conducted hostelry, tolerates no disorderly
persons, and it is therefore the chosen resort, not only of the better
class of transient visitors, but of the resident aristocracy as well. In
the spacious office are gathered together each evening, mining-engineer
and real-estate broker, experts and prospectors from Denver, men from
Springtown in search of business and diversion, to say nothing of
visitors from the eastern and western seaboards; and hither, to the more
secluded and less pretentious barroom, at least, come the better class
of miners, those who have no special taste for bloodshed and other
deviltry, and who occasionally go so far as to leave their firearms at
home. Some slight prejudice, to be sure, was created among the
independent Sons of Toil, when it was found that the _Mountain Lion_ did
not permit its waiters to smoke cigarettes while on duty; but such
cavillers were much soothed upon learning that a "bust dude" had been
quite as summarily dealt with when he broke forth into song at the
dinner-table. This latter victim of severity and repression was a
certain Mr. Newcastle, a "gent gone to seed" as he was subsequently
described, and he had protested against unkind restrictions by declaring
that such exhibitions of talent were _typ_-sical of a mining-camp. He
pronounced _typ_-sical with an almost audible hyphen, as if his voice
had stubbed its toe. But Mr. Newcastle's involuntary wit was of no
avail, and he was forced to curb his songful spirit until a more fitting
season.

So it came about that the _Moun