g against the
laden atmosphere.

The work of the camp went on. For hours human nature wrestled with a
growing inertia which robbed effort of all snap. But gradually, as the
day wore on, the morning impetus gave way, and peevish tongues voiced
the general plaint. Men moved about slowly, their tongues actively
cursing. They cursed the heat as they mopped their dripping brows.
They cursed the flies, and hurled mighty blows for their destruction.
They cursed all work, and gold became the last thing in the world they
desired at such a price. They cursed the camp, the country, but more
than all they cursed the black hill from which they drew their living.

Then came acknowledgment of defeat. One by one at first, and finally
in batches, they shouldered their tools and moodily withdrew from the
attack. As they went weary eyes glanced back with hate and disgust at
the frowning buttresses of the hill, with awe at the steaming cloud
hanging above the simmering waters of the suspended lake. The
depressing shadow of Devil's Hill had for the moment become
intolerable.

Beasley hated the heat just as cordially as these toilers, but he
would have hated still more its sudden going, and the consequent
appeasement of unnatural thirsts, which it was his pleasure and profit
to slake. His own feelings were at all times subservient to his
business instincts. This sudden, unaccountable heat meant added profit
to him, therefore his complaint was half-hearted. It was almost as if
he feared to give offense to the gods of his good fortune.

Then, too, Beasley had so many things to occupy his busy brain. His
trade was one that required much scheming, a matter in which he
reveled at all times. Problems of self-interest were his salt of life,
and their accurate solution brought him as near earthly happiness as
well could be.

Curiously enough problems were always coming his way. He chanced upon
one that morning while busy in his storeroom, his attention divided
between pricing and stacking new dry goods and smashing flies on the
back of his superheated neck. And it served him with food for thought
for the rest of the day.

It took him quite unawares, and for that very reason gave him ample
satisfaction. He was bending over a pile of rolls of fabric when a
voice suddenly hailed him from the doorway.

"Are you the proprietor of the livery stables?"

He turned about with a start. Such a question in that camp seemed
superfluous. It was absurd.