poke in a
whisper which, for the life of him, he could not have raised to full
voice. He was standing next to White, and he took him confidentially
by the shoulder and spoke, leaning over till his lips were on a level
with his ear.

"I allow funerals is joyous things an' nigger lynchin's is real
comic," he declared hoarsely. "But fer real rollickin' merriment I
never see the equal o' this yer gatherin'. I sure don't think it 'ud
damp things any ef I was to give 'em a Doxology."

The miner responded with a pensive smile.

"Mebbe you're right 'bout funerals an' nigger lynchin's," he whispered
back, "but they's jest a matter o' livin' an' dyin'. Y'see, Minky's
gamblin' sixty thousand dollars o' good red gold."

Brand nodded. And somehow he appreciated the point and became easier.

Later on Minky appeared in the store, and almost automatically every
eye was turned expectantly upon him. But he had only come to ascertain
if Wild Bill was about.

No, the gambler had not been seen. Someone jocularly suggested that he
and Zip were out visiting Sandy Joyce upon their claim. None of the
three had been seen that morning. But the levity was allowed to pass
without a smile, and Minky disappeared again into the back regions of
his store.

After that the time passed even more slowly. The store emptied; the
men moved out into the sunlight to await the first sight of the stage.
There was nothing else to do. Such was their saturation of the
previous night that even drink had no attraction at this early hour.
So they sat or lounged about, gazing out at the distant upland across
the river. There lay the vanishing-point of the Spawn City trail, and
beyond that they knew the danger-zone to lie. It was a danger-zone
they all understood, and, hardy as they were, they could not
understand anyone mad enough to risk a fortune of gold within its
radius. Not one of them would have faced it singly with so little as
twenty dollars in his pocket, much less laboring under the burden of
sixty thousand dollars. And yet somebody was going to do so to-day.

A pounding of hoofs and crunching of wheels suddenly swept all apathy
away. Every eye lit; every head turned. And in a moment Suffering
Creek was on its feet, agog with the intensest interest. For one brief
moment the rattle and clatter continued. Then, from round the corner,
with bits champing and satin coats gleaming in the sun, their
silver-mounted harness sparkling, Wild Bill's treasured te