e nigger when he's made a little
strike, or that straying lamb of Van Loo's when he's puppy drunk. But
you're wrong about me, boys. You can't draw me in any game to-night.
This is one of my nights off, which I devote exclusively to
contemplation and song. But," he added, suddenly turning to his three
hosts with a bewildering and fascinating change of expression, "I
couldn't resist coming up here to see you and your pile, even if I never
saw the one or the other before, and am not likely to see either again.
I believe in luck! And it comes a mighty sight oftener than a fellow
thinks it does. But it doesn't come to stay. So I'd advise you to keep
your eyes skinned, and hang on to it while it's with you, like grim
death. So long!"

Resisting all attempts of his hosts--who had apparently fallen as
suddenly and unaccountably under the magic of his manner--to detain him
longer, he stepped lightly away, his voice presently rising again in
melody as he descended the hill. Nor was it at all remarkable that the
others, apparently drawn by the same inevitable magnetism, were impelled
to follow him, naturally joining their voices with his, leaving Steptoe
and Van Loo so markedly behind them alone that they were compelled at
last in sheer embarrassment to close up the rear of the procession. In
another moment the cabin and the three partners again relapsed into the
peace and quiet of the night. With the dying away of the last voices on
the hillside the old solitude reasserted itself.

But since the irruption of the strangers they had lost their former
sluggish contemplation, and now busied themselves in preparation for
their early departure from the cabin the next morning. They had arranged
to spend the following day and night at Boomville and Carter's Hotel,
where they were to give their farewell dinner to Heavy Tree Hill.
They talked but little together: since the rebuff his enthusiastic
confidences had received from Van Loo, Barker had been grave and
thoughtful, and Stacy, with the irritating recollection of Van Loo's
criticisms in his mind, had refrained from his usual rallying of Barker.
Oddly enough, they spoke chiefly of Jack Hamlin,--till then personally
a stranger to them, on account of his infelix reputation,--and even the
critical Demorest expressed a wish they had known him before. "But you
never know the real value of anything until you're quitting it or it's
quitting you," he added sententiously.

Barker and Stacy b