ybe a Northern
Light or two, and you can bet on there bein' a First Class."

The High Light proved to be the most pretentious resort in Goldpan.
For one thing it had plate-glass windows and a gorgeous sign painted
thereon. Its double doors were wide, and at the front was a bar with a
brass rail that, by its very brightness, told only too plainly that
the evening's trade had not commenced. Two bartenders, one with a huge
crest of hair waved back, and the other with his parted in the middle,
plastered low and curled at the ends, betokened diverse taste in
barbering. A Chinese was giving the last polish to a huge pile of
glasses, thick and heavy.

On the other side of the room, behind a roulette wheel, a man who
looked more like a country parson than a gambler sat reading a thumbed
copy of Taine's "English Literature." Three faro layouts stretched
themselves in line as if watching for newcomers, and in the rear a man
was lighting the coal-oil lamps of the dance hall. It was separated
from the front part of the house by an iron rail, and had boxes
completely around an upper tier and supported by log pillars beneath,
and a tiny stage with a badly worn drop curtain.

"Is the boss here?" Bill asked, pausing in front of the man with a
wave.

"Who do you mean--Lily?" was the familiar reply.

"Yes."

"I think she's over helpin' nurse the Widder Flannery's sick kids this
afternoon. They've got chicken pox. Might go over there and see her if
you're in a rush."

"We didn't say we wanted to borrow money," Bill retorted to the
jocular latter part of the bartender's speech. "What time will she be
here?"

"About ten, I guess," was the more courteous reply.

The partners walked out and past the row of buildings until they came
to a general store, where they occupied themselves in making out an
order for supplies and arranging for their delivery on the following
day. The trader was a loquacious individual with the unmistakable
"Yankee" twang and nasal whine of the man from that important speck of
the United States called New England.

When they again turned into the street, the long twilight had been
replaced by night, and on the tops of the high peaks to the westward
the light of the full moon was beginning to paint the chill white with
a shining glow. The street was filled with men, most of them scorning
the narrow board walks and traversing the roadway. A pandemonium of
sound was robbing the night of peace through music,