ere gathered in groups under the
bracket-lights reading eagerly. In the midst of the lull of
satisfaction or expectancy someone cried out in disgust, and another
threw down a letter with a shower of objurgation.

"Guess you got the mate to mine, Bonsor," said a bystander with a
laugh, slowly tearing up the communication he had opened with fingers
so eager that they shook.

"You pay a dollar apiece for letters from folks you never heard of,
asking you what you think of the country, and whether you'd advise 'em
to come out."

"Huh! don't I wish they would!"

"It's all right. _They will._"

"And then trust Bonsor to git even."

Salaman, "the luckiest man in camp," who had come in from his valuable
Little Minook property for the night only, had to pay fifteen dollars
for his mail. When he opened it, he found he had one home letter,
written seven months before, eight notes of inquiry, and six
advertisements.

Maudie had put her letters unopened in her pocket, and told the man at
the scales to weigh out two dollars to Windy, and charge to her. Then
she began to talk to the Colonel.

The Boy observed with scant patience that his pardner treated Maudie
with a consideration he could hardly have bettered had she been the
first lady in the land. "Must be because she's little and cute-lookin'.
The Colonel's a sentimental ol' goslin'."

"What makes you so polite to that dance-hall girl?" muttered the Boy
aside. "She's no good."

"Reckon it won't make her any better for me to be impolite to her,"
returned the Colonel calmly.

But finding she could not detach the Kentuckian from his pardner,
Maudie bestowed her attention elsewhere. French Charlie was leaning
back against the wall, his hands jammed in his pockets, and his big
slouch-hat pulled over his brows. Under the shadow of the wide brim
furtively he watched the girl. Another woman came up and asked him to
dance. He shook his head.

"Reckon we'd better go and knock up Blandford Keith and get a bed,"
suggested the Boy regretfully, looking round for the man who had a
cinch up on Glory Hallelujah, and wouldn't tell you how to get there.

"Reckon we'd better," agreed the Colonel.

But they halted near Windy Jim, who was refreshing himself, and at the
same time telling Dawson news, or Dawson lies, as the company evidently
thought. And still the men crowded round, listening greedily, just as
everybody devours certain public prints without ceasing to impeach
their ver