r all was ready to start, and Doctor Dick and Landlord
Larry were given the places of honor at the procession, or rather just
following what was called "the band," and which consisted of a dozen men
who _sang_, the leader alone playing on a cornet.

Following the doctor and Landlord Larry, came the eight men bearing the
body of Dave Dockery on a litter on their shoulders.

The body was encased in a board coffin, and behind followed eight men
carrying the body of Brassy.

Following were the miners, marching eight abreast, and in solid column,
nearly a thousand men being in line, and among them were led the horses
which Dave Dockery was wont to drive, his belt of arms, hat, and whip
being carried on top of his coffin.

Up the canyon to the cemetery beneath the cliffs filed the column at
funeral pace, keeping time to the splendid voices, that changed from air
to air as they marched along, and which echoed and reechoed among the
hills.

The burying-ground was reached, the bodies placed by the side of the
graves dug for them, and Landlord Larry consigned them to their last
resting-place by repeating the words of the burial service over them, no
partiality being shown.

But when the coffin, with the weapons, hat, and whip of Dave Dockery was
lowered into the grave, hundreds of bold, brawny men stepped forward and
threw in upon it benches of wild flowers they had gathered, and when
filled up, the little mound was covered from view by these sweet
offerings of manly regard for the dead driver, while in strange contrast
was the barren grave of Brassy, for his immediate friends had not
thought of gathering flowers, there being no sentiment in his death.

Doctor Dick looked calmly on, and perhaps it was his stern, fearless
mien that stayed the trouble that several of Brassy's pards seemed to
have decided upon there in the sacred resting-place of the dead,
perhaps the belief that they would be quickly sent to join their
comrade, for they created no disturbance, only with a significant glance
at the gold-king gambler turned and walked away with the bearing of men
who would bide their time to avenge.

CHAPTER IX.

THE COURIER.

The man who had volunteered to take the long and dangerous ride to Fort
Faraway, to carry a letter to Buffalo Bill, had ridden along steadily
after leaving Last Chance, until a couple of hours before day. Then he
halted, staked his horse out, and, wrapping himself in his blanket, went
to sl