ase don't----"

"Never mind," returned her husband, slipping the wallet into his pocket,
and she sighed and folded her hands. The hobo was walking fast, coming
back down the hill, and when he saw Hill by the blankets he broke into a
ponderous trot.

"Say," he called, "you didn't see a purse, did ye? I left one under my
blankets."

"A purse!" exclaimed Bunker with exaggerated surprise. "Why I thought
you was broke--what business have _you_ got with a purse?"

"Well, I had a few keep-sakes and----"

"You're a liar!" rapped out Bunker and his sharp lower jaw suddenly
jutted out like a crag. "You're a liar," he repeated, as the hobo let it
pass, "you had eight hundred and twenty-five dollars."

"Well, what's that to you?" retorted the miner defiantly. "It's mine, so
gimme it back!"

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Bunker hauling the purse from his pocket and
looking over the bills, "I don't know whether I will or not. You came in
here last night and told me you were broke, but right here is where I
collect. It'll cost you five dollars for your supper and breakfast and
five dollars more for your bed--that's my regular price to transients."

"No, you don't!" exclaimed the hobo, but as Bunker looked up he drew
back a step and waited.

"That's ten dollars in all," continued Hill, extracting two bills from
the purse, "and next time you bum your breakfast I'd advise you to thank
the cook."

"Hey, you give me that money!" burst out the miner hoarsely, holding out
a threatening hand, and Bunker Hill rose to his full height. He was six
feet two when he stooped.

"W'y, sure," he said handing over the wallet; but as the miner turned to
go Hill jabbed him in the ribs with a pistol. "Just a moment, my
friend," he went on quietly, "I just want to tell you a few things. I've
been feeding men like you for fifteen years, right here in this old
town, and I've never turned one away yet; but you can tell any bo that
you meet on the trail that the road-sign for this burg is changed. I
used to be easy, but so help me Gawd, I'll never feed a hobo again. Here
my wife has been slaving over a red-hot stove cooking grub for you
hoboes for years and the first bum that forgets and leaves his purse has
eight hundred dollars--cash! Now you git, dad-burn ye, before I do the
world a favor and fill you full of lead!" He motioned him away with the
muzzle of his pistol while his wife laid a hand on his arm, and after
one look the hobo turned and lop