time an'
labor an' money for the crowd that made up the rush to stay with it,
'less some one of them hits it at grass roots an' stahts a real boom
atop of the rush. They don't an' Hopeful becomes Hopeless. Me, I got
fo'-five chances to grubstake in that time, but I'm broke. I reckon
Casey's claims, which is now Molly's claims, is the pick of the camp.
Not much doubt, from what I pick up, that he was sure a good miner. One
of the ol' Desert Rats that does the locatin' fo' some one else to git
the money.

"Molly ses her dad never grubstaked. She don't lie an' she was close to
the old man. Mo' like pardners than dad an' daughter. Plimsoll smells
somethin'. Figgers there's somethin' in the rumor an' stahts this talk
of bein' pardners with Casey 'cause there's a strike. Me, I'm goin' to
take a pasear to town soon an' I'll have a li'l' conversation with Jim
the Gambolier."

"Count me in on that," said Sam.

"Me too," said Mormon.

"Can't all three leave the ranch to once," demurred Sandy.

The half-breed came sleepily round the corner of the ranch-house and
struck at the gong for the breakfast call. The vibrations flooded the
air with wave after wave of barbaric sound and Joe pounded, with
awakening delight in the savage noise and rhythm, until Sandy, after
yelling uselessly, threw a rock at him and hit him between the
shoulders, whereupon the light died out of his face and he shuffled
away.

With the boom of the gong, daylight leaped up from the rim of the world.
In the east the mountains seemed artificial, sharply profiled like a
theatrical setting, a slate-purple in color. To the west, the sharp
crests were luminous with a halo that stole down them, staining them
rose. With the jump of the sun everything took on color and lost form,
plain and hills swimming, seeming to be composed of vapor, the shapes of
the mountains shifting every second, tenuous, smoky. The air was crisp,
making the fingers tingle. The riders came from their bunk-houses,
yawning, sloshing a hasty toilet at a trough with good-natured banter,
hurrying on to the shack, where Joe tendered them the prodigious array
of viands provided by Pedro, who waited himself on the three partners
and the girl, at the ranch-house. The smell of bacon and hot coffee
spiced the air. Sam, twisting his mustache, led the way.

"Smells like somethin' in the line of new bread to me," he said. "Bread
or--it ain't _biscuits_, Molly?"

"Sure is." Molly came in with a pla