a
dead friend. He'd got a bottle o' whiskey."

"Ah!" murmured Gay, with an air of relief, returning his note-book to
his pocket. "That clears things. He's speakin' metaphoric. I'll git
goin', kind o' busy. I ain't sent out the day's meat yet, an' I got to
design a grave fixin' fer Restless's last kid. Y'see it's a gratis
job, I guess, Restless bein' my pardner, as you might say. So long."

Jim reached Peter Blunt's hut as the carpenter was leaving it. Peter
was at the door, and smiled a genial welcome. He and Jim were
excellent friends. They were both men who thought. They both possessed
a wide knowledge of things which were beyond the focus of the Barnriff
people, and consequently they interested each other.

"Howdy, Jim," the giant called to him, as he drew up beside the
carpenter.

Jim returned his greeting.

"I'll come along, Peter," he said. "Guess I need a word with Restless
first."

"Right-ho."

Jim turned to the man at his side.

"I won't need those buildings," he said briefly.

"But I ordered----"

Jim cut him short.

"I'll pay you anything I owe you. You can let me know how much."

He passed on to the hut without waiting for a reply. He had no
intention of arguing anything concerning his future plans with Restless.
If the carpenter stood to lose he would see him right--well, there
was nothing more about it that concerned him.

Peter was inside his hut examining a litter of auriferous soil on his
table when Jim entered. This man's home possessed an unique interior.
It was such as one would hardly have expected in a bachelor in
Barnriff. There were none of the usual impedimenta of a prairie man's
abode, there was no untidiness, no dirt, no makeshift. Yet like the
man himself the place was simple and unpretentious.

There were other signs of the man in it, too. There was a large plain
wooden bookcase filled to overflowing with a choice collection of
reading matter. There were rows of classics in several languages,
there was modern fiction of the better kind, there were many volumes
of classical verse. In short it was the collection of a student, and
might well have been a worthy addition to many a more elaborate
library.

There were, besides this, several excellent pictures in water-color on
the walls, and the absence of all tawdry decoration was conspicuous.
Even the bed, the chair, and the table, plain enough, goodness knows,
had an air of belonging to a man of unusual personality.

It w