t him
loose while we was at work he'd go pourin' Bill Mooney's fork-lightnin'
gin into him till he had his bluchers full o' snakes 'an the whole lead
swarmin' with fantods. So when he starts to work up a jamboree we pull
off his boots an' tuck him in the tub, fastens the head, an' leave him
till he's willin' to think better of it.'

'Well, that's bringing up a father in the way he should go,' laughed Jim.
'I apologize for attempting to break into your inebriates' retreat.'

'Inebriates' retreat!' A wide grin slowly developed on Peetree's gaunt
face. 'That's a first name for it,' he said. 'Hanged if we don't have it
painted up!'

'A sign of some kind is necessary. But isn't the old man likely to
suffocate with that bung in?'

'Not he; there's heaps o' breathin' in the cask. That bung's just to gag
him awhile.'

That evening after tea the two sons, with old Peetree under guard between
them, joined the mates at their fire. Harry, Jim's friend of the
morning's adventure, was about twenty-eight, tall and bony, with the
shoulder stoop of a hard worker. Con and the father had the same general
peculiarities. The three were identical in height and complexion, and in
their mannerism and tricks of speech; but to-night the old man had a
vacant, helpless expression, and seemed for the greater part of the time
unconscious of the company he was in, and looked furtively about him into
the night, muttering strangely to himself, and picking eagerly at his
shirt-sleeves. The sons pressed their father to a sitting position, and
then seated themselves one on each side, mounting guard.

'See, we got him loose again,' said Harry.

'He's milder to-night,' answered Done. 'What's the matter with him?'

'Only a touch o' the jims. He's liable to howl a bit now 'n again, but
don't mind him. He's all right. Ain't you, dad?' He gave the old man's
head an affectionate push.

'Once he takes to smoke he's comin' round,' said Con Peetree, making a
vain attempt to induce the old man to draw at his pipe.

'There ain't a finer ole tough walkin' when he's off the licker,' said
the elder proudly, 'an' not a better miner-ever lived.'

Done watched the group with keen delight. The young men's respect for
their bibulous parent was quite sincere, their care of him was marked
with a rough but unmistakable liking. The conversation turned upon the
characteristics of the lead at Jim Crow, and drifted to the inevitable
subject, the development of the agit