e handing
the jovial and loquacious driver a five-dollar note.

"Soon it took four stages to satisfy the demand, one going each way night
and morning. It was at this stage of the game that Daddy built the famous
Road House. Here the horses were relayed, and here the passengers stepped
out to stretch their cramped limbs or, perhaps, to drink at Dad's spring.
Sometimes, on stormy nights, both stages, the one going up and the one
coming down, would be tied up for the night at Dad's. Then such times as
there would be in that old log house! Prospectors from every gold camp on
earth, promoters and mining brokers, surveyors and engineers, old-timers
and tenderfeet--all brought together by one single impulse--the craze for
gold.

"Many were the mining claims that passed over the poker table there; many
were the conspiracies that were talked over and determined upon. Many
were the stories of the old Sante Fe trail and of the Pony Express, or
perhaps strange tales of Kit Carson as he roamed the great Westland
from Texas to Wyoming, trapping for fur and killing every treacherous
Indian that crossed his trail. You know Old Ben at Bruin Inn was for many
years a stage driver for Dad on this very road, and he is chuck full of
stories."

"When are you going to tell us the story of the burning of the Road
House?" interrupted Ham.

"Well," replied Mr. Allen, "if I don't succeed in getting Dad to tell it
to you himself, I'll tell it when we stop on top of that hogsback to
rest," pointing to a great, round hill in the canyon.

"Do you think Dad will really tell us any of his stories?" queried
Willis. "My father used to know him, and he has stopped at this very
place. I'm sure he made many trips to Cripple Creek in those old stages."
Turning to Mr. Allen, he continued, "Wouldn't father think it awfully
strange if he knew I was tramping over the very road he used to travel so
often?"

Mr. Allen and Willis dropped to the rear of the line, and Willis went on:

"I've been thinking I'd ask Daddy Wright if he remembered my father, and
he might know where the mine is; and O, I'd so like to see it. I never
want to be a miner, but I'd just like to know all about mines, so I could
understand father better."

"Well, it all depends on how Dad is feeling," returned Mr. Allen. "If he
is well he will be as glad to see us and as loquacious as a happy child;
but if not, he will hardly notice us at all. Leave the talking all to me.
He and I are old