friends, and I always have some little treat in my
pocket for him. He will be looking for it if he is home, but sometimes he
is up at the mine."

"O, he doesn't work a mine now, does he?" exclaimed Willis.

"No, he doesn't exactly work it, but he owns one up in the gulch here
behind his cabin, and sometimes there is a man up there at work. I don't
know who he is."

As they rounded a great boulder that jutted out into the road, the little
cabin of Daddy Wright came into view. A dog began to bark loudly, and
somewhere up in the canyon that runs at right angles to the road there
came the deep, muffled boom of a mine blast.

"Guess they must be working the mine, after all; still, it might be one
of the others. There are half a dozen in this canyon, all of which have
been worked more or less. The owners work in the city until they can get
enough money to buy powder and grub stakes, then they work the mine for a
season on their earnings," remarked Mr. Allen. He was carefully surveying
the cabin and hill behind it. The dog had now come out from its shelter
and stood in the middle of the road, doing his utmost to wake the dead.
He evidently disliked visitors.

"Dad can't be very far away, for Knepp is always at his heels. He is
nearly as old a timer as Dad himself, and as harmless. Hold on there, you
fellows up ahead," called Mr. Allen. "Let me do the introducing of this
party."

The cabin was a little log affair, well-banked around the base with dirt
and moss to keep out the cold. To all appearances the only two openings
in it were the front door and a double window. One of the window panes
was covered over with the end of an old egg crate, and another, which was
not so badly shattered, was repaired by a burlap sack, wadded into
the opening. A big pine stood just outside the door and cast its shade
over the roofless veranda. At one side of the house stood an ancient,
moss-covered, hollow pine log, into which a pipe ran from the spring, a
few paces back in the gulch. This was the old stage watering-trough,
made by Dad himself when the big cabin was built. Directly up the road a
hundred paces stood the old stone chimney, a famous landmark of the
region.

Mr. Allen went to the watering-trough and, filling his cup, called out:

"Here, you fellows, do you want a drink of the greatest ale in the world?
It's the purest of Mother Nature's brews."

The old pine door squeaked on its rusty hinges as it slowly opened.

"Well,