sir, I'll be dummed. Howdy, young 'uns! Whar d' ye hail frum?
Huntin' bar, er jist a roundin' up a bunch o' jay-birds? Haw, haw, haw!
Yer 'bout the fightin'est bunch o' young dandies I've seen sence the
war."

Daddy Wright stood in the doorway, taking in every detail of the group.
He was a little, shriveled-up man, with small, watery eyes set well back
under shaggy white eyebrows. His head was protected by a very
disreputable and time-worn black hat that looked as if it might have been
in active service for at least a half a century. His clothes were shabby
and dirty, and his feet were bare. It was one of the peculiarities of the
old man that he rarely ever wore shoes, except in the coldest of winter;
then he preferred his old, home-made moccasins. His straggly, gray
whiskers were badly stained with tobacco from his constant companion--an
old, corncob pipe. He was short and stout, and had of late years become
very feeble, being just able to hobble about a little each day with the
aid of a cane.

"Yew fellers with all yer fixin's remind me a heap o' some o' the gangs
o' green city fellers I used to see when I was freightin' on the old
Spanish Trail--all guns an' blankets an' fixin's, but not much real
explorin' blood in ye. Hain't that 'bout so? Say, Hallen, jist explain to
me what yer ca'clatin' to do with these yere young roosters. Explorin',
huh--jist as I thought. Kick me fer a stick o' dynamite if ye hain't the
beatenest bunch o' explorers I've seed in many a moon. Lookin' fer gold
mines? Suthin' bigger, I s'pose? I'd give half my grub stakes if Tad
could see ye. Explorin', eh? Yew remind me o' the time me an' Old Ben
went explorin' on Beaver Creek. We had 'nough truck 'long t' start a gold
camp, an' we walked an' explored an' explored. We must o' walked fer well
nigh onto three weeks, an' all we ever seed in all that time was a
pole-cat--an' we wished we hadn't o' seed him, fer Ben had t' bury every
livin' last stitch o' his duds an' walk home in his bare hide. Haw, haw!
I wisht Tad 'ud come 'long now an' take a squint at yew fellers--he'd
bust a bein' tickled!"

"Dad, how is your good health these days?" inquired Mr. Allen, as he
handed the old man a little package he had taken from his haversack. Dad
took it, smelled it through the paper; then a pleased smile spread over
his face.

"Smells like grains o' gold, Mr. Hallen. Thank ye. As fer me health,
never was no better sence I been here. A man can't git sick