prospectin' pans by the band. Then, at the finish, Jake
Cooledge is goin' to give one of his surkastic speeches,--kinder
welcomin' Spindler's family to the Free Openin' o' Spindler's Almshouse
and Reformatory." He paused, possibly for that approbation which,
however, did not seem to come spontaneously. "It ain't much," he added
apologetically, "for we're hampered by women; but we'll add to the
programme ez we see how things pan out. Ye see, from what we can hear,
all of Spindler's relations ain't on hand yet! We've got to wait, like
in elckshun times, for 'returns from the back counties.' Hello! What's
that?"

It was the swish and splutter of hoofs on the road before the door. The
Sacramento coach! In an instant every man was expectant, and Starbuck
darted outside on the platform. Then there was the usual greeting and
bustle, the hurried ingress of thirsty passengers into the saloon, and a
pause. Uncle Jim returned, excitedly and pantingly. "Look yer, boys! Ef
this ain't the richest thing out! They say there's two more relations o'
Spindler's on the coach, come down as express freight, consigned,--d'ye
hear?--consigned to Spindler!"

"Stiffs, in coffins?" suggested an eager voice.

"I didn't get to hear more. But here they are."

There was the sudden irruption of a laughing, curious crowd into the
bar-room, led by Yuba Bill, the driver. Then the crowd parted, and
out of their midst stepped two children, a boy and a girl, the oldest
apparently of not more than six years, holding each other's hands. They
were coarsely yet cleanly dressed, and with a certain uniform precision
that suggested formal charity. But more remarkable than all, around the
neck of each was a little steel chain, from which depended the regular
check and label of the powerful Express Company, Wells; Fargo & Co., and
the words: "To Richard Spindler." "Fragile." "With great care." "Collect
on delivery." Occasionally their little hands went up automatically and
touched their labels, as if to show them. They surveyed the crowd, the
floor, the gilded bar, and Yuba Bill without fear and without wonder.
There was a pathetic suggestion that they were accustomed to this
observation.

"Now, Bobby," said Yuba Bill, leaning back against the bar, with an air
half-paternal, half-managerial, "tell these gents how you came here."

"By Wellth, Fargoth Expreth," lisped Bobby.

"Whar from?"

"Wed Hill, Owegon."

"Red Hill, Oregon? Why, it's a thousand miles