n runners, or a
Noah's Ark whose bulk had been reduced. Jules explained that the logs,
laid in that manner, kept the shanty warmer and free from damp. In reply
to Hemmingway's suggestion that it was a great waste of material, Jules
simply replied that the logs were the "flotsam and jetsam" of the creek
from the overflowed mills below.

Hemmingway again smiled. It was again the old story of Western waste
and prodigality. Accompanied by Jules, however, he climbed up the huge,
slippery logs which made a platform before the door, and entered.

The single room was unequally divided; the larger part containing three
beds, by day rolled in a single pile in one corner to make room for a
table and chairs. A few dresses hanging from nails on the wall showed
that it was the women's room. The smaller compartment was again
subdivided by a hanging blanket, behind which was a rude bunk or berth
against the wall, a table made of a packing-box, containing a tin basin
and a can of water. This was his apartment.

"The women-folks are down the creek, bakin', to-day," said Jules
explanatorily; "but I reckon that one of 'em will be up here in a jiffy
to make supper, so you just take it easy till they come. I've got to
meander over to the claim afore I turn in, but you just lie by to-night
and take a rest."

He turned away, leaving Hemmingway standing in the doorway still
distraught and hesitating. Nor did the young man recognize the delicacy
of Jules' leave-taking until he had unstrapped his portmanteau and found
himself alone, free to make his toilet, unembarrassed by company. But
even then he would have preferred the rough companionship of the miners
in the common dormitory of the general store to this intrusion upon
the half-civilization of the women, their pitiable little comforts and
secret makeshifts. His disgust of his own indecision which brought him
there naturally recoiled in the direction of his host and hostesses, and
after a hurried ablution, a change of linen, and an attempt to remove
the stains of travel from his clothes, he strode out impatiently into
the open air again.

It was singularly mild even for the season. The southwest trades blew
softly, and whispered to him of San Francisco and the distant Pacific,
with its long, steady swell. He turned again to the overflowed Flat
beneath him, and the sluggish yellow water that scarcely broke a ripple
against the walls of the half-submerged cabins. And this was the water
fo