whispered conversation, which ended with a rapping at the door and the
appearance of the foreman in the doorway.

"There's a man in the office who wants to see the editor," he said.

"Show him in," replied the editor briefly. He was, however, conscious
that there was a singular significance in his foreman's manner, and an
eager apparition of the other printer over the foreman's shoulder.

"He's carryin' a shot-gun, and is a man twice as big as you be," said
the foreman gravely.

The editor quickly recalled his own brief and as yet blameless record
in the "Clarion." "Perhaps," he said tentatively, with a gentle smile,
"he's looking for Captain Brush" (the absent editor).

"I told him all that," said the foreman grimly, "and he said he wanted
to see the man in charge."

In proportion as the editor's heart sank his outward crest arose. "Show
him in," he said loftily.

"We KIN keep him out," suggested the foreman, lingering a moment; "me
and him," indicating the expectant printer behind him, "is enough for
that."

"Show him up," repeated the editor firmly.

The foreman withdrew; the editor seated himself and again took up
his proof. The doubtful word "ignominious" seemed to stand out of the
paragraph before him; it certainly WAS a strong expression! He was about
to run his pencil through it when he heard the heavy step of his visitor
approaching. A sudden instinct of belligerency took possession of him,
and he wrathfully threw the pencil down.

The burly form of the stranger blocked the doorway. He was dressed like
a miner, but his build and general physiognomy were quite distinct
from the local variety. His upper lip and chin were clean-shaven, still
showing the blue-black roots of the beard which covered the rest of his
face and depended in a thick fleece under his throat. He carried a small
bundle tied up in a silk handkerchief in one hand, and a "shot-gun" in
the other, perilously at half-cock. Entering the sanctum, he put down
his bundle and quietly closed the door behind him. He then drew an empty
chair towards him and dropped heavily into it with his gun on his
knees. The editor's heart dropped almost as heavily, although he quite
composedly held out his hand.

"Shall I relieve you of your gun?"

"Thank ye, lad--noa. It's moor coomfortable wi' me, and it's main
dangersome to handle on the half-cock. That's why I didn't leave 'im on
the horse outside!"

At the sound of his voice and occasional accent a