to find that he was not the advance-guard of a band of savages,
Ned invited the stranger to approach, and immediately he stepped within
the sacred circle of the camp-fire's light. This unexpected addition to
the party was by no means a pleasant one. His complexion was
exceedingly dark, and he wore a jet-black beard. In manners he was
coarse and repulsive--one of those forbidding men who seem to be born
for the purpose of doing evil, in whatever position of life or part of
the world they happen to be placed. The rude garments of the miner
harmonised with the rugged expression of his bearded and bronzed face,
and the harsh voice in which he addressed the party corresponded
therewith.

"I s'pose ye'll not object to let me rest by yer fire, strangers?" he
said, advancing and seating himself without waiting for a reply.

"You're welcome," answered Ned, curtly, for he neither liked the manners
nor the aspect of the man.

"Ye might ha' wished us the top o' the mornin', I think," suggested
Larry. "Here, try an' soften yer sperrits with a sup," he added,
pushing a pewter plate of soup and a spoon towards him.

The man made no reply, but ate ravenously, as if he had been starving.
When he had finished, he lighted his pipe, and drew his knees up to his
chin as he warmed his hands before the blaze. Little information of any
kind could be drawn out of this taciturn wanderer. To Ned's questions,
he replied that he had been at the diggings on the Yuba River, which he
described as being rich; that he had made enough gold to satisfy all his
wants, and was on his way to San Francisco, where he intended to ship
for England. His name, he said, was Smith.

He carried a short rifle, with a peculiarly large bore, and a heavy
hunting-knife, the point of which was broken off. This last Bill Jones
observed, as the man laid it down, after cutting up some tobacco,
preparatory to refilling his pipe.

"A good knife! How did ye break it?" inquired Bill, taking up the
weapon and examining it.

"Never you mind," answered the man, snatching it rudely from him, and
sheathing it.

At this O'Neil regarded him with an angry expression.

"Faix, av ye wasn't livin', so to spake, in me own house, I'd make ye
change yer tone."

"I don't mean no offence," said Smith, endeavouring to speak a little
less gruffly. "The fact is, gents, I'm out o' sorts, 'cos I lost a
grizzly bar in the hills an hour or two agone. I shot him dead, as I
thoug