him there, that still
held these world-sick, weary workers in their rude cabins on the slopes
around him; and he felt upon his brow that balm that had nightly lulled
him and them to sleep and forgetfulness. He closed the door, turned
away, crept as noiselessly as before into his bunk again, and presently
fell into a profound slumber.

But when Uncle Billy awoke the next morning he saw it was late; for the
sun, piercing the crack of the closed door, was sending a pencil of
light across the cold hearth, like a match to rekindle its dead embers.
His first thought was of his strange luck the night before, and of
disappointment that he had not had the dream of divination that he had
looked for. He sprang to the floor, but as he stood upright his glance
fell on Uncle Jim's bunk. It was empty. Not only that, but his
_blankets_--Uncle Jim's own particular blankets--_were gone_!

A sudden revelation of his partner's manner the night before struck him
now with the cruelty of a blow; a sudden intelligence, perhaps the very
divination he had sought, flashed upon him like lightning! He glanced
wildly around the cabin. The table was drawn out from the wall a
little ostentatiously, as if to catch his eye. On it was lying the
stained chamois-skin purse in which they had kept the few grains of
gold remaining from their last week's "clean up." The grains had been
carefully divided, and half had been taken! But near it lay the little
memorandum-book, open, with the stick of pencil lying across it. A
deep line was drawn across the page on which was recorded their
imaginary extravagant gains and losses, even to the entry of Uncle
Jim's half share of the claim which he had risked and lost! Underneath
were hurriedly scrawled the words:--

"Settled by _your_ luck, last night, old pard.--James Foster."

It was nearly a month before Cedar Camp was convinced that Uncle Billy
and Uncle Jim had dissolved partnership. Pride had prevented Uncle
Billy from revealing his suspicions of the truth, or of relating the
events that preceded Uncle Jim's clandestine flight, and Dick Bullen
had gone to Sacramento by stage-coach the same morning. He briefly
gave out that his partner had been called to San Francisco on important
business of their own, that indeed might necessitate his own removal
there later. In this he was singularly assisted by a letter from the
absent Jim, dated at San Francisco, begging him not to be anxious about
his succ