offer, and on Red George's recommendation
was that evening engaged. His work was not hard now, for till the miners
knocked off there was little doing in the saloon; a few men would come
in for a drink at dinnertime, but it was not until the lamps were lit
that business began in earnest, and then for four or five hours Dick was
busy.

A rougher or healthier lad would not have minded the work, but to Dick
it was torture; every nerve in his body thrilled whenever rough miners
cursed him for not carrying out their orders more quickly, or for
bringing them the wrong liquors, which, as his brain was in a whirl
with the noise, the shouting, and the multiplicity of orders, happened
frequently. He might have fared worse had not Red George always stood
his friend, and Red George was an authority in Pine Tree Gulch--powerful
in frame, reckless in bearing and temper, he had been in a score of
fights and had come off them, if not unscathed, at least victorious. He
was notoriously a lucky digger, but his earnings went as fast as they
were made, and he was always ready to open his belt and give a bountiful
pinch of dust to any mate down on his luck.

One evening Dick was more helpless and confused than usual. The saloon
was full, and he had been shouted at and badgered and cursed until he
scarcely knew what he was doing. High play was going on in the saloon,
and a good many men were clustered round the table, Red George was
having a run of luck, and there was a big pile of gold dust on the table
before him. One of the gamblers who was losing had ordered old rye,
and instead of bringing it to him, Dick brought a tumbler of hot liquor
which someone else had called for. With an oath the man took it up and
threw it in his face.

"You cowardly hound!" Red George exclaimed. "Are you man enough to do
that to a man?"

"You bet," the gambler, who was a new arrival at Pine Tree Gulch,
replied; and picking up an empty glass, he hurled it at Red George. The
bystanders sprang aside, and in a moment the two men were facing
each other with outstretched pistols. The two reports rung out
simultaneously: Red George sat down unconcernedly with a streak of blood
flowing down his face, where the bullet had cut a furrow in his cheek;
the stranger fell back with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

The body was carried outside, and the play continued as if no
interruption had taken place. They were accustomed to such occurrences
in Pine Tree