There was no hostility in this, not an
iota; only now it had evidently become necessary to hold a man off a
little until one knew something about him. People seemed, somehow,
_watchful_, in spite of the surface air of good-nature and of
boisterous spirits. We did not quite understand this at the moment, but
we learned more about it later.

We sauntered along peering into the various buildings. The saloons were
here more elaborate than at Hangman's, the gambling places larger, and
with some slight attempt at San Francisco splendour. That is to say,
there were large gilt-framed mirrors on the walls, nude pictures, and in
some cases a stage for musical performers. One of the three stores was
devoted entirely to clothing and "notions," to us a new departure in
specialization. We were sadly in need of garments, so we entered, and
were at once met by a very oily, suave specimen of the chosen people.
When we had escaped from this robber's den we looked at each other in
humorous dismay.

"Glad Yank don't need clothes, anyway," said Johnny.

We were, it will be remembered, out of provisions, so we entered also
one of the general stores to lay in a small supply. The proprietor
proved to be an old friend, Jones, the storekeeper at Hangman's.

"Which," said Johnny shrewdly, "is a sad commentary on the decline of
the diggings at Hangman's."

Jones was evidently prosperous, and doing business on a much larger
scale than at the old place; for in his commodious building were
quantities of goods displayed and many barrels and boxes still unopened.
He did not recognize us, of course; and we had to await the completion
of a tale he was telling a group perched on the counters and on the
boxes.

"Got a consignment of mixed goods from Mellin," he was saying, "and one
of the barrels wasn't marked with anything I could make out. I knocked
the top in, and chucked her out behind for spoiled beef. Certainly stunk
like it. Well, sir, that barrel lay there for a good ten days; and then
one day up drifted a Dutchman with a brogue on him thick enough to plant
flag-poles in. 'How mooch,' says he 'is dot stoof?' 'What stuff?' says
I. 'Dot stoof oudt behind.' 'I ain't got no stuff out behind! What's
eating you?' says I. Then he points out that spoiled beef. 'Good Lord!'
says I, 'help yourself. I got a lot of nerve, but not enough to charge a
man for anything that stinks like that beef. But you better let it
alone; you'll get sick!' Well, sir, yo