n't Watson!"

And over the way the stage had stopped, and Fanny Borlan had reached Ten
Mile Gulch at last.

III.

A little after sunrise, the next morning, Mr. Tom Ruger might have been
seen leisurely riding along the bridle-path between the mines and the
settlement of Ten Mile Gulch. He was headed toward the village, and was
nine and three-quarter miles nearer to it than the mines. He had found
another good cigar somewhere, and was humming the selfsame tune as on
the previous afternoon; but the riderless horse was not with him.

As Mr. Ruger rode into the only street in the village, his approach was
heralded, and the Ten Milers, who were waiting for Watson's return,
filed out of the Miners' Home, and took stations in the street.

Mr. Ruger took note of this demonstration, and, with a very
business-like air, examined the contents of his holsters. He also
noticed that patched noses and heads, and canes and crutches, were the
predominating features in the group of Ten Milers, with an occasional
closed eye and a bandaged hand to vary the monotony.

Miss Fanny Borlan, from her window at the Ten Mile House, also noticed
the dilapidated looks of the frequenters of the Miners' Home, and
wondered if they kept a hospital there. Then she saw Mr. Ruger, and
bowed and smiled as he drew up at her window.

"So you arrived all safe, Miss Borlan? How do you like the place?"

"Better than the inhabitants," she answered, with a glance over the
way. "Than those, I mean. Is it a hospital?"

"For the present I believe it is."

"And will be for some time to come, if they all stay till they're cured.
But have you seen Jack?"

"Yes--last evening. He was very sorry that he could not wait for you,
but it may be as well, however. He has gone down to San Francisco, and
he will wait for you there. The stage leaves here in about two hours,
and I advise you to take passage in it, if you are not too much
fatigued."

"I'm not tired a bit, Mr. Kuger. I will go back. Thank you for the
trouble you have taken."

"No trouble, Miss Borlan. Give my respects to Jack, and tell him I will
be down in a week or two. Good-morning."

While talking, Mr. Ruger had about evenly divided his glances between
the very beautiful face of Fanny Borlan and the somewhat expressive
countenances of the Ten Milers. Not that he found anything to admire in
their damaged physiognomies, but he never wholly ignored the presence of
any one.

"Good-morning, gentleme