of place on the countenance of a habitually lucky man.

"Things hain't gone right, Tom?" asked Cairo Jake.

"Never went worse," declared Tom, gloomily. "Guess I'll sell out, an'
try my luck somewheres else."

"_Ef_ you'd only come a little sooner!" sighed Jake, "you'd hev hed a
chance that would hev made ev'rything seem to go right till Judgment
Day. I'll show yer."

Jake opened the saloon-door, and there sat Sunrise, as bright, modest,
and pleasant-looking as ever.

With the air of a man who has conferred a great benefit, and is calmly
awaiting his rightful reward, Jake turned to Tom; but his expression
speedily changed to one of hopeless wonder, and then to one of delight,
as Tom Chafflin walked rapidly up to the cashier's desk, pushed the
Dominie one side and the little scales the other, and gave Sunrise
several very hearty kisses, to which the lady didn't make the slightest
objection--in fact, she blushed deeply, and seemed very happy.

"That's what I went to 'Frisco to look for," explained Tom, to the
staring bystander, "but I couldn't find out a word about her."

"Don't wonder yer looked glum, then," said Cairo Jake; "but--but it's
jest your luck!"

"Dominie here was going down to hurry you back," said Sunrise; "but--"

"But we'll give him a different job now, my dear," said Tom, completing
the sentence.

And they did.

OLD TWITCHETT'S TREASURE.

Old Twitchett was in a very bad way. He must have been in a bad way, for
Crockey, the extremely mean storekeeper at Bender, had given up his own
bed to Twitchett, and when Crockey was moved with sympathy for any one,
it was a sure sign that the object of his commiseration was going to
soon stake a perpetual claim in a distant land, whose very streets, we
are told, are of precious metal, and whose walls and gates are of rare
and beautiful stones.

It was Twitchett's own fault, the boys said, with much sorrowful
profanity. When they abandoned Black Peter Gulch to the Chinese, and
located at Bender, Twitchett should have come along with the crowd,
instead of staying there by himself, in such an unsociable way. Perhaps
he preferred the society of rattlesnakes and horned toads to that of
high-toned, civilized beings--there was no accounting for tastes--but
then he should have remembered that all the rattlesnakes in the valley
couldn't have raised a single dose of quinine between them, and that the
most sociable horned toad in the world, and the most ob