The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 12, 1897, Page 29

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, 18917. SUNDAY, DECEMBER 12, PART IIL It was nearly a month before Cedar Camp was convinced that Uncle Biliy and Uncle Jim had Cissolvel partnership. Pride had prevented Uncle Billy from revealing his suspicions of the truth or of relating the events that preceded Uncle Jim's clandestine flighi, and Dick Bulien had gone to Sacramento by stagecoach the same morning. He briefly gave out that i 1s partner had been calied to San Francisco on imporiant busi ness of their own, that indeed might necessitate his own removal there later. In this he w culariy assisted by a letter from the absent Jim, dated at San Francisco, begging him not 10 be anxious about his succass as he had hoy esently entering into a profitable business, but with no further aliusions to his precipiiate departure, nor any suggestion of a reason for it. For two or three days Uncle Billy was siaggere! and be- wildered. In bis profound simplicity he wondered if his extraordinary rood fortun 1at nizht had made him deaf to some ex:lanation of his partner’s, or terrible, if he had shown some “Jlow'’ and incred:ble intimation « In tnis dis letter, a z bis partner's extravagant bst as ‘eal and binding. ss he wrots to Uncle Jim an appealing and apologetic somewhat incoberent and inaccurate and bristling with mis- slang and oid parinership jites. But to thiselaborate ’s repeated assurances of bis own bright camp e te received only Uncle Ji nd his hopes that his o!d partner would be more fortunate uzbit oniy of his oid partner’s gocd fortune, He wrote him regu- , but always 10 one address—a box at the San Francisco Postoflice, h 10 the simple-minde: Uncle Billy suggested a certain official im- To these letters Uncie Jim respinded regzularly, but briefly. om a certain intuitive pride in his partner and his affection Uncle Billv did not show these letters openly to the camp, although he spoke ireely of his former partner's promisinz future, and cven rexd them short extracts. Itis neediess to say that the camp did not accept Uficle B liy's ry with unsuspecting confidence. On the contrary, a hundred sur- humorous or serious, but aiways exiravagant, were afloat in Cedar The partners had quarreled over their clothes—Uncle Jim, who was taller Jncle Billy, had refused to wesr his partner’s trousers. They had quarreled over cards—Uncle Jim had discovered that Uncle Billy was in possession of a *‘coid deck,” or marked pack. They had quar- reled over Uncle Billy’s carelessness in grinding up a balf box of “bil- 10us pills’’ in the morning’s coffee. A gloomily imaginative mule-driver had dar suggested that, as no one had really seen Uncle Jim leave the cimp he was still tuere, and his bones would vet be found in one of the while a still more credulous miner averred that what he had was the cry of a screech owl the night vrevious to Uncle Jim's disappearance might have been the agonized utterance of that murdered man. It was highly characienstic of that camp—and, indeed, of others in California—that nobody, not even the ingenious theorists themseives, believed their story, and thut no one took the slightest pains to verify or disprove it. Happily, Uncle Biily never knew it, and moved all uncon- sciously in this atmosphere of buriesque suspicion. And then asingnlar change took place in the attitude of the camp toward him and the disrup:ed partnership. Hitherto, for no reison what- ever, all had agreed to pat the blame upon Billy—possibly because he was present to receive it. As days passed that slight reticence and dejection in bis manner, which they had at first attributed to remorse and a guiity consci . Now bezan to teli as absurdly in his favor. Here was poor Uscle Buly toiling in the ditches, while his seifish partner was lolling in the lap of ry in San Francisco. Uncle Billy’s glowing accounts of Tncle Jim's success only contributed to the sympathy now fully given in bis benalf, and their execration of the abscondinz partner. It was pro- posed at Biggs’ store that a letter expressing th» indignation of the camp over Lis heartless conduct to his late partner, Wiiliam Fall, should be forwarded to nim. Condolences were offered to ncle Billy, and uncouth attempts we:e made to cheer Lis loneliness. A procession of half a dozen men twice a week to his cabin, carrying their own whisky and winding up with a ‘“stag dance' befors the premises, was sufficient to lighten his eclipsel gayety and remind tim of a happier past. Surprise”’ working parties visited his claim with spasmodic essays ward belping h m, and great good humor and hilariry prevailed. It as not an usual t g for an honest miner to arise from an idle gath- n some cabin and excuse himself With the remark that he’d *‘reckon utin an'Tiour’s work in Uncle Billy’s tailings!” Aund yet, as before, y imprcbable if any of these reckless benefactors really believea own earnestness or in the gravity of the sitnation. Indeed,a d of hopeful cynicism ran through their performances. *‘Like as not, e Billy is in ‘cahoots’ (i e., sheres) with his old pard, and is just ghing at us as he's sendin’ him accounts of our tomfoolin”.” And so the winter passed, and the rains, and the days of cloudless ) skies and chill starlight nights began. There were still Ireshets fiom the snow reservoirs piled high in the Sierran passes, and the ‘“‘bar” was tiooded, but that passed too, and only the sunshine remained. Monoton- ous as the seasons were, there wss a faint stirring in the camp with the stirring of the sap in the pines and cedars. And then one day there was a strange excitement on the bar, Men were seen running hither and thither, bat mainly gathering ina crowd on Uncle Billy’s ciaim, that still retained the old partners’ names in “The Ialli and Foster.”” To add to the excitement, there was the quickly repeated report ofa revolver, to all appearanc-s aimlessly exploded in the air by some one on the outskirts of the asse mblags. As the crowd opened Uncle Billv appeared, pale, bysterical, breathless and staggering a little under the back-slapping and hand-shaking of the whole camp. it was in the ki au; Fer Uncle Billy had *“'struck it rch”—had just discovered a *“‘pocket,” roughly estimated to b2 worth §15,000! Although in that supreme moment he missed the fsece of his old partner, he could not heip seeing the upaffected delight and happiness shining in the eyes of all who surrounded him. It was characteristic of that singuine but uncertain life that success and good fortune brought 5o jealousy nor e¢nvy to the unforiunate, but was rather a promi-e and prophecy of the ju fillment of their own hopes. The goll was there— nature but yielded up her secret. There was no prescrib=d limit 1o her bounty. Bo strong was thisx conviction that a long-saffering but stili hopeful miner, in the entbu-issm of the moment, stooped down ana vatted a large boulder with the apostrophic, “‘Good old gal!” Then foliowed a night of jubilee, a next morning of nurried consnl- tation with a mining expert and speculator lured to the camp by the good tidings and then the very next night—to the utter astonishment of Cedar Camyp—Uncle Billy, with a draft of $20,000 in bis pocket, started for San Francicco and took leave of his claim ant the camp forever! e R O A e When Uncle Billy landed at the wharves of San Franci-co he was a little tewildered. The Golden Gate beyond was obliterated by tne in- coming sea fog, which had al-o 100fed in the whole city, and lights al- ready giitiered along the gay streets that climbed the gayer sandhills. As a Western man, brought acd thrilled up by inland rivers, he was fas- cinaled by the tail-masted sea-going ships anda he felt a strange sen-e of 1he remoter mysterious ocean—which he had never scen. But he was impressed and startled by smartly dressed men and women, the passing of carriages an‘l a sudden conviction that he was strange and foreign to what he saw. It had been hischerished intention to call upon his old partaer in his working cothes and then clap down on the table before Lim a dreft for $10,000 as his <have of their old clvim. But in the face of these brilliant strangers a sudden and unexpected timidity came upon him. He nhad heard of a cheap popular hotel, by the returning gold miner, who entered bis hospitable doors, that Lad an easy access to skops, and emerged 10 a few Lours a gorgeous butterfly of fashion, leaving his old chrysalis bebind him. Then iquired his way, hence he afterward issued in garments glaringly new and ill-fiting. But he had not sacri- ficed his reard, and there was still somecing fine a1 d original in his handsome, v.eak face that ove came the cleap conventin o! his cloth s. Mauking his way to the postcffice he was again discomfited by the great size of the bnilding, and bewi.dered by the array of little square letter boxes behind g'ass which occupied one wtole wall, and an equal number of upaque and locked wooden ones, legibly numbered. His heart leaped ; he remembered the number, and be‘ore him was a window with a clerk pehind 1t. Uncle Billy leaned forward. +Kin you tell me if the man that b>x 690 b’longs t2isin?” The cierk stared, made him repeat tie guestion, and then turned away. Bat ue returned ealmost insantly witn two or three grinning heads besides his own, apparently set bebind his shoulders. Uncle Billy was acain asked 1o repeat his question. He did sc. ““Why don’i you go and see if 630 15 in his box?”’ said the first clerk turning wita affected asperiiy to one of the others. The clerk went away, retarned, und said with singular gravity: “He was there a moment ago, but he’s gone out to streich his legs. It's rather crampin’ at firs:; and he can’t stand 1t more than ten Lours at a time, ou know.” s But simplicity has its limits, Uncle Billy bad already guessed his al error in belisving his partner was otlicially connected with tae bui d- it ; his cheek bad flushed ana then paled a ain. The pupils of his blue eyes bad contrac ed into suggestive black points. “Ef you'il It me inat that winder, voung fellers,”” he sald with equal gravity, “I'/l show yer how I kin make yer small enough to go in a box without crampin’! But 1only wen'ed 1o know where Jim Foster lived.' At which tne first clerk became perfunctory again, butecivil, “A letter left in bis box woult get vou that information,” he said, *and Lere’s paner and pencil to write it now.”’ Unele Billy took the paper and beggn to write: “Just got | ere. Come and see me at—" He pau-ed. A brilhant idea had struck him; he could impress both his oli purtner and the upstarts at the window; he would put in tbe name of the latest “‘sweil” Lo.el of San Francisco—ssid 2PY BRET MARTE. to be a fairy dream of opulence, He added “‘The Oriental,”” and without folding the paper shoved it in the window. *Don’t you want an en- velope?”’ asked the clerk. *‘Put astamp on the corner of it,’”’ responded Uncle Billy, laying down a coin, “and she’ll go through.” The clerk smiled, but afiixed the stamp, and Uncle Billy turned away. But it was a short-lived triumph. The disappointment at finding Uncle Jim’s address conveyed no idea of his habitation seemed to remove him farther away and lo e his identity in the great city. Besides, he must now make good his own address and seek rooms at the Oriental. He went tiitber. The furniture and decorations—cven in these early days of bote-building in San Francisco—were extravagant and over- strained, and Uncie Billy felt lost and lonely in his strange surroundings. But he took a handsome suite of rooms, paid for them in advance on the spot, and then, half frightened, walked out of them to ramble vaguely through the city in the feverish hope of meetipg his old partner. At night his inquietude increased. He could not face the long row of tables in the pillared dining-room, filled with smartly dressed men and women. He evaded his bedroom, with its brocaded satin chairs and its gilt bed- stead, and fled 1o his modest lodgings at the Good Cheer House 2nd ap- peased his hunger at its cheap resiaurant, in the company of retired miners and freshly arrived Eastern emigrants. Two or three days passed thus in this quaint deuble exisfence. Threeor four times a day he wotld enter the gorgeous Oriental with affected ease and carelessness, demand his ki from the h«tel clerk, ask for the letter that did not come, go to bis room, gaze vagnelv from his window on the passing crowd below for the partner he could not find and then return to the Good C.eer House for rest and sustenance. Oa the fourth day he receive | a short note from Uncle Jim. It was couched in his usual sanguine but brief and business- like style. He was very sorry, but important and profitable business took him out of town; but he trusted to return soon and welcome his old partner. He was a'so, for the first time, jocoss, and hoped that Uncle Billy would not *‘see all the sights” before he (Uncle Jim) returnei. Disap- pointing as this procrastination was to Uncle Billy, a gleam of hope irra- bis cld partner, Jim Foster, and reticent of his own good fortune, spoke glowingly of his pariner’s brilliant expectations, but deplored his in- abiity to find him. And just now he was away on important business: “I reckon he's got back,” said the man, dryly. “Ididn’t know he had a 1ockbox at the postoftice, but I can give you his other address, He lives at the Piesidio, at Washerwoman’s Bay."” He stopped and looked with a gat rical smile at Unc e Billy. But the latter, familiar with California mining camp nomerclatire, saw nothing strange in it, and merely re- p:ated his companion’s words. “You'll fina him there! Goed-by! said the ex-miner, and burried awa Uncle B lly was too delighted with the prospect of a speedy meeting with Uncle Jim to resent his former associate’s supercilious haste, or even to wonder why Uncie Jim had not informed him that he haa returned. It was not the firs: time that he had felt how wide was the gulf between himsalf and these ctiers, and the thought not only drew him closer to his old partner, as well as his o!d idea—1s it was now possible to surprise Lim with the drait. But as he was now going 1o surprise him in his own Loarding-house—probably a bandsome one—Uncle Billy reflected tnat he would do so in a certain style. He accordingly went tc a livery-stable and ordered a landau and pair, with a negro coachman. Seatedl in it, in his best and most ill-fitting clothes, he asked the coachman to take him to the Presidio, and leaned back in the cushions as they drove through the streets, with sach an expression of beaming gratification on his gcod-humored face that the passer-by smiled at the equipage and its extravagant occupanr. To them it seeemed the not unusual sight of the successful miner ‘‘on a spree.” To the unsophisticated Uncle Billy their smiling seemed only a natural ana kindly recognitisn of his happiness, and he nodded and smiled back to them with nnsuspacting candor and nocent playfuiness. “These yer Fri-co fellers ain't all slouche, you b>t,’”’ he added to himself, half aload, at the back of the crinning ¢ achman. Their way led throuzh well-biilt streets to the outskirts, or rather to that portion of the city which seemed to Lave been overwhelmed by So long! Sorry I'm ina hurry,” ““Uncle Billy’’ appeared, pale, sterical, breathless, and staggering a little under the back-slapping and hand-shaking of the whole camp. dia‘ed it. The lotter had bridged over that gulf which seemed to yawn between them at the postotice. His old pariner had accepted his vi it to San Franci:co without question, and had alluded to u renewal of ti ir old intimacy. For Uncle Bill th all bis ira-tful simplici y, bad been tortured by two barrowing doubts—one whether Uncle Jim in his new- fledged smartness as a “'city” man, such as he saw in the streets, would care for his rouzch companionship; the other, whether he, Uncle Biily, ourht not to tell him at once of his changed fortune. Bu, like zll weak, unressoning men, be clung desperateiy to u detail—he could not forego his o'd idea of astounding Uncle Jim by giving him his share of the “*strike’’ as his first intimation of it, and he doubted, with more rea<on, parhaps, if Jim would see him after he heard of his good fortune. For Uncle Billy had still a frighteped recoliection of Uncle Jim’s sudaen stroke for independence, and that rigid punctiliousness which made him doeredly accept the jesponsibility of his ex'rav: gant stake at eucnre. With a v ewof educating himself tor Uacle Jim's company he “‘saw the sizhts” of San Francisco—as an cvergrown and somswhat stupid child might hive ecen them—with great curiosity, but little contamination or corraption, I fear he could nardly b: ciiled a pure man, for he s)me- titaes rewarded vice as better people never rewarded virtue, and there are jegends still exiantin San Krancitco of bis larzess to certsin women, who need not e otherwise mentioned, which stariled them into a sentimental vet grateful confusion. But T think he was chiefly pleased with watching the arrival of the Sacramento and Stockton stezm:rs at the wharves, in the hope of discovering his old partner among the passen ers on the gangplank. Hers, wi h his old superstitious tendency and gambler's instinct, be would augur with great success in his search that day it any one of the passencers hore the least resemblance to Uncle Jim, if a man or woman <tepped off first, or if he had met a sin le person's questioning eye. Indeed, ihis gct to be the real cecujation of the day, which he would on no account Lave omitted, and to a certain extent revived each day in his mind the morning’s work of their olc partnership. He would say to himself, “It's time to go an1 go look up J m’’—and put off whet he was vleased to think were his pleasures until the act of duty was accomplished. In this singlen®-s of purpose he made very few anl no entangling ac- quaintances, nor did he impart to any one the secretof hls fortune, ioy- ally reerving it for his partuer’s fir:t knowled re. To a man of his natural frankness and :implicity this was< & great trial, and perhaps a crucial test of bis devo ion. When ha gaveup his rooms at the Oriental—as not necessary ofter his pariner's absence—he sent a letter, with his humbler address, to the mysierious Jockbox of his partner witbout fear or false shame. He would ex;laln it all when they met. tut hescmetimes treated unlucky and returning miners to a dinner and a visit to the gale lery of some theater. Yet while he had an acuve sympathy with and un- derstanding of the humb.est, Uncle Bi'ly, who ior many years had done his own and his partner's washing, scrubbing, mending and cooking, and saw no degradation in it, was somewhat inconsistentlv irritated by menial funtions in men, and aithough he gave extravacantly to waiters, and threw a dollar 1o the crossing sweeper, there was nlways a certain shy avoidance of tuem in Lis manner. Coming from the theater one nizht Uncle Billy was, however, seriously concerned by one of these crossing sweepers turning hastily before nim and being knocked down Ly a piss- ing carriage. The man rose and limped hurriedly away, but Uncle Billy was amized and stili more irritated to hear from his companion that this kind of mental occupation was often profitable, and that at some of the principal crossings the sweepers were already rich men, But a few days later brouzht a more notable event to Uacle Bi.ly. O 1e afternoon on Montgomery street he recogn z:d in one of its smarily dressed frequenters & man who had a ew vears before been a member of Cedar Camp. Uncle Billy’s chiluish delight at tuis meeting, which seemed to bridge over his old partner’s absence, was, however, ouly haf responded to by the ex-miner, and then somewhat satirically. In the fullness of his emotion, Uncle Billy contided (0 him that he was secking shifting sanddunes, from which half-submerged fences and even low houses barely marked the line of highway. The resistless trade winds which marked this chonge blew keeniy in Lis face and sli hily chilled Lisardor. Ataturn in the road the sea came in sizht, and sloping toward it the great cemetery of Lone Mountain, with white shafts and marbles that giittered in tha sunligit like the s:i's of ships waiting to be launched down that siope into the eternal ocean. Uncle Billy shud- dered. Whaut if it has been his fate to seek Uncle Jim there ! “Dar’s yar Presidi said the negro coachman a few moments later, pointing wi h his whip, “‘and dar’s yar Washerwoman’s Bay !" Uncle Bitly stared. A huge quadrangular fort of stone, with a flag flring above its battlements, stood at a little distance, pressed arcainst the rocks, asif beating back the encroaching surges; between him and the fort, but further inland, was a tagoon with a number of dilapidated, rudely patched cabins or cottazes, like stranded driftwood around its suore. Butthere was no mansion, no b'ock of houses, no street, not another habitation or dwelling to be seen. Unc'e Billy’s first shock of astonishment was succseded by a feeling of relief. He had =ecr«tly dreaded a meeting with his old partner in the “baunts of fashion'; whatever was the cause that made Uncle Jim seak this obscure retirement affected him but slichtly; be even was thrillel with a vague memory of tne old shiftless camp they had both abandone.. A certain instinct—he knew not why, or less still it might be one of cacy—made him alight before they reached the first house. Bidding the carringe t Uncle Biliy entered, and was infcrmed by a blousy Irish laundress at a tub thai Jim Foster, or “ArkansasJim,” lived at the folurth shanty “boyant.”” He was at home, for he's “shprained his fut.”” Uncle Buily hurried on, stopped before the door of a shanty scarcely less ruae than their old cabin, #na half timidly pushed it open. A growling voice from within, a fizure that rose hurriadly, leaning on a stick, with an at- tempt to fly, but at the same moment sank back in achair with a hys- terical laugh—and Unacle Billy stood in the rresence of his old partner! But as Uncle Biliy darted forward Unc'e Jim ross again, this time with outstretched hands. Uncle Billy ciught them, aud in one supreme Pressure seemed 1o pour out ana transfuse his whole simple soul into his partner's. There they swayed esc: other backward an: forward and sileways by their stiil clasped hands until Unc'e Billy, with a glance at Uncle Jim's bandagea ankle, shoved him by sheer force down into his chair. Uncle Jim was first to speak. ‘‘Caught, b'posh! 1 mighter known you'd be as big a fool rs me! Look you, Billy Fall, do you know what you've done? You've druv me outer the streets whar I was makin’ an honest livin’ by day on three crossin’s! Yes,' he laughed, forgivingly, “‘vou druv me outer it by day jest because I reckoned that sometimes I might run outo your darned fool face”—another laugh end a grasp of the bLand—“and then, b’gosh ! not content Wwith ruinin’ my business by day, when I tock to it at night, you took to goin’ out at nights, 100, ard so put a stopper on me there! Shall {tell you what el e you did? Well, by the holy—! I owe this sprainel foot to your darned foolishness and my own, for it was gettin’ away from you one night after the theater that I got run into and run over. “Ye see,” he went on, unconscious of Uncle Billy's paling face, and with a naivere, though perhaps not a delicacy, equal to Uncle Billy’s own, *'I had to plav roots on you with that lockbox business and these letters, because I did not want you to know what I was up to, for youn mightn't 1 ke it, and might think it was lowerin’ to tie old firm, don’t yersee? I wouldn’t hove gene intoit, but I was yliyed out, and Idon't mina rellin’ vou now, «11 man, that when I wrote you that first chipper letter from the lockbox I hedn’t eat anythin’ for two deys. But it's all right now,”” wi h a laugh. *“Then I got into tnis busines:—thinkin’ it nuthin’—jest the very last thing—and do you know. olt pard, I coulan’t tell anybody but you—and, in fact, I kepntit just to tell you—I've made Yes, sir; $956! solid monev, in Adams & Co.’s bsuk, jist outer my trage.” *Wot trade?’ asked Uncle Billy. Uncle Jim pointed to the corner, where stood a large, lizavy crossing® sweeper’s broom. “That trede.” “‘Certingly,” sa1d Uncle Billy, with a laugh. “I’s an outdoor trade,” said Uncle Jim, gravely, but with no sug- gestion of awkwardness or apology in his manner, “‘and thar ain’t much difference between sweenin' a crossin’ with a broom and raking over tailings with a rake, on wot ye get with a broom you have handed to ye, and yve don’t have to pick it up and fish it outer the wet rocks and sluice gushin’, and it’s & heap less tirin’ to the back.” “Cerungiy, you bet!”’ said Uncle Billy, enthusiastically, yot witha certain nervous abstraction, “I'm glad ye say to—for yer see Ididn’t know at first how you'd tumble to my doing it—until I'd made my pile. And if I hadn’t made it I wouldn’t hev set eyes on ye again, old pard—never!'* “Do you mind my runnin’ out a minit?” said Uncle Billy, rising. “You see, I've got a frend waiiin’ for me outside—and I reckon’’—he stammered—"I'll jist run out and send him off, so I kin talk com!’ble to ye.” “Ye ain’t got anybouy you're owin’ money to,” raid Uncle Jim, earnestly; “anybody follerin’ you to get paid, eh? For I kin jest set down right here and write ye off a check on the bank!"” 1No,” said Uncle Billy. He slipped outf the door and ran like a deer to the waiting carriage. Thrustiug a $20 gold piece into tha coach- man’s hand he said, hoarsely: “I ain't wantin' that kerridge just now; ¥e kin drive around and hev a private jimboos> all by yourself the rest of the afternoon and then come and wait for me at the top o’ the hill yonder.”” Thus quit of his gorgeous equipage he hurried back to Uncle Jim, grasping his $10,000 draft in his pocket. He was nervous, he was fright- ened, but he must get rid of the draft and his story and have it over, Burt beiore he coull speak out he was unexpectedly stopped by Uncle Jim. “Now, look you, Billy boy !' said Uncle Jim; “I got suthin’ to say to ye—and I might as well clear it off my mind at once, and then we can start fair agin. Now,” he went on with a half laugh, “‘wasn’t it enough for me togo on pretendin’ I was rich and doing a big business and gettin® up that lockbox dodge so as ve couldn’t find out whar I hung out and what I was doin’—wasn’t it enough for me 'o go on with all this play- actin’, but you, you long-legzed orang cuss! must get up and go to lyin’ and play-actin’, too ! ‘‘Me play-2ctin’? Me lyin’?” casped Uncle Billy. Uncle Jim leaned back in his chair and laugned. “Do you think you cculd fool me? Do you think I didn’t see through your little game o’ going 10 that swell Oriental, jest a if we'd made a big strike—and all the while we wasn’t sieepin’ or eatin’ there, but jest wrastlin’ yer hash and having a roll down at the Good Cheer! Do you think 1 didn’t spy on ye and find that out? Ob, you long-eared jackass rabbit!” He lauched until the tears cams into his eves, and Uncle Billy laughed, oo, albeit until the laugh on his face became quite fixed, and be was fain to bury nis head on the table. “And yet,”’ said Uncle Jim with a Jdeep breath. "“Gosh! I was frighted—jest for a minnit! I thought mebbe you had made a biz sirike —when I got your first letiter—and [ made up my mind whut I'd do! And then I remembered you was jest that k nd of an open sluice that couldn’t keep anythin’ to yourse!f, and you’id have been sure 10 have yeiled it out to me the first thing. 8o | waited. And Ifound you out, you old sinner!’’ He reached forward and dug Uncle Billy in the ribs. “Whnat would you hevdone?”’ sei1 Uncle Billy, after an hysterical colinpse. Uncle Jim’s face grew grave again. *“I'd hev—1'd hev cl’ared out! Out er 'Frizco! out er Californy! out er Amurkv! I couldn’t have stud it! Don’t think I would hev begrudeged ve yerluck! No man would have been gladder than me.” He leaned forward again, and laid his hand caressingly upon bis pariner’s arm—"“Don’t think I'd wantea to take a venny of it—but I—ther! I couldn’t hey stood up under it! To hev had you, vou that I left belind, comin’ down here roilin’ in wealth and new partners and frieads, and arrive upon me—and this shbanty—and—"" he threw toward the corner of the room a terrible gesture, none the less ter- rible that it was iliogcal and inconsequent to ail that had gone before— and—and—that broom I"" There was a dead silence in the room. With it Uncle Billy seemed to feel himself again transported to the homely cabin at Cedar Camp and that fateful nipht, with his partner’s strange, determined face before him as then. He even fancied that he heard the roaring of the pines without, and did not know that it was the distant sea. EBut after a minute Uncle Jim resumed: i ?01 course you've made a little raise somehow, or you wouldn’t be ere?” *Yes,” said Uncle Billy, eagerig. *‘Yes! I've got—' and sianimered. “I've gol—.i—few hundreds.’’ “0, ho!” said Uncle Jim, cheerfully. He paused and then added earne-tly: "I say! You ain’i got left over and above your — fcolish- ness at the Oriental as much as $5002" “I've goy,’” said Uncle billy, blushing a little over his first aelibsrate and sffected lie. “L’ve got aL ieast $572. Yes,”” he added, tentatively, gazing auxiously at his partner, *‘I've w0t at least that.”’ “Jee Willikins!” said Uucle Jim, with a lauch. Then, eagerly: *Look bere, pard! Then we're in velver! I've got $900; put your $3500 with that, and I know a little ranch that we can gpet for $12C That's what 1 ve been savin’ up for—that's my littie zame! Nomore minin’ for nie. I's got a shanty twice as big as our oid cabin, nigh on 100 acres an two mustangs. We can run it with two Chinamen and just make 1t how!! Wot yer say—eh?” He extended his hand. “I'm in,” said Uncle Billy, radiantly grasping Uncle Jim’s hand. But his smile faded, and his clear simple vrow wrinkled in two lines. Happily Uncle ] m did not noiice it. “Now, then, old pard,” he said brightiy, 'we'il bave a gay old ume to-night—one of our jambooses! I've got som« whisky he e—red heron’s and crackers, and a deck o' cards, and we'li huv: a hitle game, you undaFstand, but not for ‘keeps’ now! No, siree; we'll play for Leans,” A suaden hgnt 1lluminaied Uncle Billy’s face again, but he said with a grim desperation, “Not to-night! I've gotto gointotown. That fren’ o' mine expects me 10 g0 to the tueayler, don't ye see? But I'll be out to-morrow at sun-up and we’il fix up this thing o’ 1he ranch.” “Seems 1o me you're kinder stuck on this fren’,”” grunied Uncle Jim. Uucle Billy's heart bounded at his partrer's jealousy. *No—but I must, you know,” he returned, with » faint laugh. “1'say—it ain’t a her, is 117 said Uncle Jim. Uncle Biliy achieved & diabolical wiuk and a creditable blush at his lie. *Billr 17 bl And under the cover of his frstive gallantry, Uncle Biily escaped. He ran through the gatiering durkness, and toiled up the shifting sands 10 the top of the hill, where he found the cariiage waiting. ‘ot,”” said Uncle Billy in a low, confidential tone to the coach- man, “wotdo you Frisco fellers allow'to be the best, biggest and riskiest gambling saloon here? Suthin’ high toned, you know ?” The negro erinned. It was the usual case of the extravagant spend- lhé':ll miner, though perhaps he had expected a different question and order. “'Dey is de ‘Polka,’ de ‘El Dorado’ and de ‘Arcade’ saloon, boss,” he sald, flickine his whip meditauvely. *“Most gents from de mines vrefer de Poika, .or dey is dancing wid d- gals frown in. Bu: de real prima facie plxce jor gents who go for buckin® agin de.tiger an’ straight-out gamblin’ 13 de Arcade.” *‘Drive there like thunder!"” said Uncle B.lly, leaping into the car- riage. K ue (o his word Dincls Billy was at his pariner's shanty early the next morning. He Iocked a Nttle tired but bapyy, and had b ought a draft with bim for $575, which, he exp ed, was th.» total of hiscapitaal. Uncle J'm was overjuyed. They would start for N:pa that very day, and ccnelude the purchase of the tanch. Uncle Jim'~ sprained foot was a sufficient reason for his giving up his present vocation, which he could also cetl for a rmall vrofit. His domestic arrangements were very simple. Tnere was noth' ng 10 take with hym; there was everything to leave behind. And thatatternoon, st sunsei, the two reunited vartners were s:aied upon the deck of the Napa boat as she swin: into the sizeam. Uncle Billy was gazing over the railinz with a look of abstracted re- lief toward the Golcen Gate, whera the sinking sun seemed 10 be drawe ing toward him in 1he ocean a goiden str-am that was forever pouring from the bay and the tbree-hilied «i y lestdei. What Uncle B'ly was thinking of, or what the picture suggested to him, did not transpire, for Uncle Jim, who, emboldened by : is holidav, was lux riating in an even- ing paper, suddeniy uttered a long-drawn whistle and moved closer to his nbstracted partner. “Look yer,” he said, pointing toa had eviiently just read, “just you listen to this and see if we ain’t luck: you and me, 10 bs jest wotweai ustin to our own hard work: not think:n’ o' ‘strikes’ and ‘.ortins. Jest unbutton yer ears, Billy, while I reel off this yer thing I've jist suuck in the papers, and see what —— foo!s some m¢n kin make o’ th' m-elves. And that theer reporter wot wrote it—must have seed it, reely !” Uncle Jim c.eared his throat, and, holding the paper close to his eyes, read a oud s.owly: A “A scene of excilement that recalled the palmy days of '49 was wit- nessed sast night at the Arcade saivon. A stranger, who might bave be- longed to that're kless epcch, and wlo bore every evidence of beiug a successiul Pike County miner out on a ‘svree,’ appeared at one of the tubles with a negro cozchman bearing two heavy bays of gold. Selecting a faro bank as his base of operaiions he bez:n 10 bet heavily and with apparent recklessness, uniil ihe play excited the breathless attention of everyone. In a féw moments he had won a sum vartous'y estimated at jrom $80,000 10 $100,000. A rumor went round the room that it was a con- ¢ ried atiempt 10 ‘nreak the bank,’ rather than the drunken freak of a western miner, drzzled by some successful strike. To this theorv the man’s care:ess and indifferent bearing toward his extraordinary gains lent great credence. The attempt, if such it was, however, was unsuc- cessful. “*After winning ten times i ccession the luck turned, and the un- fortunate ‘bucker’ was cleanei out not only of his gains but bis original investment, which may be placed rough!y at $20,000. Tais extraordinary play was witnessed by a crowd of excited players who were less impressed by even the marnitude of the st:k s than the yerfect cang froid and reck:.essness of the player, who, it 1, said, at the close of the vame, with nberality tossed a $20 zold piecs to the banker and smilingly withdrew. The man was not recogmzed by any of the Laritues of the p.ace.” “There,” said Unc e Jim, as he hurriedly :larred over the French sub- stantive at the ciose, “*did ye ever -ee such Gou-forsaken foolishness?” Uncle Buly liited his alsiracted eve. itom the current still vouring its unrslur'niug gold into the sinking sun and said, wi:h a deprecatory smile, “Never!"” Noreven in the days of prosperity that vi ited the Great Wheel Ranch Fall and Fuster” did be ever tell his secret to his pariner. He stopped of *