every heart with "Home, Sweet Home."

When the player ceased the crowd slunk away from him. There was no more
revelry or devilment left in his audience. Each man wanted to sneak off
to his cabin and write the old folks a letter. The day was breaking as the
last man left the place, and the player, with his head on the piano, fell
asleep.

"I say, pard," said Goskin, "don't you want a little rest?"

"I feel tired," the old man said. "Perhaps you'll let me rest here for the
matter of a day or so."

He walked behind the bar, where some old blankets were lying, and
stretched himself upon them.

"I feel pretty sick. I guess I won't last long. I've got a brother down in
the ravine--his name's Driscoll. He don't know I'm here. Can you get him
before morning? I'd like to see his face once before I die."

Goskin started up at the mention of the name. He knew Driscoll well.

"He your brother? I'll have him here in half an hour."

As Goskin dashed out into the storm the musician pressed his hand to his
side and groaned. Goskin heard the word "Hurry!" and sped down the ravine
to Driscoll's cabin. It was quite light in the room when the two men
returned. Driscoll was pale as death.

"My God! I hope he's alive! I wronged him when we lived in England, twenty
years ago."

They saw the old man had drawn the blankets over his face. The two stood a
moment, awed by the thought that he might be dead. Goskin lifted the
blanket and pulled it down, astonished. There was no one there!

"Gone!" cried Driscoll wildly.

"Gone!" echoed Goskin, pulling out his cash-drawer. "Ten thousand dollars
in the sack, and the Lord knows how much loose change in the drawer!"

The next day the boys got out, followed a horse's track through the snow,
and lost them in the trail leading toward Pioche.

There was a man missing from the camp. It was the three-card-monte man,
who used to deny pointblank that he could play the scale. One day they
found a wig of white hair, and called to mind how the "stranger" had
pushed those locks back when he looked toward the ceiling for inspiration
on the night of December 24, 1858.

ALL KINDS OF THINGS.

George Washington as the Farmer of Mount Vernon--The Dress,
Manners, and Personality of John Hancock--Men Whose Names
Live in Their Inventions--The Strange Story of a
Revolutionary Spy and a Silver Bullet--Treasure Trove in
Unexpected Hiding-Places--Political Routes That Have Led to