il after all."

"Yes, Yetmore can let you have it, I know," replied the widow, in a
tone of voice which caused us both to look at her inquiringly.

"He's got a barrel of it," she continued. "A whole barrel of
it--belonging to me."

"Eh! What's that?" cried Tom. "Belonging to you?"

"Yes. And he won't give it up. You see, it was this way. I ordered a
barrel from the wholesale people in San Remo, and they sent it up two
days ago. Here's the bill of lading. 'One barrel coal oil, No. 668, by
Slaughter's freight line.' The freighters made a mistake and delivered
it at Yetmore's, and now he won't give it up."

"Won't, eh!" cried Tom, with sudden heat. "We'll just look into that."

"It's no use," interposed Mrs. Appleby, holding up her hand
deprecatingly. "You can't take it by force; and I've tried persuasion.
He's got my barrel; there's no mistake about that, because Seth went
down and identified the number; but he says he ordered a barrel himself
from the same firm and it isn't his fault if they didn't put the right
number on."

"Well, that's coming it pretty strong," said Tom, indignantly.

"Yes, and it's hard on me," replied the widow, "because people come in
here for coal oil, and when they find I haven't any they go off to
Yetmore's, and of course he gets the rest of their order. I might go to
law," she added, "but I can't afford that; and by the time my case was
settled Yetmore's barrel will have arrived and he'll send it over here
and pretend to be sorry for the mistake."

"I see. Well, ma'am, you put me down for a gallon of coal oil just the
same, and get my order together as soon as you like. I'm going out now
to take a bit of a stroll around town."

Though he spoke calmly, the big miner was, in fact, swelling with wrath
at the widow's tale of petty tyranny. Without saying a word more to her,
and forgetting my existence, apparently, he marched off down the street
with the determination of going into Yetmore's and denouncing the
storekeeper before his customers. But, no sooner had he come within
sight of the store than he suddenly changed his mind.

"Ho, ho!" he laughed, stopping short and shoving his hands deep into his
pockets. "Ho, ho! Here's a game! He keeps it in the back end of the
store, I know. I'll just meander in and prospect a bit."

The store was a long, plainly-constructed building, such as may be seen
in plenty in any Colorado mining camp, standing on the hillside with its
back to the creek