mplation of
the approaching figure.

"What's he doin' around camp this hour?" inquired a harsh voice from
beyond the window.

"Guess I ain't a lightnin' calc'lator," observed Sunny, without
withdrawing his gaze.

"Nope," came the prompt retort from the invisible speaker; "guess it
'ud keep you busy trackin' a fun'ral."

"Which don't need contradiction! I'm kind o' makin' holiday these
times. Guess you ain't never heerd tell o' the 'rest cure'?"

A rough laugh broke on the drowsy atmosphere.

"Sunny's overworked just now," said another voice, amidst the rattle
of poker chips.

"Wher' you bin workin', Sunny?" inquired the harsh voice of the man
addressed as Bill.

"Workin'!" cried the loafer, with good-natured scorn. "Say, I don't
never let a hobby interfere with the bizness of life."

A half-smothered laugh answered him. Even the exigencies of a poker
hand could not quite crush out the natural humor of these men, who
always followed on the golden trail of the pioneers.

"Say, what's your bizness?" demanded another voice presently.

"Restin'!" the man on the veranda answered easily.

The shuffle of cards and rattle of chips came with a snigger. And the
answering lazy smile of Sunny Oak was good to see. It lit his unshaven
face from his unwashed brow to his chin. And to an onlooker it might
well have appeared a pity that an intense bodily indolence should so
dominate his personality. He looked vastly capable, both mentally and
physically.

But his eyes never left the on-coming Scipio. The little man moved
with bowed head and trailing footsteps. The utter dispiritedness of
his gait stirred even the self-centered watcher. But Scipio saw
nothing of Sunny Oak. He saw nothing of anything but the despairing
picture in his own mind. The ramshackle shanties which lined one side
of the trail were passed unheeded. The yapping of the camp dogs at the
unusual sight of so deplorable a figure at this hour of the day was
quite unnoticed by him. The shelving rise of attenuated grassland
which blocked the view of Suffering Creek on his left never for a
moment came into his focus. His eyes were on the trail ahead of him,
and never more than a few feet from where he trod. And those eyes were
hot and staring, aching with their concentration upon the hideous
picture which filled his brain.

As Scipio drew near Sunny Oak further bestirred himself, which was a
concession not often yielded by that individual to anyone. He sat u