y tent.

"Good morning to you, gentlemen," he called out in his great voice;
"won't you join me--let's all have a drink!"

The crowd fell in behind him, another crowd opened up in front, and he
stood against the bar, a board strewn thick with glasses and tottering
bottles of whiskey. An old man stood behind it, wagging his beard as he
chewed tobacco, and as he set out the glasses he glanced up at Wunpost
with a curious, embittered smile. He was white-faced and white-bearded,
stooped and gnarled like a wind-tortured tree, and the crook to his nose
made one think instinctively of pictures of the Wandering Jew. Or
perhaps it was the black skull-cap, set far back on his bent head, which
gave him the Jewish cast; but his manner was that of the rough-and-ready
barkeeper and he slapped one wet hand on the bar.

"Here's to her!" cried Wunpost, ignoring the hint to pay as he raised
his glass to the crowd. "Here's to the Willie Meena--some mine!"

He tossed off the drink, but when he looked for the chaser the barkeeper
shook his head.

"No chasers," he said, "water is too blasted scarce--that'll be three
dollars and twenty-five cents."

"Charge it to ground-rent!" grinned Wunpost. "I'm the man that owns this
claim. See you later--where's Dusty Rhodes?"

"No--_cash_!" demanded the barkeeper, looking him coldly in the
eye. "I'm in on this claim myself."

"Since when?" inquired Wunpost. "Maybe you don't know who I am? I am
John C. Calhoun, the man that discovered Wunpost; and unless I'm greatly
mistaken you're not in on anything--who gave you any title to this
ground?"

"Dusty Rhodes," croaked the saloon-keeper, and a curse slipped past
Wunpost's lips, though he knew that a lady was near.

"Well, damn Dusty Rhodes!" he cried in a passion. "Where is the crazy
fool?"

He burst from the crowd just as Dusty came hurrying across from where he
had been digging out ore; and for a minute they stood clamoring, both
shouting at once, until at last Wunpost seized him by the throat.

"Who's this old stiff with whiskers?" he yelled into his ear, "that
thinks he owns the whole claim? Speak up, or I'll wring your neck!"

He released his hold and Dusty Rhodes staggered back, while the crowd
looked on in alarm.

"W'y, that's Whiskers," explained Dusty, "the saloon-keeper down in
Blackwater. I guess I didn't tell you but he give me a grubstake and so
he gits half my claim."

"_Your_ claim!" echoed Wunpost. "Since when was this your