emarked, as affably as a rather gruff voice
and manner would permit.

"Good-evening," said Bill Mosely, socially. "What might be the name of
this settlement?"

"You kin see the name on that sign yonder, stranger, ef your eyes are
strong enough."

"Golden Gulch?"

"I reckon."

"It ought to be a good place, from the name."

"It's middlin' good. Where might you be from?"

"We're prospectin' a little," answered Bill Mosely vaguely; for there
had been circumstances in his California career that made it impolitic
to be too definite in his statements.

"Where are you bound?" continued the landlord, with that licensed
curiosity which no one ventured to object to in California.

"That depends upon circumstances, my friend," said Bill Mosely,
guardedly. "We may go to 'Frisco, and then again we may not. To-night we
propose to remain here in Golden Gulch. Is that a comfortable hotel?"

"Well, stranger, seein' I keep it myself, it mightn't be exactly the
thing for me to say much about it; but I reckon you won't complain of it
if you stop there."

"I'm glad to meet you," said Bill Mosely, grasping the landlord's hand
fervently. "I don't need to ask any more about it, seein' you're the
landlord. You look like a man that can keep a hotel--eh, Tom?"

"I should say so," returned Tom Hadley, making the answer that was
expected of him.

"You're a gentleman!" said Jim Brown, on whom this flattery had its
effect. "Just come along with me and I'll see that you are treated as
such."

"What are your terms, say, for supper and lodgin', landlord?" asked
Bill, with commendable caution.

"Five dollars," answered Brown.

Bill Mosely's jaw fell. He had hoped it would be less.

"And for supper alone?" he asked.

"Two dollars."

"We'll only take supper," said Mosely.

"Just as you say."

"We're so used to campin' out that we couldn't breathe in-doors--eh,
Tom?"

"I should say so, Bill."

"Suit yourselves, strangers. I reckon you'll want breakfast in the
mornin'."

"As likely as not." Then, turning his attention to the mustangs: "Are
them mustangs yours, landlord?"

"No; they belong to a party that's stoppin' with me."

"Will they sell?"

"I reckon not. There's a lame man in the party, and he can't walk much."

"A lame man? Who is with him?" asked Bill Mosely, with a sudden
suspicion of the truth.

"Well, there's another man and a boy and a heathen Chinee."

"Tom," said Bill Mosely, in excitement, "it's the par