o, as he sang, had his
thoughts carried back to the home three thousand miles away where lived
all who were near and dear to him, and the thought lent new tenderness
and pathos to his song.

Tears came to the eyes of more than one rough miner as he listened to
the sweet strains, and there were few in whom home-memories were not
excited.

There was a moment's hush, and then a great roar of applause. Ben had
made a popular success of which a prima donna might have been proud.

One enthusiastic listener wanted to take up a contribution for the
singer, but Ben steadily declined it. "I am glad if I have given any one
pleasure," he said, "but I can't take money for that."

"Ben," said Jake Bradley, when the crowd had dispersed, "you've made two
ten-strikes to-day. You've carried off all the honors, both as an orator
and a singer."

"You saved all our lives by that speech of yours, Ben," said Dewey. "We
will not soon forget that."

"It was your plea for me that give me the chance, Mr. Dewey," said Ben.
"I owe my life, first of all to you."

"That does not affect my obligation to you. If I am ever in a situation
to befriend you, you may count with all confidence upon Richard Dewey."

"Thank you, Mr. Dewey. I would sooner apply to you than any man I
know--except Bradley," he added, noticing that his faithful comrade
seemed disturbed by what he said.

Jake Bradley brightened up and regarded Ben with a look of affection. He
had come to feel deeply attached to the boy who had shared his dangers
and privations, and in all proved himself a loyal friend.

The next morning the three friends set out for San Francisco, carrying
with them the hearty good wishes of the whole mining-settlement.

"You have promised to come back?" said more than one.

"Yes," said Bradley; "we'll come back if we ain't prevented, and I
reckon we won't be unless we get hanged for hoss-stealin' somewhere on
the road."

This sally called forth a hearty laugh from the miners, who appreciated
the joke.

"It's all very well for you to laugh," said Bradley, shaking his head,
"but I don't want to come any nearer hangin' than I was last night."

"All's well that ends well," said one of the miners lightly.

Neither Ben nor Richard Dewey could speak or think so lightly of the
narrow escape they had had from a shameful death, and though they
smiled, as was expected by the crowd, it was a grave smile, with no
mirth in it.

"You'll come back too, boy?"