ile down creek before they could make land. Aggy
gathered that it was time to move again, so he pulled back for Idaho.
There wasn't anybody really drowned, except old Tom Olley, a
cousin-Jack whose only amusement in life was to wear out his pants
laying low for cinches in the stud-poker game, and you couldn't rightly
say he was any loss to the community. So Aggy used to regret sometimes
that he hadn't stayed to face the music. They might have played horse
with him for a while, but 'twould soon have blown over--miners not
being revengeful by nature--and he was to have had an eighth interest,
besides his salary, if the thing was a success.

"But there was no good of crying over spilt milk, and us two went
prospecting.

"We located for a permanent stand down on Frenchman's Creek, near where
three of Cap' Ally's greaser sheep herders had their camp. They did
our hunting for us, and as there was nobody but them around, and they
were the peacefullest people in the world, we didn't feel the need of
any gun except Ag's old six-shooter. That was the cussedest machine
that ever got invented by man. When you pulled her off she'd spit fire
in all directions, filling the crotch of your hand with powder burns,
and sometimes two or three of the loads would go off at once, when
she'd kick like a Texas steer. There was much talk of bear around, and
we were always going to buy a real gun, some day, but we never got at
it.

"Well, we prospered pretty well, considering how little we worked. A
large part of the time was taken up with playing monte with the
herders, and still more in arguing questions about religion and things
like that; but we had a decent cabin built--with the kind assistance of
the herders--and as we struck a rich little streak that run out ten
dollars per man a day with no trouble at all, we were in clover.

"At last our stock of grub ran low, and Jones slid up to Salmon City to
load up again. It was quite a trip, and as I didn't think it was
square to work while Aggy was away, I took up with the herders. They
were the decentest folks I ever struck. Play a little music on the
guitar, sing songs that always wound up just where a white man's songs
would begin, and tell stories and smoke cigarettes--that was the layout
for them. Old Cap' Allys was a Christian, and he wouldn't let a man
herd sheep all by himself--surest way to get crazy that ever was
invented--so he sent the boys out three in a bunch.

"Tho