own drink. It clears the head, and makes
us see things better than we can in the night--when all is dark. Let's
try to find a way out, and try to forget it for a while. Did you ever
think how good it all is to us? Just the night, coming along every
once in a while, to make us appreciate how good the sun is, and how
bright the mornings are. It ain't an easy old world, no matter how
hard we try to make it that; because it takes the black times to make
our eyes glad to watch the sunrise. Let me help you, old pardner.
We've been through some pretty tight places together, and somehow,
when He got good and ready, the Lord always showed us a way out."

He arose on his feet, stretched his long muscular arms, and started
down the hill, and Dick followed. There was not another word
exchanged, other than the sympathetic "good-night" in which they had
not failed for more than seven years, and outside the stars waned
slowly, the stamp mill of the Rattler roared on, and the Croix d'Or
was unmoved.

The daylight came, and with it the boom of the night shift setting off
its morning blasts, and clearing the way for the day shift that would
follow in sinking the hole that must inevitably betray the dishonesty
of the stern mine master at the foot of the hill. Dick had not slept,
and turned to see a shadow in the door.

"Don't you get up, Dick," Bill said. "Just try to rest. I heard you
tumblin' around all the night. You don't get anywhere by doin' that. A
man has to take himself in hand more than ever when there's big things
at stake. Then's when he needs his head. You just try to get some
rest. I'll keep things goin' ahead all right, and there ain't no call
to do nothin' for a week or ten days--till we get our feet on the
ground. After that we'll find a trail. Don't worry."

Through the kindly tones there ran confidence, and, entirely
exhausted, Dick turned over and tried to sleep. It came to him at
last, heavy and dreamless, the sleep that comes beneficently to those
who suffer. The sun, creeping westward, threw a beam across his face,
and he turned restlessly, like a fever-stricken convalescent, and
rolled farther over in the bed.

The beam pursued him, until at last there was no further refuge, and
he sat up, dazed and bewildered, and hoping that all had been a
nightmare, and that he should hear the cheery note of the whistle
telling him that it was day again, and calling the men of the Croix
d'Or to work.

It was monstrous, i