t a telegram from 'Frisco had held it for a special
train of "bigbugs." That is why the hotel-keeper drove the pigs away
and prepared for business.

They had done that thing now in Gold City so long it was beginning to
be second nature; and yet deeper was getting the sleep, and the only
thing that could rouse the town was the coming of the stage with its
possibilities.

The stage was later than usual this night. So late the old-timers were
sure Joe must have a passenger. As it was fifty miles over the plains
and foot-hills that Joe had to come, there was, of course, plenty of
chance of his being late. In fact, he never was on time. They all knew
that. But to think that Joe would be two whole hours back was a little
unusual for a town where nothing unusual ever happened. The big
colored porter at the Miners' Home was tired of holding his bell ready
to ring, the loungers on the benches in front of the corner grocery
had exhausted their yarns, when the dust up the street on the hill
caused the barefooted boys to stop their games and stand expectant in
the road to watch Joe arrive.

With a shout and a flourish, the four horses came tearing around the
court-house corner, plunged relentlessly down the hill and dragged the
rickety old coach up to the hotel, with a jerk that nearly upset the
poor thing and brought admiration to everybody's eyes. Fortunately for
the coach, that was the only time of day the horses ever went off a
snail's pace. The dinner bell at the Miners' Home clanged vigorously,
the piano in the saloon opposite set up a clatter, the crowd hurried
around the dust-enveloped coach to see if they could discover a
passenger, while the red-faced landlord shouted, "This way to the
Palace Hotel, gentlemen!"

To-night, when the dust cleared away, for the first time in weeks the
crowds discovered a passenger. In fact, he was out on the brick
sidewalk before they saw him. Pale-faced, blue-eyed, with delicate,
clear-cut features, clad in a neat gray coat and short trousers, which
merged into black stockings and shoes, with a black tie and soiled
white collar, all topped off with a derby hat and plenty of dust, a
wondering, trembling lad of twelve stood before them. Such a sight had
not been seen in Gold City in its history. A city lad dropped down
among these rough miners and worn-out wrecks of humanity!

"Well, pard, who be yer?" at last asked a voice; and a dozen echoed
his query.

With a frightened look around