om the world was
creeping into view, when Job, with the white foam on Bess, and both
heated and freezing himself, rode up to the door of the old brick
Palace Hotel, where Joe, just mounting the box of the familiar ancient
coach in which Job had once years ago traveled as a passenger, was
about to snap his whip over the backs of four doubtful-looking horses
which stood pawing the ground as if anxious to be stirring in such
frosty air.

A hurried conversation, a white paper passed into Joe's hands, and the
long whip snapped, four steeds made a desperate charge forward, an old
woman in the coach, wrapped in three big shawls, bounded into air, and
Job saw the stage vanish up the hill, with the horses settling down to
the conventional snail's pace they had maintained these long years.

CHAPTER XI.

BATTLES WITH CONSCIENCE.

Joe evidently sent the telegram, for his stage next day brought up the
long-looked-for load of "bigbugs" that set the whole town of Gold City
wild to know why they were there. A perfect mob of street urchins,
loafers, shop-men and bar-keepers who could spare a bit of time, lined
up in front of the Palace Hotel and watched the plaid-coated,
gray-capped visitors in short knickerbockers and golf stockings puff
their pipes around the bar and call for "Porter and h'ale, 'alf and
'alf."

Interest reached its climax when, after supper, three buckboards,
loaded with the guests heavy in more ways than one, started down
toward Mormon Bar and the Pine Mountain road.

It was quite late when the loud barking of dogs announced their
arrival at Pine Tree Ranch, and it was still later when Job crept up
to the hay-loft over the stable to find a substitute for his cosy bed,
which he had surrendered to another "H'english gentleman," with an
emphasis on the last word. The boy was in a quandary to know what it
all meant. He felt an inward sense of disgust. He disliked such people
as these new friends of the old man's. Then he remembered that the
good Book says, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," and he was
painfully conscious that they were close neighbors now; so he breathed
a silent prayer that the Lord would make him love the unlovable, and
after a time fell asleep.

It was the second day of the feast. Venison and quail, if not milk and
honey, had made the table groan in the big center room, now changed
into a dining-room. The parlor had been turned into a smoking-room,
and Job had seen, with indi