olerated in The Polka unless he himself "'lowed it to be
ne'ssary."

Not unnaturally The Ridge boys failed to see anything offensive in
language that had a gun behind it; and realising the futility of any
further attempt to get away with a successful disturbance they wisely
yielded to superior quickness at the draw. With a whoop of resignation
they rushed back to the dance-hall where the voice of the caller was
exhorting the gents--whose partners were mostly big, husky, hairy-faced
men clumsily enacting parts generally assigned to members of the gentler
sex--to swing:

"With the right-hand gent, first partner swing with the left-hand gent,
first partner swing with the right-hand gent; first partner swing with
the left-hand gent, and the partner in the centre, and gents all
around!"

Back at the faro table now,--the incident having passed quickly into
oblivion,--Sonora called to the dealer for "a slug's worth of chips"--a
request that was promptly acceded to. But they had played only a few
minutes when a thin but somewhat sweet tenor voice was heard singing:

"Wait for the waggon,
Wait for the waggon,
Wait for the waggon,
And we'll all take a ride.
Wait for the waggon--"

"Here he is, gentlemen, just back from his triumphs of The Ridge!" broke
in Nick, whose province it was to act as master of ceremonies; and
coming forward as the singer emerged from the dance-hall he introduced
him to the assembled company in the most approved music-hall manner:
"Allow me to present to you, Jake Wallace the Camp favour-ite!" he said
with an exaggeratedly low bow.

"How-dy, Jake! Hello, Jake, old man! How be you, Jake!" were some of the
greetings that were hurled at the Minstrel who, robed in a long linen
duster, his face half-blacked, and banjo in hand, acknowledged the words
of welcome with a broad grin as he stood bowing in the centre of the
room.

That Jake Wallace was a typical camp minstrel from the top of his dusty
stove-pipe hat to the sole of his flapping negro shoes, one could see
with half an eye as he made his way to a small platform--a musician's
stand--at one end of the bar; nor could there be any question about his
being a prudent one, for the musician did not seat himself until he had
carefully examined the sheet-iron shield inside the railing, which was
attached in such a way that it could be sprung up by working a spring in
the floor and render him fairly safe from a chance shot during