's out!" shouted Bunker and Big Boy nodded grimly; but the Ground Hog
was pawing at the ground. He rose up, and fell, then rose up again; and
as they watched him half-pityingly he scrambled across the sand and made
a grab at the purse.

"You stand back!" he blustered clutching the purse to his breast and
snapping open the blade of a huge jack-knife; but before Old Bunk could
intervene Big Boy had caught up a rock.

"You drop that knife," he shouted fiercely, "or I'll bash out your
brains with this stone!" And as the Ground Hog gazed into his battle-mad
eyes he weakened and dropped the knife. "Now gimme that purse!" ordered
the masterful Big Boy and, cringing before the rock, the beaten Ground
Hog slammed it down on the ground with a curse.

"I'll git you yet!" he burst out hoarsely as he shambled off down the
trail, "I'll learn you to git gay with me!"

"You'll learn me nothing," returned the young miner contemptuously and
gathered up the spoils of battle.

CHAPTER III

HOBO STUFF

"Young man," began Bunker Hill after a long and painful silence in which
Big Boy completely ignored him, "I want to ask your pardon. And anything
I can do----"

"I'm all right," cut in the hobo wiping the blood out of one eye and
feeling tenderly of a tooth, "and I don't want nothing to do with you."

"Can't blame ye, can't blame ye," answered Old Bunk judicially. "I
certainly got you wrong. But as I was about to say, Mrs. Hill sent this
lunch and she said she hoped you'd accept it."

He untied a sack from the back of his saddle, and as he caught the
fragrance of new-made doughnuts Big Boy's resolution failed.

"All right," he said, making a grab for the lunch. "Much obliged!" And
he chucked him a bill.

"Hey, what's this for?" exclaimed Bunker Hill grievously. "Didn't I ask
your pardon already."

"Well, maybe you did," returned the hobo, "but after that call down you
gave me this morning I'm going to pay my way. It's too danged bad," he
murmured sarcastically as he opened up the lunch. "Sure hard luck to see
a good woman like that married to a pennypinching old walloper like
you."

"Oh, I don't know," observed Old Bunk, gazing doubtfully at the bill,
but at last he put it in his pocket.

"Yes, that's right," he agreed with an indulgent smile, "she's an awful
good cook--and an awful good woman, too. I'll just give her this money
to buy some little present--she told me I was wrong, all the time. But I
want to tell y