nker Hill's wife
did not cook for three or four hoboes but when Old Bunk called a man in
to breakfast he expected him to come. He stood for a minute, tall and
rangy and grizzled, a desert squint in one eye; and then with a muttered
oath he strode across the street.

"Hey!" he called prodding the blankets with his boot and the hobo came
alive with a jump.

"You look out!" he snarled, bounding violently to his feet and dropping
back to a crouch; but when he met Bunker Hill's steely eyes he mumbled
something and lowered his hands.

"All right, pardner," observed Hill, "I'll do all of that; but if you
figure on getting any breakfast you'd better come in and eat it."

"Huh!" responded the hobo scowling and blinking at the sun and then
without a word he started for the house. He was a big, hulking man, with
arms like a bear and bulging, bench-like legs; but the expression on his
face above his enormous black mustache was that of a disgruntled
ground-hog. His nose was tipped up, his eyes were small and stubborn and
as he ate a hurried breakfast he glanced about uneasily as if fearful of
some trap; yet if Bunker Hill had any reservations about his guest he
did not abate his hospitality. The coffee was still hot, there was
plenty of everything and when the miner rose to go Old Bunk accompanied
him to the door.

"Going to be hot," he observed as the heat struck through their clothes;
but the hobo omitted even a nod of assent in his haste to be off down
the trail.

"Well, the dadblasted bum!" exclaimed Bunker in a rage as the miner
passed over the first hill and, stumping across the street, he rolled up
the tumbled blankets. "The dirty dog!" he grumbled vindictively,
hoisting the bed upon his shoulders; but as he started back to the house
he heard something drop from the roll. He paused and looked back and
there on the ground lay a wallet, stuffed with bills. It was the miner's
purse, which he had put under his pillow and forgotten in his sudden
departure.

"O-ho!" observed Bunker as he picked it up. "O-ho, I thought you was
broke!" He opened the purse with great deliberation, laying bare a great
sheaf of bills, and as his wife and daughter came hurrying down the
steps he counted the hobo's hoard.

"Over eight hundred dollars," he announced with ominous calm. "Some
roll, when a man is bumming his meals and can't even stop to say
thanks----"

"He's coming back for it," broke in his wife anxiously. "And now,
Andrew, ple