's turn to lay hold of Sandy. For now, as the great
strong man had accomplished his fearful task, told his secret, and done
all that was necessary to do, he wanted to get away, to go home, go
anywhere and collect his thoughts, and to rest.

The Judge held him there, told him the great advantages that would come
of it, the high responsibility that he was about to put his shoulder to,
and talked to him, in fact, till he grew white and stiff as a sign-post.
Yet all that Sandy could remember, for almost all that he said, was
something about "the glorious climate of Californy."

Never rode a king into his capital with such majesty as did the Judge
the next day enter the Forks. He was swelling, bursting with the
importance of his secret. But now he had Sandy's permission to tell the
boys, and he went straight to the Howling Wilderness for that purpose.

His face glowed like the fire as he stood there rubbing his hands above
the great mounting blaze, and bowing right and left in a patronizing
sort of a way to the miners who had sauntered into the saloon.

At last the little red-faced man turned his back to the fire, stuck his
two hands back behind his coat-tails, which he kept lifting up and down
and fanning carelessly, as if in deep thought--stood almost tip-toe,
stuck out his round little belly, and seemed about to burst with his
secret.

"O this wonderful Californy climate!" He puffed a little as he said
this, and fanned his coat-tails a little bit higher, perked out his
belly a little bit further, and stood there as if he expected some one
to speak. But as the miners seemed to think they had heard something
like this before, or, at least, that the remark was not wholly new, none
of them felt called upon to respond.

"Well"--the little man tilted up on his toes as he said this, and took
in a long breath--"hit comes off about the next snow fall."

He had said these words one at a time, and by inches as it were, slowly,
deliberately, as if he knew perfectly well that he had something to say,
and that the men were bound to listen.

This time they all looked up, and half of them spoke. And oh, didn't he
torture them! Not that he pretended to keep his secret of half a
day--not at all! On the contrary, he kept talking on, and tip-toeing,
and fanning his coat-tails, and pushing out his belly, and puffing out
his cheeks, just as careless and indifferent as if all the world knew
just what he was going to say, and was perfect