r Tim. He was pale and excited. He pushed his great
black, broad hat down over his eyes as he hurried on down the trail,
slipping and sliding over the worn walk, over the new sprinkle of snow,
in his great big gum boots. Then he pushed his hat back so as to get the
cool wind of March in his face and even the blustering snow in his
beard.

He found Limber at last standing on one leg by the great log fire in the
Howling Wilderness, lonesome as a crow in March. He pulled his hat again
down over his eyes as he approached his old partner, and stooped his
shoulders and looked out from under its rim, as if he was half afraid or
else was half ashamed.

In all western towns, in all mines, in all cities, great or small for
that matter, there is always one common center. Here it was the Howling
Wilderness. If a man felt sad, what better place than the Howling
Wilderness saloon to go to for distraction? If a man felt glad, where
else could he go to share his mirth.

Here was happiness or unhappiness. All great extremes run together.
Tears flow as freely for joy as for grief. Between intense delight or
deepest sorrow the wall is so thin you can whisper through it and be
heard.

Here, at fifty cents a glass, you had dealt out to you over a great
plank laid up upon a barricade of sand-bags, that were laid there to
intercept any stray bullet that might be making its way towards the
crimson-headed vendor of poisons, almost any drink that you might name.
And it is safe to say that all of the following popular drinks, that is
Old Tiger, Bad Eye, Forty Rod, Rat Pizen, Rot Gut, Hell's Delight, and
Howling Modoc, were all made from the same decoction of bad rum, worse
tobacco, and first-class cayenne pepper. The difference in proportion of
ingredients made the difference in the infernal drinks.

If one of those splendid, misled fellows, who really knew no better,
felt very sad, he took one of these drinks; if he felt very glad he took
two.

Sandy wheeled on his heel the moment he found his old friend, and went
out without saying a word. He stood there in the snow, the wind twisting
about his beard, blowing his old hat-rim up and down, and he seemed as
one lost. At length he lifted the latch again hastily, hesitated, looked
back, around, up towards his cabin on the hill, and then suddenly
pushing his hat back again, as if he wanted room to breathe, he tumbled
into the saloon, went right up before Limber Tim, and bringing his two
hands