brought out about half a gang that summer, an' they kept them
probin' around all over the neighborhood; but though they found enough
stuff to about pay expenses, they couldn't get back on the main track.
Both the Eastern capitalists showed up along toward fall to see what
was doin', an' when it came time to knock off work, they tried to get
me to repeat my little performance as watchman.

I thanked 'em for their trustfulness, but I politely declined the
honor. I told 'em 'at I was purty tol'able quick-witted, an' it didn't
take me four months to study out what I was goin' to say next. But I
compromised by sayin' that if they would give me two other fellers for
company I'd stay; otherwise they'd have to rustle up some poor devil
'at needed the money. They knew 'at I was reliable, so they agreed; an'
I selected out my two companions in affliction. What I mostly wanted
was a heap of variety, an' when the number is limited to two, a feller
has to be some choicy; but I reckon I got the best the' was.

There'd been a little light-haired feller there all season, kind o'
gettin' familiar with labor, like. He was no account to work, he
couldn't even learn to tie a knot; but he talked kin' o' blotchy, an'
it was divertin' to listen to him. One day we was kiddin' him about
bein' so thumby, an' he sez, "That's right, boys, laugh while you can;
but I'll have you all between the covers of a book some day, an' then
it will be my grin. I ain't swore no everlastin' felicity to the holy
cause o' labor; I'm just gettin' local color now."

Next day he fell into a barrel of red paint he was swobbin' on the
hotel to keep her from warpin', an' every blessed man in camp passed
out about six jokes apiece relatin' to local color. He never saddened
up none, though, just smiled sorrowful, as though he pitied us, an'
went on tanglin' up everything he touched.

An' then there was another curious speciment there; a tall thin feller,
with one o' them lean, chinny faces. He claimed 'at he had been a show
actor, but his lungs had given out--claimed he was a tragudian, but
Great Scott! he couldn't even turn a handspring.

He said he was recuperatin', an' he sure did hit his liquor purty hard;
but I never could make out what he expected to get out of a minin'
camp, 'cause he was full as useless as Local Color. About half the
fellers you meet strayin' around out here are a bit one-sided, but we
don't care so long as they're peaceable. When you'd guy t