roken voice of entreaty, "don't take
this little boy away from me! Let him stay. Let him stay with me and
the boys. You've got so many little youngsters there. For Christ's
sake, let me have this one!"

When Miss Doc came quietly in, old Jim had not apparently moved. He
was once more dipping the pungent liquor from the cup and murmuring
words of endearment and coaxing, to the all-unhearing little patient.
The eager woman took off her shawl and stood behind him, watching
intently.

"Oh, Jim!" she said, from time to time--"oh, Jim!"

With a new supply of boiling water, constantly heated on her stove, she
kept the steaming concoction fresh and hot.

Midnight came. The New Year was blown across those mighty peaks in
storm and fury. Presently out of the howling gale came the sound of
half a dozen shots, and then of a fusillade. But Jim, if he heard
them, did not guess the all they meant to him.

For an hour he had only moved his hands to take the pitcher, or to put
it down, or to feed the drink to the tiny foundling, still so
motionless and dull with the fever.

One o'clock was finally gone, and two, and three. Jim and the yearning
Miss Doc still battled on, like two united parents.

Then at last the miner made a half-stifled sound in his throat.

"You--can go and git a rest," he said, brokenly. "The sweat has come."

All night the wind and the storm continued. All through the long, long
darkness, the bitter cold and snow were searching through the hills.
But when, at last, the morning broke, there on the slope, where old
Jim's claim was staked, stood ten grim figures, white with snow, and
scattered here and there around the ledge of gold. They were Bone and
Webber, Keno and Field, Doc Dennihan, the carpenter, the teamster, and
other rough but faithful men who had guarded the claim against invasion
in the night.

CHAPTER XVI

ARRIVALS IN CAMP

There is something fine in a party of men when no one brags of a fight
brought sternly to victory.

Parky, the gambler, was badly shot through the arm; Bone, the bar-keep,
had a long, straight track through his hair, cleaned by a ball of lead.
And this was deemed enough of a story when the ten half-frozen men had
secured the claim to Jim and his that New-Year's morning.

But the camp regretted on the whole that, instead of being shelved at
his house, the gambler had not been slain.

For nearly a week the wan little foundling, emerging from the val