row, that led him to the cedar shelter;
at any rate he found it about four hours after dark, and heard the heavy
breathing of the flock. He said that if he thought at all at this
juncture he must have thought that he had stumbled on a storm-belated
shepherd with his silly sheep; but in fact he took no note of anything
but the warmth of packed fleeces, and snuggled in between them dead with
sleep. If the flock stirred in the night he stirred drowsily to keep
close and let the storm go by. That was all until morning woke him
shining on a white world. Then the very soul of him shook to see the
wild sheep of God stand up about him, nodding their great horns beneath
the cedar roof, looking out on the wonder of the snow. They had moved a
little away from him with the coming of the light, but paid him no more
heed. The light broadened and the white pavilions of the snow swam in
the heavenly blueness of the sea from which they rose. The cloud drift
scattered and broke billowing in the canons. The leader stamped lightly
on the litter to put the flock in motion, suddenly they took the drifts
in those long light leaps that are nearest to flight, down and away on
the slopes of Waban. Think of that to happen to a Pocket Hunter! But
though he had fallen on many a wished-for hap, he was curiously inapt at
getting the truth about beasts in general. He believed in the venom of
toads, and charms for snake bites, and--for this I could never forgive
him--had all the miner's prejudices against my friend the coyote. Thief,
sneak, and son of a thief were the friendliest words he had for this
little gray dog of the wilderness.

Of course with so much seeking he came occasionally upon pockets of more
or less value, otherwise he could not have kept up his way of life; but
he had as much luck in missing great ledges as in finding small ones. He
had been all over the Tonopah country, and brought away float without
happening upon anything that gave promise of what that district was to
become in a few years. He claimed to have chipped bits off the very
outcrop of the California Rand, without finding it worth while to bring
away, but none of these things put him out of countenance.

It was once in roving weather, when we found him shifting pack on a
steep trail, that I observed certain of his belongings done up in green
canvas bags, the veritable "green bag" of English novels. It seemed so
incongruous a reminder in this untenanted West that I dropped