the
chimney and the abstracted face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten
minutes had passed in this occupation, the Judge and Union Mills
conversing in the furtive whispers of children unavoidably but
fascinatedly present at a family quarrel, when a light step was heard
upon the crackling brushwood outside, and the bright panting face of
the Old Man appeared upon the threshold. There was a shout of joy; in
another moment he was half-buried in the bosom of the Right Bower's
shirt, half-dragged into the lap of the Judge, upsetting the barrel,
and completely encompassed by the Left Bower and Union Mills. With the
enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was broken.

Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that had provoked this
spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the Old Man, equally relieved, at
once broke into a feverish announcement of his discovery. He painted the
details, with, I fear, a slight exaggeration of coloring, due partly
to his own excitement, and partly to justify their own. But he was
strangely conscious that these bankrupt men appeared less elated with
their personal interest in their stroke of fortune than with his own
success. "I told you he'd do it," said the Judge, with a reckless
unscrupulousness of statement that carried everybody with it; "look at
him! the game little pup." "Oh no! he ain't the right breed, is he?"
echoed Union Mills with arch irony, while the Right and Left Bower,
grasping either hand, pressed a proud but silent greeting that was half
new to him, but wholly delicious. It was not without difficulty that he
could at last prevail upon them to return with him to the scene of
his discovery, or even then restrain them from attempting to carry
him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous prolonged
exertions. Once only there was a momentary embarrassment. "Then you
fired that shot to bring me back?" said the Old Man, gratefully. In the
awkward silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers sought
and grasped each other, penitently. "Yes," interposed the Judge, with
delicate tact, "ye see the Right and Left Bower almost quarreled to see
which should be the first to fire for ye. I disremember which did"--"I
never touched the trigger," said the Left Bower, hastily. With a hurried
backward kick, the Judge resumed, "It went off sorter spontaneous."

The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more issued
from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to sho