wed a lot of money on my friends," Lee acknowledged,
"and they're welcome to what they've got so far, but I'm goin' to chop
all them prodigal habits and put on the tin vest. I'll run the
solderin'-iron up my seams so they can't get to me without a
can-opener. I'm air-tight for life, I am." He fumbled in his pockets
and unwrapped a gift cigar, then felt for a match. Poleon tossed one on
the bar, and he reached for it twice, missing it each time.

"I guess dose new frien' of yours is mak' you purty full, M'sieu' Tin
Vest."

"Nothin' of the sort. I've got a bad dose of indigestion."

"Dat's 'orrible disease! Dere's plaintee riche man die on dat
seecknesse. You better lie down."

Doret took the hero of the day by the arm and led him to the rear of
the store, where he bedded him on a pile of flour sacks, but he had
hardly returned to the bar when Lee came veering out of the dimness,
making for the light like a ship tacking towards a beacon.

"What kind of flour is that?" he spluttered.

"Dat's just plain w'eat flour."

"Not on your life," said the miner, with the firmness of a great
conviction. "It's full of yeast powders. Why, it's r'arin' and risin'
like a buckin' hoss. I'm plumb sea-sick." He laid a zigzag course for
the door.

"W'ere you goin'?" asked Poleon.

"I'm goin' to get somethin' for this stomach trouble. It's fierce." He
descended into the darkness boldly, and stepped off with
confidence--this time too soon. Poleon heard him floundering about, his
indignant voice raised irascibly, albeit with a note of triumph.

"Wha'd I tell you? You put it back while I was ashleep." Then whistling
blithely, if somewhat out of tune, he steered for the new saloon to get
something for his "stomach trouble."

At Stark's he found a large crowd of the new men who welcomed him
heartily, plying him with countless questions, and harking to his
maudlin tales of this new country which to him was old. He had followed
the muddy river from Crater Lake to the Delta, searching the bars and
creek-beds in a tireless quest, till he knew each stream and tributary,
for he had been one of the hardy band that used to venture forth from
Juneau on the spring snows, disappearing into the uncharted valley of
the Yukon, to return when the river clogged and grew sluggish, and,
like Gale, he had lived these many years ahead of the law where each
man was his own court of appeals and where crime was unknown. He had
helped to build camps like Fo