as I observed that your party came from the
southward, I suppose you are going in the same direction. If so, I
shall be delighted to join you."

"That's capital," replied Ned, "we shall be the better of having our
party strengthened, and I am quite certain we could not have a more
agreeable addition to it."

"Thank you for the compliment. As to the advantage of a strong party, I
feel it a safeguard as well as a privilege to join yours, for, to say
truth, the roads are not safe just now. Several lawless scoundrels have
been roving about in this part of the country committing robberies and
even murder. The Indians, too, are not so friendly as one could wish.
They have been treated badly by some of the unprincipled miners; and
their custom is to kill two whites for every red-man that falls. They
are not particular as to whom they kill, consequently the innocent are
frequently punished for the guilty."

"This is sad," replied Ned. "Are, then, all the Indian tribes at enmity
with the white men?"

"By no means. Many tribes are friendly, but some have been so severely
handled, that they have vowed revenge, and take it whenever they can
with safety. Their only weapons, however, are bows and arrows, so that
a few resolute white men, with rifles, can stand against a hundred of
them, and they know this well. I spent the whole of last winter on the
Yuba River; and, although large bands were in my neighbourhood, they
never ventured to attack us openly, but they succeeded in murdering one
or two miners who strayed into the woods alone."

"And are these murders passed over without any attempt to bring the
murderers to justice?"

"I guess they are not," replied Maxton, smiling; "but justice is
strangely administered in these parts. Judge Lynch usually presides,
and he is a stern fellow to deal with. If you listen to what the
hunter, there, is saying just now, you will hear a case in point, if I
mistake not."

As Maxton spoke, a loud laugh burst from the men at the other end of the
table.

"How did it happen?" cried several.

"Out wi' the yarn, old boy."

"Ay, an' don't spin it too tight, or, faix, ye'll burst the strands,"
cried Larry O'Neil, who, during the last half-hour, had been listening,
open-mouthed, to the marvellous anecdotes of grizzlies and red-skins,
with which the hunter entertained his audience.

"Wall, boys, it happened this ways," began the man, tossing off a
gin-sling, and setting down the gla