, I somewhat quailed. I hastened to do him
fealty, said I gathered he was the Squattee, and apologised. He
threatened me with ejection, in a manner grimly pleasant--more pleasant
to him, I fancy, than to me; and then he passed off into praises of the
former state of Silverado. "It was the busiest little mining town you
ever saw": a population of between a thousand and fifteen hundred souls,
the engine in full blast, the mill newly erected; nothing going but
champagne, and hope the order of the day. Ninety thousand dollars came
out; a hundred and forty thousand were put in, making a net loss of
fifty thousand. The last days, I gathered, the days of John Stanley,
were not so bright; the champagne had ceased to flow, the population was
already moving elsewhere, and Silverado had begun to wither in the
branch before it was cut to the root. The last shot that was fired
knocked over the stove chimney, and made that hole in the roof of our
barrack, through which the sun was wont to visit slug-a-beds towards
afternoon. A noisy last shot, to inaugurate the days of silence.

Throughout this interview, my conscience was a good deal exercised; and
I was moved to throw myself on my knees and own the intended treachery.
But then I had Hanson to consider. I was in much the same position as
Old Rowley, that royal humourist, whom "the rogue had taken into his
confidence." And again, here was Ronalds on the spot. He must know the
day of the month as well as Hanson and I. If a broad hint were
necessary, he had the broadest in the world. For a large board had been
nailed by the crown prince on the very front of our house, between the
door and window, painted in cinnabar--the pigment of the country--with
doggrel rhymes and contumelious pictures, and announcing in terms
unnecessarily figurative, that the trick was already played, the claim
already jumped, and the author of the placard the legitimate successor
of Mr. Ronalds. But no, nothing could save that man; _quem deus vult
perdere, prius dementat_. As he came so he went, and left his rights
depending.

Late at night, by Silverado reckoning, and after we were all abed, Mrs.
Hanson returned to give us the newest of her news. It was like a scene
in a ship's steerage: all of us abed in our different tiers, the single
candle struggling with the darkness, and this plump handsome woman,
seated on an upturned valise beside the bunks, talking and showing her
fine teeth, and laughing till the raf