bring every old paper she
could find.

The air was much chillier than when they had arrived. A strong, gusty
wind was blowing, carrying clouds of dust, and because of this, and a
raw fog, the sunshine had waned from gold to gray. Nevertheless,
something in the atmosphere made them all step out briskly.

Around the corner of the plaza a torn canvas sign before a dingy
tent-house said: "Washing Done." And in through the open door they
filed. A short, stout Frenchman, apparently, stood behind the board
counter, and bowed at their approach. He wore a little black spike or
goatee, and his face fairly shone above a collarless shirt. From a
room behind sounded vigorous scrubbing and rinsing.

"You do washing?" demanded Mr. Adams.

"Oui, m'sieur."

"Here's some. When can we get it?"

"To-morrow morning, at the ten o'clock. And does m'sieur wish ze
_repassage_--what you call ir-ron?"

"What's the charge?" asked Mr. Grigsby.

"Seex dollair the dozen, m'sieur, for ze wash; the same for ze ir-ron."

"There goes your newspaper money, Adams," laughed the Fremonter. "I
think I'll do my own washing, after this."

"We have to live, my wife and I, messieurs," explained the Frenchman,
spreading his hands. "In France we live on ze very little. In New
York we have one tres bon cafe, and we charge ze very little. But out
here----" and he shrugged his shoulders. "We wash, and for zis
meesairable caban--what you call it? hut--we pay ze price of 500
dollair ze month."

"Wash what we've brought, but don't you dare to iron them; eh,
Grigsby?" said Mr. Adams.

"Ze rough wash it shall be, messieurs," bowed the stout Frenchman.

"On the trap trail we washed twice a year--spring and fall," commented
Mr. Grigsby, as they trudged out. "That's plenty often enough here,
too, the way prices run."

"Look at the crowd!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, as they emerged at the
corner; for part way up a hilly street a great throng had gathered in
front of a low building, and a constant stream of other people were
hastening that way. "What's the matter up there?" he inquired, of a
passerby.

The man scarcely paused. He only turned his head, to drawl:

"Post-office, mister, and the mail's come in."

"That must be the mail we brought," cried Charley.

"If you came on the _California_, you brought it, sonny," informed
another stranger.

"When's the office open, sir?" inquired Mr. Adams.

"Whenever the mail's distributed, of course,"