ang would care
to tackle. Consequently they swaggered as much as they pleased. At
bottom they were good, clean, attractive boys, who were engaged in an
adventure that was thrilling enough in sober reality, but which they
loved to deck forth in further romance. They one and all assumed the
stern, aloof, lofty pose of those whose affairs were too weighty to
permit mingling with ordinary amusements. Their speech was laconic,
their manners grave, their attitude self-contained. It was a good thing,
I believe; for outside the fact that it kept them out of quarrels, it
kept them also out of drinking and gambling.

I made many acquaintances of course, but only a few friends. The best of
these were Dr. Rankin and Danny Randall. Strangely enough, these two
were great pals. Danny had a little room back of the Bella Union
furnished out with a round table, a dozen chairs, and a sofa. Here he
loved to retire with his personal friends to sip drinks, smoke, and to
discuss all sorts of matters. A little glassless window gave into the
Bella Union, and as the floor of the little room was raised a foot or
so, Danny sat where he could see everything that went on. These
gatherings varied in number, but never exceeded the capacity of the
dozen chairs. I do not know how Danny had caused it to be understood
that these were invitation affairs, but understood it was, and no one
ever presumed to intrude unbidden into the little room. Danny selected
his company as the fancy took him.

As to why he should so often have chosen me I must again confess
ignorance. Perhaps because I was a good listener. If so, the third
member of a very frequent triumvirate, Dr. Rankin, was invited for the
opposite quality. The doctor was a great talker, an analyst of
conditions, and a philosophical spectator. The most frequent theme of
our talks was the prevalence of disorder. On this subject the doctor had
very decided views.

"There is disorder because we shirk our duty as a community," he stated,
"and we shirk our duty as a community because we believe in our hearts
that we aren't a community. What does Jones or Smith or Robinson or
anybody else really care for Italian Bar as a place; or, indeed, for
California as a place? Not a tinker's damn! He came out here in the
first place to make his pile, and in the second place to have a good
time. He isn't dependent on any one's good opinion, as he used to be at
home. He refuses to be bothered with responsibilities and h