saw he had been swept off his feet by his own eloquence, and so he
tried again.

"Well, they would have got it anyhow. They might have wasted a minute or
two more hunting for it, but they would have found it, and Cummins would
have fought for it just the same."

"Yes, that is what I've thought," said Mamie. "Oh, why did he risk his
life so?"

"I'll tell you, Mamie," said Mat, "everybody in this country is crazy
about gold--miners, gamblers, bankers, robbers,--everybody. They're like
hungry wolves, ready to tear one another to pieces. Only the wolves have
more sense. Gold is of no earthly use to anyone. I'm sick and tired of
the whole business." And Mat rose, hat in hand, to go.

"I hope you'll call again, Mr. Bailey," said the the girl shyly. Here
was a friend in need! A great bashful, manly fellow, so kind and
sympathetic!

"I'll be more than pleased to," replied Mat, determined to prove his
philosophy that there are things far more precious than gold.

Fascinated with the idea, he loitered in the neighborhood longer than he
would otherwise have done; and, glancing back at the dear girl's house,
he was astonished to see "Bed-bug Brown" emerge from the cellar. Brown
saw him at about the same time. There was no escape for either, so they
drifted together good-naturedly. The little man extended his hand:

"Congratulations! When is the wedding to be?"

Bailey simply smiled, and said:

"Bed-bug Brown, detective!"

CHAPTER IX

The Home-Coming of a Dead Man

Meanwhile the body of the murdered man--noble countenance peaceful now
after twenty-five years of adventure--had been traveling eastward to its
final resting place. The body of William F. Cummins came home in
state--home at last, where the familiar caw of crow and tinkle of
cow-bell might almost conjure the dead back to life again. Three years
before, at the time of the great Centennial, when, in the full vigor of
manhood, Will Cummins had visited his native town, no sounds had so
stirred old memories of fields and mountains as those homely sounds of
crow and cow-bell.

Then neighbors had flocked about the bold Californian, eager to press
his hand and to look into his fearless eyes. Now, robbed and murdered,
he came home again, life's journey ended. The quiet village was
appalled, and shaken with anger. Friends and neighbors flocked to the
funeral--indignant youths, solemn old men and women. True, the younger
generation had hardly known of the Cal