“You wouldn’t stand snoopin’ round instead of lettin’ the Old Man get used to the idea alone?  No; I could see all along that he was takin’ it in, takin’ it in kindly but slowly, and I reckoned the best thing for us to do was to git up and git until he’d got round it.”  The Judge’s voice was slightly raised for the benefit of the two before him.

“Didn’t he say,” remarked the Right Bower, stopping suddenly and facing the others, “didn’t he say that that new trader was goin’ to let him have some provisions anyway?”

Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge; that gentleman was forced to reply, “Yes; I remember distinctly he said it.  It was one of the things I was particular about on his account,” responded the Judge, with the air of having arranged it all himself with the new trader.  “I remember I was easier in my mind about it.”

“But didn’t he say,” queried the Left Bower, also stopping short, “suthin’ about its being contingent on our doing some work on the race?”

The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under the hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had luxuriously seated himself on a stump.  The Judge sat down also, and replied, hesitatingly, “Well, yes!  Us or him.”

“Us or him,” repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony.  “And you ain’t quite clear in your mind, are you, if you haven’t done the work already?  You’re just killing yourself with this spontaneous, promiscuous, and premature overwork; that’s what’s the matter with you.”

“I reckon I heard somebody say suthin’ about its being a Chinaman’s three-day job,” interpolated the Left Bower, with equal irony, “but I ain’t quite clear in my mind about that.”

“It’ll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man,” said Union Mills, feebly,—­“kinder take his mind off his loneliness.”

Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, Union Mills stretched out his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe.  He had scarcely done so when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off in the direction of the creek.  The Left Bower, after a slight pause, followed without a word.  The Judge, wisely conceiving it better to join the stronger party, ran feebly after him, and left Union Mills to bring up a weak and vacillating rear.

Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now directly to the bend of the creek, the base of their old ineffectual operations.  Here was the beginning of the famous tail—­race that skirted the new trader’s claim, and then lost its way in a swampy hollow.  It was choked with debris; a thin, yellow stream that once ran through it seemed to have stopped work when they did, and gone into greenish liquidation.