“You write to her this very night, and go back to her and your children just as soon as you can get the money to pay your way.  Act the man, and all will come right yet.  I have writing materials here in my satchel —­pen, ink, paper, envelopes, stamps, every thing; I am an editor, and go fixed up for writing.”

The letter was written, I acting as Pete’s amanuensis, he pleading that he was a poor scribe at best and that his nerves were too unsteady for such work.  Taking my advice, he made a clean breast of the whole matter, throwing himself on the forgiveness of the wife whom he had so shamefully neglected, and promising by the help of God to make all the amends possible in time to come.  The letter was duly directed, sealed, and stamped; and Pete looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his soul, He had made me a fire in the little stove, saying it was better than the barroom; in which opinion I was fully agreed.

“There is no place for you to sleep tonight without corralling you with the fellows; there is but one bedroom, and there are fourteen bunks in it.”

I shuddered at the prospect-fourteen bunks in one small room, and those whisky-sodden, loud-cursing card-players to be my roommates for the night!

“I prefer sitting here by the stove all night,” I said; “I can employ most of the time writing, if I can have a light.”

Pete thought a moment, looked grave, and then said: 

“That won’t do, Elder; those fellows would take offense, and make trouble.  Several of them are out now goose-hunting; they will be coming in at all hours from now till daybreak, and it won’t do for them to find you sitting up here alone.  The best, thing for you to do is to go in and take one of those bunks; you, needn’t takeoff any thing but your coat and boots, and”—­here he lowered his voice, looking about him as he spoke—­“if you have any money about, keep it next to your body.”

The last words were spoken with peculiar emphasis.

Taking the advice given me, I took up my baggage and followed Pete to the room where I was to spend the night.  Ugh! it was dreadful.  The single window in the room was nailed down, and the air was close and foul.  The bunks were damp and dirty beyond belief, grimed with foulness, and reeking with ill odors.  This was being corralled.

I turned to Pete, saying: 

“I can’t stand this—­I will go back to the kitchen.”

“You had better follow my advice, Elder,” said he very gravely.  “I know things about here better than you do.  It’s rough, but you had better stand it.”