to weakly recede from “a bluff” and allow his adversary to sweep the board.  After this it was felt that matters were becoming serious.  There was no subsequent patrolling of the camp before the stranger’s cabin.  Their curiosity was singularly abated.  A general feeling of repulsion, kept within bounds partly by the absence of any overt act from Bulger, and partly by an inconsistent over-consciousness of his shotgun, took its place.  But an unexpected occurrence revived it.

One evening, as the usual social circle were drawn around Mosby’s stove, the lazy silence was broken by the familiar sounds of pistol shots and a series of more familiar shrieks and yells from the rocky hill road.  The circle quickly recognized the voices of their old friends the roisterers and gamblers from Sawyer’s Dam; they as quickly recognized the returning shouts here and there from a few companions who were welcoming them.  I grieve to say that in spite of their previous attitude of reformation a smile of gratified expectancy lit up the faces of the younger members, and even the older ones glanced dubiously at Briggs.  Mosby made no attempt to conceal a sigh of relief as he carefully laid out an extra supply of glasses in his bar.  Suddenly the oncoming yells ceased, the wild gallop of hoofs slackened into a trot, and finally halted, and even the responsive shouts of the camp stopped also.  We all looked vacantly at each other; Mosby leaped over his counter and went to the door; Briggs followed with the rest of us.  The night was dark, and it was a few minutes before we could distinguish a straggling, vague, but silent procession moving through the moist, heavy air on the hill.  But, to our surprise, it was moving away from us—­absolutely leaving the camp!  We were still staring in expectancy when out of the darkness slowly emerged a figure which we recognized at once as Captain Jim, one of the most reckless members of our camp.  Pushing us back into the grocery he entered without a word, closed the door behind him, and threw himself vacantly into a chair.  We at once pressed around him.  He looked up at us dazedly, drew a long breath, and said slowly: 

“It’s no use, gentlemen!  Suthin’s got to be done with that Bulger; and mighty quick.”

“What’s the matter?” we asked eagerly.

“Matter!” he repeated, passing his hand across his forehead.  “Matter!  Look yere!  Ye all of you heard them boys from Sawyer’s Dam coming over the hill?  Ye heard their music—­mebbe ye heard us join in the chorus?  Well, on they came waltzing down the hill, like old times, and we waitin’ for ’em.  Then, jest as they passed the old cabin, who do you think they ran right into—­shooting iron, long hair and mustache, and all that—­standing there plump in the road? why, Bulger!”

“Well?”