disfigured as by the slash of a knife, was duly instated in his affections and its more comely predecessor treated with contumelious neglect.  On being informed of this, Miss Matthews, it is only fair to say, appeared less surprised than from the apparently low estimate of Mr. Doman’s generosity which the tone of her former letter attested one would naturally have expected her to be.  Soon after, however, her letters grew infrequent, and then ceased altogether.

But Mr. Doman had another correspondent, Mr. Barney Bree, of Hurdy-Gurdy, formerly of Red Dog.  This gentleman, although a notable figure among miners, was not a miner.  His knowledge of mining consisted mainly in a marvelous command of its slang, to which he made copious contributions, enriching its vocabulary with a wealth of uncommon phrases more remarkable for their aptness than their refinement, and which impressed the unlearned “tenderfoot” with a lively sense of the profundity of their inventor’s acquirements.  When not entertaining a circle of admiring auditors from San Francisco or the East he could commonly be found pursuing the comparatively obscure industry of sweeping out the various dance houses and purifying the cuspidors.

Barney had apparently but two passions in life—­love of Jefferson Doman, who had once been of some service to him, and love of whisky, which certainly had not.  He had been among the first in the rush to Hurdy-Gurdy, but had not prospered, and had sunk by degrees to the position of grave digger.  This was not a vocation, but Barney in a desultory way turned his trembling hand to it whenever some local misunderstanding at the card table and his own partial recovery from a prolonged debauch occurred coincidently in point of time.  One day Mr. Doman received, at Red Dog, a letter with the simple postmark, “Hurdy, Cal.,” and being occupied with another matter, carelessly thrust it into a chink of his cabin for future perusal.  Some two years later it was accidentally dislodged and he read it.  It ran as follows:—­

  HURDY, June 6.

  FRIEND JEFF:  I’ve hit her hard in the boneyard.  She’s blind and lousy. 
  I’m on the divvy—­that’s me, and mum’s my lay till you toot. 
  Yours, BARNEY.

  P.S.—­I’ve clayed her with Scarry.

With some knowledge of the general mining camp argot and of Mr. Bree’s private system for the communication of ideas Mr. Doman had no difficulty in understanding by this uncommon epistle that Barney while performing his duty as grave digger had uncovered a quartz ledge with no outcroppings; that it was visibly rich in free gold; that, moved by considerations of friendship, he was willing to accept Mr. Doman as a partner and awaiting that gentleman’s declaration of his will in the matter would discreetly keep the discovery a secret.  From the postscript it was plainly inferable that in order to conceal the treasure he had buried above it the mortal part of a person named Scarry.