Within three hours every man within five miles of that barroom knew that the most paying dirt on the continent had been discovered not far away, and three hours later a large body of gold-hunters, guided by the deserter, were en route for the auriferous locality; while a storekeeper and a liquor-dealer, with their respective stocks-in-trade, followed closely after.

The ground was found; it proved to be tolerably rich; tents went up, underground residences were burrowed, and the grateful miners ordered the barkeeper to give unlimited credit to the locality’s discoverer.  The barkeeper obeyed the order, and the ex-warrior speedily met his death in a short but glorious contest with John Barleycorn.

There was no available lumber from which to construct a coffin, and the storekeeper had no large boxes; but as the liquor-seller had already emptied two barrels, these were taken, neatly joined in the centre, and made to contain the remains of the founder of the hamlet.  The method of his death and origin of his coffin led a spirituous miner to suggest that he rested happily, and from this remark the name of the town was elaborated.

Of course, no ladies accompanied the expedition.  Men who went West for gold did not take their families with them, as a rule, and the settlers of new mining towns were all of the masculine gender.

When a town had attained to the dignity of a hotel, members of the gentler sex occasionally appeared, but—­with the exception of an occasional washerwoman—­their influence was decidedly the reverse of that usually attributed to woman’s society.

For the privileges of their society, men fought with pistols and knives, and bought of them disgrace and sorrow for gold.  But at first Happy Rest was unblessed and uncursed by the presence of any one who did not wear pantaloons.

On the fifth day of its existence, however, when the arrival of an express agent indicated that Capital had formally acknowledged the existence of Happy Rest, there was an unusual commotion in the never-quiet village.

An important rumor had spread among the tents and gopher-holes, and, one after another, the citizens visited the saloon, took the barkeeper mysteriously aside, and, with faces denoting the greatest concern, whispered earnestly to him.  The barkeeper felt his importance as the sole custodian of all the village news, but he replied with affability to all questions: 

“Well, yes; there had a lady come; come by the same stage as the express agent.  What kind?—­Well, he really couldn’t say—­some might think one way, an’ some another. He thought she was a real lady, though she wouldn’t ’low anything to be sent her from the bar, and she hedn’t brought no baggage.  Thought so—­knowed she was a lady—­in fact, would bet drinks for the crowd on it.  ’Cos why?—­’Cos nobody heerd her cuss or seed her laugh.  H’d bet three to two she was a lady—­might bet two to one,