“Here comes the Girl!” he cried excitedly.  “Aw, leave your guns alone—­ take your drinks, quick!”

For a fraction of a second the men looked sheepishly at one another, even Nick appearing a trifle uncomfortable, as he picked up the kettle and went off with it.

“Once more we’re friends, eh, boys?” said Rance, with a forced laugh; and then as he lifted his glass high in the air, he gave the toast: 

“The Girl!”

“The Girl!” repeated all—­all save Ashby, whose snores by this time could be heard throughout the big room—­and drained their glasses.

VI.

There was a general movement towards the bar when the fair proprietress of The Polka, who had lingered longer than usual in her little cabin on top of the mountain, breezily entered the place by the main door.  In a coarse, blue skirt, and rough, white flannel blouse, cut away and held in place at the throat by a crimson ribbon, the Girl made a pretty picture; it was not difficult to see why the boys of Cloudy Mountain Camp had a feeling which fell little short of adoration for this sun-browned maid, with the spirit of the mountain in her eyes.  That each in his own way had given her to understand that he was desperately smitten with her, goes without saying.  But, although she accepted their rough homage as a matter of course, such a thought as falling in love with anyone of them had never entered her mind.

As far back, almost, as she could remember, the Girl had lived among them and had ever been a true comrade, sharing their disappointments and thrilling with their successes.  Of a nature pure and simple, she was, nevertheless, frank and outspoken.  Moreover, she knew to a dot what was meant when someone—­bolder than his mates—­stretched out his arms to her.  One such exhibition on a man’s part she was likely to forgive and forget, but the wrath and scorn that had blazed forth from her blue eyes on such an occasion had been sufficient to prevent a repetition of the offence.  In short, unspoiled by their coarse flattery, and, to all appearances, happy and care-free, she attended to the running of The Polka wholly unsmirched by her environment.

But a keen observer would not have failed to detect that the Girl took a little less pleasure in her surroundings than she had taken in them before she had made the trip to Monterey.  Downright glad, to use her own expression, as she had been on her return to see the boys of the camp and hear their boisterous shouts of welcome when the stage drew up in front of The Polka, she had to acknowledge that her home-coming was not quite what she expected.  It was as if she had suddenly been startled out of a beautiful dream wherein she had been listening to the soft music of her lover’s voice and brought face to face with the actualities of life, which, in her case, to say the least, were very real.