The pup, however, was recklessly indifferent.  He could pile up fresh glories every minute by bowling the little pilgrim on his back and walking on his chest to lap his ear.  This he proceeded to do, in his clumsy way of being friendly, with a regularity only possible to an enthusiast.  And every time he did it anew, either Keno or Jim or a visitor would shy something at him and call him names.  This, however, only served to incite him to livelier antics of licking everybody’s face, wagging himself against the furniture, and dragging the various bombarding missiles between the legs of all the company.

There were men, who apparently had nothing else to do, who returned to the cabin on the hill with every new visiting deputation.  A series of ownership in and familiarity with the grave little chap and his story came upon them rapidly.  Field, the father of Borealis, was the most assiduous guide the camp afforded.  By afternoon he knew more about the child than even Jim himself.

For his part, the lanky Jim sat on a stool, looking wiser than Solomon and Moses rolled in one, and greeted his wondering acquaintances with a calm and dignity that his oneness in the great event was magnifying hourly.  That such an achievement as finding a lost little pilgrim in the wilderness might be expected of his genius every day was firmly impressed upon himself, if not on all who came.

“Speakin’ of catfish, Jim thinks he’s hoein’ some potatoes.” said Field to a group of his friends.  “If one of us real live spirits of Borealis had bin in his place, it’s ten to one we’d ‘a’ found a pair of twins.”

All the remainder of the day, and even after dinner, and up to eight o’clock in the evening, the new arrivals, or the old ones over again, made the cabin on the hill their Mecca.

“Shut the door, Keno, and sit outside, and tell any more that come along, the show is over for the day,” instructed Jim, at last.  “The boy is goin’ to bed.”

“Did he bring a nightie?” said Keno.

“Forgot it, I reckon,” answered Jim, as he took the tired little chap in his arms.  “If only I had the enterprise I’d make him one to-night.”

But it never got made.  The pretty little armful of a boy went to sleep with all his baby garments on, the long “man’s” trousers and all, and Jim permitted all to remain in place, for the warmth thereof, he said.  Into the bunk went the tiny bundle of humanity, his doll tightly held to his breast.

Then Jim sat down and watched the bunk, till Keno had come inside and climbed in a bed and begun a serenade.  At twelve o’clock the miner was still awake.  He went to his door, and, throwing it open, looked out at the great, dark mountains and the brilliant sky.

“If only I had the steam I’d open up the claim and make the little feller rich,” he drawled to himself.  Then he closed the door, and, removing his clothing, got into the berth where his tiny guest was sleeping, and knew no more till the morning came and a violent knocking on his window prodded his senses into something that answered for activity.