The child, for some unaccountable reason, seemed appalled.

“We can’t freight all them rabbits,” decided the miner.  “And, Tintoretto, you are way-billed to do some walkin’.”

He took up the child, who continued to cling to the ears of his one particular hare.  As all the jacks were tied together, all were lifted and were dangling down against the miner’s legs.

“Huh! you can tell what some people want by the way they hang right on,” said Jim.  “Wal, no harm in lettin’ you stick to one.  We can eat him for dinner to-morrow, I guess, and save his hide in the bargain.”

He therefore cut the buckskin thong and all but one of the rabbits fell to the earth, on top of Tintoretto, who thought he was climbed upon by half a dozen bears.  He let out a yowp that scared himself half into fits, and, scooting from under the danger, turned about and flung a fearful challenge of barking at the prostrate enemy.

“Come on, unlettered ignoramus,” said his master, and, holding the wondering little foundling on his arm, with his rabbit still clutched by the ears, he proceeded down to the roadway, scored like a narrow gray streak through the brush, and plodded onward towards the mining-camp of Borealis.

CHAPTER II

JIM MAKES DISCOVERIES

It was dark and there were five miles of boot-tracks and seven miles of pup-tracks left in the sand of the road when Jim, Tintoretto, and Aborigineezer came at length to a point above the small constellation of lights that marked the spot where threescore of men had builded a town.

From the top of the ridge they had climbed, the man and the pup alone looked down on the camp, for the weary little “Injun” had fallen asleep.  Had he been awake, the all to be seen would have been of little promise.  Great, sombre mountains towered darkly up on every side, roofed over by an arch of sky amazingly brilliant with stars.  Below, the darkness was the denser for the depth of the hollow in the hills.  Vaguely the one straight street of Borealis was indicated by the lamps, like a thin Milky Way in a meagre universe of lesser lights, dimly glowing and sparsely scattered on the rock-strewn acclivities.

From down there came the sounds of life.  Half-muffled music, raucous singing, blows of a hammer, yelpings of a dog, hissing of steam escaping somewhere from a boiler—­all these and many other disturbances of the night furnished a microcosmic medley of the toiling, playing, hoping, and fearing, where men abide, creating that frailest and yet most enduring of frailties—­a human community.

The sight of his town could furnish no novelties to the miner on top of the final rise, and feeling somewhat tired by the weight of his small companion, as well as hungry from his walking, old Jim skirted the rocky slope as best he might, and so came at length to an isolated cabin.