The laugh that broke from Stacy and Barker, to whom the infelicitous reputation of Red Gulch was notorious, did not allay Steptoe’s irritation.  He darted a vindictive glance at the unfortunate Dick, but joined in the laugh.  “And what was ye goin’ to do with that?” he said, pointing to the treasure.

“Oh, we’re taking that with us.  There’s a chunk for each of us as a memento.  We cast lots for the choice, and Demorest won,—­that one which you couldn’t lift with one hand, you know,” said Stacy.

“Oh, couldn’t I?  I reckon you ain’t goin’ to give me the same chance that they did at the Mint, eh?”

Although the remark was accompanied with his usual coarse, familiar laugh, there was a look in his eye so inconsequent in its significance that Stacy would have made some reply, but at this moment Demorest re-entered the cabin, ushering in a half dozen miners from the Bar below.  They were, although youngish men, some of the older locators in the vicinity, yet, through years of seclusion and uneventful labors, they had acquired a certain childish simplicity of thought and manner that was alternately amusing and pathetic.  They had never intruded upon the reserve of the three partners of Heavy Tree Hill before; nothing but an infantine curiosity, a shy recognition of the partners’ courtesy in inviting them with the whole population of Heavy Tree to the dinner the next day, and the never-to-be-resisted temptation of an evening of “free liquor” and forgetfulness of the past had brought them there now.  Among them, and yet not of them, was a young man who, although speaking English without accent, was distinctly of a different nationality and race.  This, with a certain neatness of dress and artificial suavity of address, had gained him the nickname of “the Count” and “Frenchy,” although he was really of Flemish extraction.  He was the Union Ditch Company’s agent on the Bar, by virtue of his knowledge of languages.

Barker uttered an exclamation of pleasure when he saw him.  Himself the incarnation of naturalness, he had always secretly admired this young foreigner, with his lacquered smoothness, although a vague consciousness that neither Stacy nor Demorest shared his feelings had restricted their acquaintance.  Nevertheless, he was proud now to see the bow with which Paul Van Loo entered the cabin as if it were a drawing-room, and perhaps did not reflect upon that want of real feeling in an act which made the others uncomfortable.

The slight awkwardness their entrance produced, however, was quickly forgotten when the blanket was again lifted from the pan of treasure.  Singularly enough, too, the same feverish light came into the eyes of each as they all gathered around this yellow shrine.  Even the polite Paul rudely elbowed his way between the others, though his artificial “Pardon” seemed to Barker to condone this act of brutal instinct.  But it was more instructive to observe the manner in which the older locators received this confirmation