There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic greeting of Mr. Oakhurst.  He had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seek his fortune.  Alone?  No, not exactly alone; in fact —­a giggle—­he had run away with Piney Woods.  Didn’t Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney?  She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance House?  They had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to be married, and here they were.  And they were tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp and company.  All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney—­a stout, comely damsel of fifteen—­emerged from behind the pine-tree, where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not felicitous.  He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst’s kick a superior power that would not bear trifling.  He then endeavored to dissuade Tom Simson from delaying further, but in vain.  He even pointed out the fact that there was no provision, nor means of making a camp.  But, unluckily, “The Innocent” met this objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log-house near the trail.  “Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst,” said the Innocent, pointing to the Duchess, “and I can shift for myself.”

Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst’s admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of laughter.  As it was, he felt compelled to retire up the canon until he could recover his gravity.  There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity.  But when he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire—­for the air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast—­in apparently amicable conversation.  Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest and animation she had not shown for many days.  The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability.  “Is this yer a d—­d picnic?” said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing fire-light, and the tethered animals in the foreground.  Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain.  It was apparently of a jocular nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fist into his mouth.