him that we had business to discuss. Muttering to himself, he led us
into the house and lighted two candles in the parlour. We had never
entered the parlour before, and accordingly looked about with interest
and curiosity. The furniture, which had belonged to Pap's father-in-
law, a Spanish-Californian, was of mahogany and horsehair, very good
and substantial. In a bookcase were some ancient tomes bound in musty
leather. A strange-looking piano, with a high back, covered with faded
rose-coloured silk, stood in a corner. Some half a dozen
daguerreotypes, a case of stuffed humming-birds, and a wreath of
flowers embellished the walls. Upon everything lay the fine white dust
of the dry year, which lay also thick upon many hearts.

"Sit ye down," said Pap. "I reckon ye've come up to ask for a loan?"

"Yes," said Ajax. "But first I wish to beg your pardon. I had no right
to speak as I did in the store this evening. I'm sorry."

Pap nodded indifferently.

"'Twas good advice," he muttered. "I ain't skeered o' much, but
diptheery gives me cold feet. I calc'late to skin out o' this and into
the mountains to-morrer. How about this yere loan?"

"It's not for us," said I.

"I don't lend no good dollars on squatters' claims," said Pap. "Let's
git to business."

We explained what we wanted. Upon the top of Pap's head the sparse
grey hairs bristled ominously. His teeth clicked; his eyes snapped. He