pick) warn't of much account (a long stroke of the pick for a period).
He was green, and let the boys about here jump him"--and the rest of his
sentence was confided to his hat, which he had removed to wipe his manly
brow with his red bandanna.

I asked him who was the original proprietor.

"His name war Fagg."

I went to see him. He looked a little older and plainer. He had worked
hard, he said, and was getting on "so-so." I took quite a liking to
him and patronized him to some extent. Whether I did so because I was
beginning to have a distrust for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer is
not necessary for me to state.

You remember how the Coyote Tunnel went in, and how awfully we
shareholders were done! Well, the next thing I heard was that Rattler,
who was one of the heaviest shareholders, was up at Mugginsville keeping
bar for the proprietor of the Mugginsville Hotel, and that old Fagg had
struck it rich, and didn't know what to do with his money. All this was
told me by Mixer, who had been there, settling up matters, and likewise
that Fagg was sweet upon the daughter of the proprietor of the aforesaid
hotel. And so by hearsay and letter I eventually gathered that old
Robins, the hotel man, was trying to get up a match between Nellie
Robins and Fagg. Nellie was a pretty, plump, and foolish little thing,
and would do just as her father wished. I thought it would be a good
thing for Fagg if he should marry and settle down; that as a married man
he might be of some account. So I ran up to Mugginsville one day to look
after things.