"They'll find out the truth about us all when they find out anything,"
he added, significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now."

Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal of Mr.
Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced seclusion.
"We'll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow'll melt, and we'll
all go back together." The cheerful gaiety of the young man, and Mr.
Oakhurst's calm, infected the others. The Innocent with the aid of pine
boughs extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess
directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and
tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to their
fullest extent. "I reckon now you're used to fine things at Poker Flat,"
said Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that
reddened her cheeks through its professional tint, and Mother Shipton
requested Piney not to "chatter." But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a
weary search for the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter
echoed from the rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first
naturally reverted to the whisky, which he had prudently cached. "And
yet it don't somehow sound like whisky," said the gambler. It was not
until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still-blinding
storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it
was "square fun."

Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cached his cards with the whisky as something
debarred the free access of the community, I cannot say. It was certain
that, in Mother Shipton's words, he "didn't say cards once" during that
evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, produced somewhat
ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack. Notwithstanding some
difficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, Piney
Woods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to