Thompson all necessary spirituous aid during the continuance of his
task. Thompson promptly signified his acquiescence, cleared his throat
with a glass of amber-colored liquid, and commenced, the boys meanwhile
listening attentively, and commenting critically.

"Too much cussed heavenly twang," observed one, disapprovingly, as one
letter largely composed of Scriptural extracts was read.

"Why the deuce didn't he shoot?" indignantly demanded another, as a tale
of escape from heathen pursuers was read.

"Shot up wimmen in a derned dark room! Well, _I'll_ be durned!"
soliloquized a yellow-haired Missourian, as Thompson read an account of
a Zenana. "Reckon they'd set an infernal sight higher by wimmen if they
wuz in the diggins' six months--hey, fellers?"

"You bet!" emphatically responded a majority of those present.

Before the boys became very restive, Thompson finished the pamphlet,
including a few lines on the cover, which stated that the society was
greatly in need of funds, and that contributions might be sent to the
society's financial agent in Boston. Thompson gracefully concluded his
service by passing the hat, with the following net result: Two
revolvers, one double-barreled pistol, three knives, one watch, two
rings (both home-made, valuable and fearfully ugly), a pocket-inkstand,
a silver tobacco-box, and forty or fifty ounces of dust and nuggets.
Boston Bill, who was notoriously absent-minded, dropped in a
pocket-comb, but, on being sternly called to order by old Thompson,
cursed himself most fluently, and redeemed his disgraceful contribution
with a gold double-eagle. "The Webfoot," who was the most unlucky man in