"Easy, old hoss," suggested one of the boys; "_you_ didn't do him, yer
know."

"That's what's the matter!" roared the Judge, savagely; "nobody'll ever
know which of us whipped."

And the Judge sorrowfully took himself off, declining most resolutely to
drink.

Many hearts were full of sympathy for the Judge; but the poor fellow on
the bench seemed to need most just then. He had asked for some one who
could write, and was dictating, in whispers, a letter to some person.
Then he drank some brandy, and then some water; then he freely acquitted
the Judge of having ever fought any way but fairly. But still his mind
seemed burdened. Finally, in a very thin, weak voice, he stammered out:

"I don't want--to make--to make it uncomfortable--for--for any of--you
fellers, but--is ther' a--a preacher in the camp?"

The boys looked at each other inquiringly; men from every calling used
to go to the mines, and no one would have been surprised if a
backsliding priest, or even bishop, had stepped to the front. But none
appeared, and the wounded man, after looking despairingly from one to
another, gave a smothered cry.

"Oh, God, hez a miserable wretch got to cut hisself open, and then
flicker out, without anybody to say a prayer for him?"

The boys looked sorrowful--if gold-dust could have bought prayers, Billy
would have had a first-class assortment in an instant.