bereft--so outcast by the goddess of fortune--since they had thrown
their lots together.

He dreaded the thought of meeting various acquaintances here in
camp--the friends to whom he had said he was going that day to the "See
Saw" property, far over the Mahogany range, near the Indian
reservation. He determined to go. Perhaps the shack and the
shaft-house on the claim, with the windlass and tools included by
Briggs in the bill of sale, might fetch a few odd dollars.

Slowly down the street he went to the hay-yard where his pony was
stabled. He met a water man, halting on his rounds at the front of a
neat canvas dwelling. The man had three large barrels on a wagon, each
full of muddy, brackish water. A long piece of hose was thrust into
one, its other end dangled out behind.

From the tent emerged a woman with her buckets. The water man placed
the hose-end to his mouth, applied a lusty suction, and the water came
gushing forth. He filled both receptacles, collected the price, and
then drove on to the next.

Sardonically Van reflected that even the fine little stream of water on
his claim, in a land where water was so terribly scarce, was absolutely
worthless as an asset. It was over a mountain ridge of such tremendous
height that it might as well have been in the forests of Maine.

Despite the utter hopelessness of his present situation, his spirits
were not depressed. Gettysburg, he reflected, was a genius for bumping
into queer old prospectors--relics of the days of forty-nine, still
eagerly pursuing their _ignis fatuous_ of gold--and from some such