asked her that, furst thing."

"Stella Donovan--huh! That's no name ever I heard; what's she look
like?"

"Like a lady, I reckon; I ain't seen one fer quite a spell now."

"Dark or light?"

"Waal, sorter medium, I should say; brown hair with a bit o' red in it,
an' a pair o' grey eyes full of fun--some girl, to my notion."

The questioner struck his fist on the wood sharply.

"Well, what the devil do you suppose such a woman has come to this hole
clear from New York for, Timmons? What's her game, anyhow?"

"Blessed if I know," and the proprietor seated himself on a high stool.
"I didn't ask no questions like that; maybe the gent by the stove there
might give yer all the information yer want. He brought her up from
the dapoo, an' kin talk English. Say, Jim, this yere is a short horn
frum New York, named Beaton, an' he seems ter be powerfully interested
in skirts--Beaton, Mr. Jim Westcott."

The two men looked at each other, the miner stepping slightly forward,
and knocking the ashes out of his pipe. Beaton laughed, assuming a
semblance of good nature.

"My questions were prompted solely by curiosity," he explained,
evidently not wholly at ease. "I was expecting a young woman, and