It was true. Slinn had often envied Masters' promptness of
decision and resolution. But he only looked at the grim face of
his interlocutor with a feeble sense of relief. He was GOING. And
he, Slinn, would not have to explain anything!

He murmured something about having to go over to the settlement on
business. He dreaded lest Masters should insist upon going into
the tunnel.

"I suppose you want to mail that letter," said Masters, drily.
"The mail don't go till to-morrow, so you've got time to finish it,
and put it in an envelope."

Following the direction of Masters' eyes, Slinn looked down and
saw, to his utter surprise, that he was holding an unfinished
pencilled note in his hand. How it came there, when he had written
it, he could not tell; he dimly remembered that one of his first
impulses was to write to his wife, but that he had already done so
he had forgotten. He hastily concealed the note in his breast-
pocket, with a vacant smile. Masters eyed him half contemptuously,
half compassionately.

"Don't forget yourself and drop it in some hollow tree for a
letter-box," be said. "Well--so long!--since you won't drink.
Take care of yourself," and, turning on his heel, Masters walked
away.

Slinn watched him as he crossed over to his abandoned claim, saw
him gather his few mining utensils, strap his blanket over his
back, lift his hat on his long-handled shovel as a token of