money in it--thirty thousand dollars; two-thirds of it are in the bag
there yet. It was forty days before that man caught up on my track.
I just escaped. From habit he had written his real name on a tavern
register, but had scratched it out and written "Dagget Barclay" in the
place of it. But fear gives you a watchful eye and keen, and I read the
true name through the scratches, and fled like a deer.

He has hunted me all over this world for three years and a half--the
Pacific states, Australasia, India--everywhere you can think of; then
back to Mexico and up to California again, giving me hardly any rest; but
that name on the registers always saved me, and what is left of me is
alive yet. And I am so tired! A cruel time he has given me, yet I give
you my honor I have never harmed him nor any man.

That was the end of the story, and it stirred those boys to blood-heat,
be sure of it. As for me--each word burnt a hole in me where it struck.

We voted that the old man should bunk with us, and be my guest and
Hillyer's. I shall keep my own counsel, naturally; but as soon as he is
well rested and nourished, I shall take him to Denver and rehabilitate
his fortunes.

The boys gave the old fellow the bone-smashing good-fellowship handshake
of the mines, and then scattered away to spread the news.

At dawn next morning Wells-Fargo Ferguson and Ham Sandwich called us
softly out, and said, privately:

"That news about the way that old stranger has been treated has spread
all around, and the camps are up. They are piling in from everywhere,