him in black ruin and shame. I could only throw my arm over his shoulder
and stand silent beside him. A sudden jingle of bells roused him, and,
giving himself a little shake, he exclaimed, 'There are the boys coming
home.'

Soon the camp was filled with men talking, laughing, chaffing, like
light-hearted boys.

'They are a little wild to-night,' said Graeme; 'and to morrow they'll
paint Black Rock red.'

Before many minutes had gone, the last teamster was 'washed up,' and
all were standing about waiting impatiently for the cook's signal--the
supper to-night was to be 'something of a feed'--when the sound of
bells drew their attention to a light sleigh drawn by a buckskin broncho
coming down the hillside at a great pace.

'The preacher, I'll bet, by his driving,' said one of the men.

'Bedad, and it's him has the foine nose for turkey!' said Blaney, a
good-natured, jovial Irishman.

'Yes, or for pay-day, more like,' said Keefe, a black-browed, villainous
fellow-countryman of Blaney's, and, strange to say, his great friend.

Big Sandy M'Naughton, a Canadian Highlander from Glengarry, rose up in
wrath. 'Bill Keefe,' said he, with deliberate emphasis, 'you'll just
keep your dirty tongue off the minister; and as for your pay, it's
little he sees of it, or any one else, except Mike Slavin, when you're
too dry to wait for some one to treat you, or perhaps Father Ryan, when