"By the ghost of Jesse James, you did it, old man."

"This looks like it, don't it?" said the successful express-car robber,
holding his valise to the light. "Don't you know this man, Haight?"

"Damme, if it isn't Dan Moriarity."

"The same old penny--Haight," and Moriarity clasped his hand.

Haight, as host, did the honors. An empty flour barrel, covered by a
square board, made an acceptable table. Small whisky barrels did duty as
chairs, and a substantial repast of boiled fish, partridges and gray
squirrels, supplemented with steaming glasses of hot toddy, satisfied
the inner man, and, for a time, caused them to forget the exciting train
of events through which they had just passed.

After their hunger had been appeased pipes were lit, and the fragrant
glass of spirits, filled to the brim, were placed conveniently and
seductively near at hand.

Cummings then related, in detail, his night's exploit and ended by
opening the valise and taking out the packages of currency which it
contained. It was a strange picture to gaze upon. The fire-lit cave,
shrouded outside with mystery and darkness, but its heart alive with
light and warmth; the rude appliances and paraphernalia for distilling
the contraband "mountain dew"; the floor strewn with blankets, cooking-
tins, a rifle or two, and provisions, while, bathed in the warm glow of
the cheerful fire, secure from pursuit and comfortably housed from the
weather, the three men, with greedy eyes, drank in the enchanting vision