gusto his experience, invariably ending with his characteristic
condemnation of the newcomer. It seemed to relieve him of any unjust
implication of sentiment, and Kentuck had the weaknesses of the nobler
sex. When everybody else had gone to bed, he walked down to the river
and whistled reflectingly. Then he walked up the gulch past the cabin,
still whistling with demonstrative unconcern. At a large redwood-tree
he paused and retraced his steps, and again passed the cabin. Halfway
down to the river's bank he again paused, and then returned and
knocked at the door. It was opened by Stumpy. "How goes it?" said
Kentuck, looking past Stumpy toward the candle-box. "All serene!"
replied Stumpy. "Anything up?" "Nothing." There was a pause--an
embarrassing one--Stumpy still holding the door. Then Kentuck had
recourse to his finger, which he held up to Stumpy. "Rastled with
it,--the d--d little cuss," he said, and retired.

The next day Cherokee Sal had such rude sepulture as Roaring Camp
afforded. After her body had been committed to the hillside, there was
a formal meeting of the camp to discuss what should be done with her
infant. A resolution to adopt it was unanimous and enthusiastic. But
an animated discussion in regard to the manner and feasibility of
providing for its wants at once sprang up. It was remarkable that the
argument partook of none of those fierce personalities with which
discussions were usually conducted at Roaring Camp. Tipton proposed
that they should send the child to Red Dog,--a distance of forty
miles,--where female attention could be procured. But the unlucky
suggestion met with fierce and unanimous opposition. It was evident
that no plan which entailed parting from their new acquisition would
for a moment be entertained. "Besides," said Tom Ryder, "them fellows
at Red Dog would swap it, and ring in somebody else on us." A
disbelief in the honesty of other camps prevailed at Roaring Camp, as