consumed, Charley's geniality, acting on the universal good-humour,
seemed to have done away with the discontent which his violence and
Bent's cowardice had created. This was the greater tribute to his
personal charm, as the refugees of Garotte usually hung together, and
were inclined to resent promptly any insult offered to one of their
number by a stranger. But in the present case harmony seemed to be
completely reestablished, and it would have taken a keener observer than
Muirhead to have understood his own position and the general opinion. It
was felt that the stranger had bluffed for all he was worth, and that
Garotte had come out "at the little end of the horn."

A day or two later Charley Muirhead, walking about the camp, came upon
Dave Crocker's claim, and offered to buy half of it and work as a
partner, but the other would not sell; "the claim was worth nothin'; not
good enough for two, anyhow;" and there the matter would have ended, had
not the young man proposed to work for a spell just to keep his hand in.
By noon Crocker was won; nobody could resist Charley's hard work and
laughing high spirits. Shortly afterwards the older man proposed to
knock off; a day's work, he reckoned, had been done, and evidently
considering it impossible to accept a stranger's labour without
acknowledgment, he pressed Charley to come up to his shanty and eat. The
simple meal was soon despatched, and Crocker, feeling the obvious
deficiencies of his larder, produced a bottle of Bourbon, and the two
began to drink. Glass succeeded glass, and at length Crocker's reserve
seemed to thaw; his manner became almost easy, and he spoke half
frankly.

"I guess you're strong," he remarked. "You threw Bent out of the saloon
the other night like as if he was nothin'; strength's good, but 'tain't
everythin'. I mean," he added, in answer to the other's questioning