the front door swung wide and a man appeared in the light. A
rush of frost, turned to vapor by the heat of the room, swirled
about him to his knees and poured on across the floor, growing
thinner and thinner, and perishing a dozen feet from the stove.
Taking the wisp broom from its nail inside the door, the newcomer
brushed the snow from his moccasins and high German socks. He
would have appeared a large man had not a huge French-Canadian
stepped up to him from the bar and gripped his hand.

"Hello, Daylight!" was his greeting. "By Gar, you good for sore
eyes!"

"Hello, Louis, when did you-all blow in?" returned the newcomer.
"Come up and have a drink and tell us all about Bone Creek. Why,
dog-gone you-all, shake again. Where's that pardner of yours?
I'm looking for him."

Another huge man detached himself from the bar to shake hands.
Olaf Henderson and French Louis, partners together on Bone Creek,
were the two largest men in the country, and though they were but
half a head taller than the newcomer, between them he was dwarfed
completely.

"Hello, Olaf, you're my meat, savvee that," said the one called
Daylight. "To-morrow's my birthday, and I'm going to put you-all
on your back--savvee? And you, too, Louis. I can put you-all on
your back on my birthday--savvee? Come up and drink, Olaf, and
I'll tell you-all about it."

The arrival of the newcomer seemed to send a flood of warmth