“But didn’t he say,” queried the Left Bower, also stopping short, “suthin’ about it’s being contingent on our doing some work on the race?”

The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under the hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had luxuriously seated himself on a stump.  The Judge sat down also, and replied, hesitatingly, “Well, yes!  Us or him.”

“Us or him,” repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony.  “And you ain’t quite clear in your mind, are you, if you haven’t done the work already?  You’re just killing yourself with this spontaneous, promiscuous, and premature overwork; that’s what’s the matter with you.”

“I reckon I heard somebody say suthin’ about it’s being a Chinaman’s three-day job,” interpolated the Left Bower, with equal irony, “but I ain’t quite clear in my mind about that.”

“It’ll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man,” said Union Mills, feebly—­“kinder take his mind off his loneliness.”

Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, union Mills stretched out his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe.  He had scarcely done so when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off in the direction of the creek.  The Left Bower, after a slight pause, followed without a word.  The Judge, wisely conceiving it better to join the stronger party, ran feebly after him, and left Union Mills to bring up a weak and vacillating rear.

Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now directly to the bend of the creek, the base of their old ineffectual operations.  Here was the beginning of the famous tail-race that skirted the new trader’s claim, and then lost its way in a swampy hollow.  It was choked with debris; a thin, yellow stream that once ran through it seemed to have stopped work when they did, and gone into greenish liquidation.

They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, and had received no other explanation from the Right Bower, who led them, than that afforded by his mute example when he reached the race.  Leaping into it without a word, he at once began to clear away the broken timbers and driftwood.  Fired by the spectacle of what appeared to be a new and utterly frivolous game, the men gayly leaped after him, and were soon engaged in a fascinating struggle with the impeded race.  The Judge forgot his lameness in springing over a broken sluice-box; Union Mills forgot his whistle in a happy imitation of a Chinese coolie’s song.  Nevertheless, after ten minutes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged; Union Mills was beginning to rub his leg when a distant rumble shook the earth.  The men looked at each other; the diversion was complete; a languid discussion of the probabilities of its being an earthquake or a blast followed, in the midst of which the Right Bower, who was working a little in advance of the others, uttered a warning cry and leaped from the race.  His companions had barely time to follow before a sudden