“I’ve received word from the Parker outfit on the Mayo, and McPherson isn’t asleep on Henderson—­you don’t know him.  They’re keeping quiet, and of course one can’t tell, but . . .”

Bishop nodded his head sagely, while Corliss turned the trump he had cut.  A sure vision of a “twenty-four” hand was dazzling him, when there was a sound of voices without and the door shook to a heavy knock.

“Come in!” he bawled.  “An’ don’t make such a row about it!  Look at that”—­to Corliss, at the same time facing his hand—­“fifteen-eight, fifteen-sixteen, and eight are twenty-four.  Just my luck!”

Corliss started swiftly to his feet.  Bishop jerked his head about.  Two women and a man had staggered clumsily in through the door, and were standing just inside, momentarily blinded by the light.

“By all the Prophets!  Cornell!” The pocket-miner wrung the man’s hand and led him forward.  “You recollect Cornell, Corliss?  Jake Cornell, Thirty-Seven and a Half Eldorado.”

“How could I forget?” the engineer acknowledged warmly, shaking his hand.  “That was a miserable night you put us up last fall, about as miserable as the moose-steak was good that you gave us for breakfast.”

Jake Cornell, hirsute and cadaverous of aspect, nodded his head with emphasis and deposited a corpulent demijohn on the table.  Again he nodded his head, and glared wildly about him.  The stove caught his eye and he strode over to it, lifted a lid, and spat out a mouthful of amber-colored juice.  Another stride and he was back.

“’Course I recollect the night,” he rumbled, the ice clattering from his hairy jaws.  “And I’m danged glad to see you, that’s a fact.”  He seemed suddenly to remember himself, and added a little sheepishly, “The fact is, we’re all danged glad to see you, ain’t we, girls?” He twisted his head about and nodded his companions up.  “Blanche, my dear, Mr. Corliss—­hem—­it gives me . . . hem . . . it gives me pleasure to make you acquainted.  Cariboo Blanche, sir.  Cariboo Blanche.”

“Pleased to meet you.”  Cariboo Blanche put out a frank hand and looked him over keenly.  She was a fair-featured, blondish woman, originally not unpleasing of appearance, but now with lines all deepened and hardened as on the faces of men who have endured much weather-beat.

Congratulating himself upon his social proficiency, Jake Cornell cleared his throat and marshalled the second woman to the front.  “Mr. Corliss, the Virgin; I make you both acquainted.  Hem!” in response to the query in Vance’s eyes—­“Yes, the Virgin.  That’s all, just the Virgin.”

She smiled and bowed, but did not shake hands.  “A toff” was her secret comment upon the engineer; and from her limited experience she had been led to understand that it was not good form among “toffs” to shake hands.

Corliss fumbled his hand, then bowed, and looked at her curiously.  She was a pretty, low-browed creature; darkly pretty, with a well-favored body, and for all that the type was mean, he could not escape the charm of her over-brimming vitality.  She seemed bursting with it, and every quick, spontaneous movement appeared to spring from very excess of red blood and superabundant energy.