“What would you hev done?” said Uncle Billy, after an hysterical collapse.

Uncle Jim’s face grew grave again.  “I’d hev—­I’d—­hev cl’ared out!  Out er ’Frisco! out er Californy! out er Ameriky!  I couldn’t have stud it!  Don’t think I would hev begrudged ye yer luck!  No man would have been gladder than me.”  He leaned forward again, and laid his hand caressingly upon his partner’s arm—­“Don’t think I’d hev wanted to take a penny of it—­but I—­thar!  I couldn’t hev stood up under it!  To hev had you, you that I left behind, comin’ down here rollin’ in wealth and new partners and friends, and arrive upon me—­and this shanty—­and”—­he threw towards the corner of the room a terrible gesture, none the less terrible that it was illogical and inconsequent to all that had gone before—­“and—­and—­that broom!”

There was a dead silence in the room.  With it Uncle Billy seemed to feel himself again transported to the homely cabin at Cedar Camp and that fateful night, with his partner’s strange, determined face before him as then.  He even fancied that he heard the roaring of the pines without, and did not know that it was the distant sea.

But after a minute Uncle Jim resumed:—­

“Of course you’ve made a little raise somehow, or you wouldn’t be here?”

“Yes,” said Uncle Billy eagerly.  “Yes!  I’ve got”—­He stopped and stammered.  “I’ve got—­a—­few hundreds.”

“Oh, oh!” said Uncle Jim cheerfully.  He paused, and then added earnestly, “I say!  You ain’t got left, over and above your d—­d foolishness at the Oriental, as much as five hundred dollars?”

“I’ve got,” said Uncle Billy, blushing a little over his first deliberate and affected lie, “I’ve got at least five hundred and seventy-two dollars.  Yes,” he added tentatively, gazing anxiously at his partner, “I’ve got at least that.”

“Je whillikins!” said Uncle Jim, with a laugh.  Then eagerly, “Look here, pard!  Then we’re on velvet!  I’ve got nine hundred; put your five with that, and I know a little ranch that we can get for twelve hundred.  That’s what I’ve been savin’ up for—­that’s my little game!  No more minin’ for me.  It’s got a shanty twice as big as our old cabin, nigh on a hundred acres, and two mustangs.  We can run it with two Chinamen and jest make it howl!  Wot yer say—­eh?” He extended his hand.

“I’m in,” said Uncle Billy, radiantly grasping Uncle Jim’s.  But his smile faded, and his clear simple brow wrinkled in two lines.

Happily Uncle Jim did not notice it.  “Now, then, old pard,” he said brightly, “we’ll have a gay old time to-night—­one of our jamborees!  I’ve got some whiskey here and a deck o’ cards, and we’ll have a little game, you understand, but not for ‘keeps’ now!  No, siree; we’ll play for beans.”

A sudden light illuminated Uncle Billy’s face again, but he said, with a grim desperation, “Not to-night!  I’ve got to go into town.  That fren’ o’ mine expects me to go to the theayter, don’t ye see?  But I’ll be out to-morrow at sun-up, and we’ll fix up this thing o’ the ranch.”