A deep groan here broke from Uncle Jim Starbuck.

“Didn’t I tell ye?” he said, turning appealingly to the others.  “It’s that darned widow that’s at the bottom of it all!  She first put Spindler up to givin’ the party, and now, darn my skin, ef she ain’t goin to fix up these ragamuffins and drill ’em so we can’t get any fun outer ’em after all!  And it’s bein’ a woman that’s bossin’ the job, and not Spindler, we’ve got to draw things mighty fine and not cut up too rough, or some of the boys will kick.”

“You bet,” said a surly but decided voice in the crowd.

“And,” said another voice, “Mrs. Price didn’t live in ‘Bleeding Kansas’ for nothing.”

“Wot’s the programme you’ve settled on, Uncle Jim?” said the barkeeper lightly, to check what seemed to promise a dangerous discussion.

“Well,” said Starbuck, “we kalkilate to gather early Christmas night in Hooper’s Hollow and rig ourselves up Injun fashion, and then start for Spindler’s with pitch-pine torches, and have a ‘torchlight dance’ around the house; them who does the dancin’ and yellin’ outside takin’ their turn at goin’ in and hevin’ refreshment.  Jake Cooledge, of Boston, sez if anybody objects to it, we’ve only got to say we’re ’Mummers of the Olden Times,’ sabe?  Then, later, we’ll have ‘Them Sabbath Evening Bells’ performed on prospectin’ pans by the band.  Then, at the finish, Jake Cooledge is goin’ to give one of his surkastic speeches,—­kinder welcomin’ Spindler’s family to the Free Openin’ o’ Spindler’s Almshouse and Reformatory.”  He paused, possibly for that approbation which, however, did not seem to come spontaneously.  “It ain’t much,” he added apologetically, “for we’re hampered by women; but we’ll add to the programme ez we see how things pan out.  Ye see, from what we can hear, all of Spindler’s relations ain’t on hand yet!  We’ve got to wait, like in elckshun times, for ‘returns from the back counties.’  Hello!  What’s that?”

It was the swish and splutter of hoofs on the road before the door.  The Sacramento coach!  In an instant every man was expectant, and Starbuck darted outside on the platform.  Then there was the usual greeting and bustle, the hurried ingress of thirsty passengers into the saloon, and a pause.  Uncle Jim returned, excitedly and pantingly.  “Look yer, boys!  Ef this ain’t the richest thing out!  They say there’s two more relations o’ Spindler’s on the coach, come down as express freight, consigned,—­d’ye hear?—­consigned to Spindler!”

“Stiffs, in coffins?” suggested an eager voice.

“I didn’t get to hear more.  But here they are.”