Part 9 (2/2)

”Ah, thin, ye've got a swate voice,” said Larry O'Neil, sarcastically, as he led his mule towards a post, to which Bill Jones was already fastening his steed. ”I say, Bill,” he added, pointing to a little tin bowl which stood on an inverted cask outside the door of the ranche, ”wot can that be for?”

”Dunno,” answered Bill; ”s'pose it's to wash in.”

At that moment a long, cadaverous miner came out of the hut, and rendered further speculation unnecessary, by turning up his s.h.i.+rt sleeves to the elbow, and commencing his ablutions in the little tin bowl, which was just large enough to admit both his hands at once.

”Faix, yer mouth and nose ought to be grateful,” said Larry, in an undertone, as he and Jones stood with their arms crossed, admiring the proceedings of the man.

This remark had reference to the fact that the washer applied the water to the favoured regions around his nose and mouth, but carefully avoided trespa.s.sing on any part of the territory lying beyond.

”Oh! morther, wot nixt?” exclaimed Larry.

Well might he inquire, for this man, having combed his hair with a public comb, which was attached to the door-post by a string, and examined himself carefully in a bit of gla.s.s, about two inches in diameter, proceeded to cleanse his teeth with a _public tooth-brush_ which hung beside the comb. All these articles had been similarly used by a miner ten minutes previously; and while this one was engaged with his toilet, another man stood beside him awaiting his turn!

”W'en yer in difficulties,” remarked Bill Jones, slowly, as he entered the ranche, and proceeded to fill his pipe, ”git out of 'em, if ye can.

If ye can't, why wot then? circ.u.mstances is adwerse, an' it's o' no use a-tryin' to mend 'em. Only my sentiments is, that I'll delay was.h.i.+n'

till I comes to a river.”

”You've come from San Francisco, stranger?” said a rough-looking man, in heavy boots, and a Guernsey s.h.i.+rt, addressing Captain Bunting.

”Maybe I have,” replied the captain, regarding his interrogator through the smoke of his pipe, which he was in the act of lighting.

”Goin' to the diggin's, I s'pose?”

”Yes.”

”Bin there before?”

”No.”

”Nor none o' your party, I expect?”

”None, except one.”

”You'll be goin' up to the bar at the American Forks now, I calc'late?”

”Don't know that I am.”

”Perhaps you'll try the northern diggin's?”

”Perhaps.”

How long this pertinacious questioner might have continued his attack on the captain is uncertain, had he not been suddenly interrupted by the announcement that supper was ready, so he swaggered off to the corner of the hut where an imposing row of bottles stood, demanded a ”brandy-smash,” which he drank, and then, seating himself at the table along with the rest of the party, proceeded to help himself largely to all that was within his reach.

The fare was substantial, but not attractive. It consisted of a large junk of boiled salt beef, a ma.s.s of rancid pork, and a tray of broken s.h.i.+p-biscuit. But hungry men are not particular, so the viands were demolished in a remarkably short s.p.a.ce of time.

”I'm a'most out o' supplies,” said the host, in a sort of apologetic tone, ”an' the cart I sent down to Sacramento some weeks ago for more's not come back.”

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