t would hardly astonish me, and certainly not offend me, to know that you found a difficulty in believing possible such a sight as Camp Kettle presented on our arrival. It made me shudder to see it, and the picture is one that I never remember without melancholy.

"They seem to be celebrating here," said he of the red eyes as a hideous din of shrieking and curses came up to us.

And "celebrating" they were, that day being, as Apache Kid now recollected, the anniversary of the first discovery of mineral in that place. Of such a kind was this celebration that the stage-driver had to dismount and drag no fewer than three drunken men from the road, which irritated him considerably, spoiling as it did his final dash up to the hotel door. But it served our turn better; for here, before entering Camp Kettle, we alighted.

Camp Kettle is built in the very midst of the woods, the old veterans of the forest standing between the houses which stretch on either side of the waggon road, looking across the road on each other from between the firs, so that a traveller coming to the place by road is fairly upon it before he is well aware. But on that day-or night-there were strips of bunting hanging across the waggon road, not from the houses, for they were all mere log huts, but from the trees on either side; and the forest rang with shouting and drunken laughter. Just where we alighted were several great, hewn stones by the roadside, with marks of much trampling around them.

"There 's been a rock-drilling contest here," said Apache Kid, pointing to the holes in the centre of these rocks, as we struck into the bush and came into Kettle from behind.

Here and there, backward from the front huts, were others dotted about in cleared spaces, and all were lit up, and doors standing open and men coming and going, lurching among the wandering tree-roots and falling over stumps still left there. And the whole bush round about you might have thought the scene of a recent battle, what with the drunken men lying here and there in all manner of attitudes, with twisted bodies and sprawled legs.

Some few fellows in their coming and going spoke to us, crying on us to "come and have a drink," but it was only necessary for us to move on heedlessly so as to evade them-so dazed and puzzled were they all and seemed to lose sight of us at once, wheeling about and crying out to the twilit woods. At some of the cabins horses stood hitched, snorting and quivering ever and again, their ears falling back and pricking forward in terror.

"For once," said Apache Kid to me, "I have to be grateful for the presence of the despised Dago and the Chinee. The Dago may be a little fuddled, but not too much to attend to our wants in the way of horses, and he is not likely to talk afterwards. The Chinee will be perfectly calm among all this, and he, for a certainty, will not speak. Here's the Chinee joint. Come along."

He thrust open the door of a long, low house and we entered into a babel of talk, that ceased on the instant, and closed the door behind us.

We had a glimpse of a back room with a group of Chinamen who looked up on us with eyes a trifle agitated, but, I suppose on seeing that we were not the worse of liquor, they bent again over their tables, and we heard the rattle of dominoes again and their quick, voluble, pattering talk.

A very staid, calm-faced Chinaman, his high forehead lit up by a lamp which hung over a desk by which he stood, turned to us, and, looking on us through large horn spectacles, bowed with great dignity.

"Good evening," said Apache Kid.

"Good evening," said he.

"We want three mats of rice," said Apache Kid, and this placid gentleman called out a word or two to one of his assistants, and the rice was hauled down from the shelf. Then we bought three small bags of flour and two sides of bacon, and all this was tied up for us and set by the door to await our return; and off we went out of that place with the smell of strange Eastern spices in our nostrils.

"Not so long ago," said Apache Kid, "these fellows would not have been tolerated here at all. Then they were allowed an entrance and tolerated; but they only sold rice to begin with, and nothing more, except, perhaps, cranberries, to the hotel, which they gathered on the foothills. Now, as you see, they run a regular store. But on such nights as this it behooves them to keep indoors lest the white populace regret having allowed them within their gates. But John Chinaman is very wise. He keeps out of sight when it is advisable. Here's the livery stable."

The stout Italian who stood at the door of the stable, toying with a cigarette, frowned on us through the darkness, and seemed a trifle astonished, I thought, at our request for horses. But he bade us follow him, and by the aid of two swinging lamps Apache Kid selected three horses, two for riding and one pack-horse.

"But you ain't pull out to-night, heh?" said the Italian in his broken English.

"Yes," said Apache.

"You going down to Placer Camp or up to mountains?"

Apache Kid was drawing the cinch tight on the pony I was to ride (the Italian was saddling the other), and he merely turned and shot the questioner such a look as made me feel-well, that I should not like to be the Italian.

I thought then that, for all his slim build, this partner of mine, so quiet, so deliberate, must have seen and done strange things in his day, and been in peculiar corners to learn a glance like that. If ever a look on a man's face could cow another, it was such a look as Apache Kid flung to the Italian then.

Back to the Chinese store we went, leading our steeds, and there roped on our pack.

"Do you sell rifles?" asked Apache Kid.

"Yes, sir, vely good line," and so Apache added a Winchester, which was thrust atop of the load, and two of the small boxes of cartridges.

This was just finished when a voice broke in: "Goin' prospectin'?"

We wheeled about to see a foolish-faced man, with shifty eyes and slavering mouth, standing by, with firm enough legs, to be sure, but his body swaying left and right from the hips as though it were set there on a swivel.

"Yes," said Apache.

"Going prospectin' without a pick or a hammer or a shu-huvel," said the man, and hiccoughed and dribbled again at the mouth, and then he sat down on a tree-stump and broke out in a horrible drunken weeping, the most distressful kind of intoxicated fool I ever saw, and moaned to himself: "Goin' prospectin' without a-with on'y a gun at the belt and a Winchester," and he put his hand to his forehead and, bending forward, wept copiously. I looked on the Chinaman who stood by, placid and expressionless, and I was ashamed of my race.

"For the love of God," said Apache, "let us get out of this pitiful hell- Good-bye, John," to the Chinaman, who raised his lean hand and waved in farewell in a gesture of the utmost suavity and respect, and then we struck south (the Chinaman entering his store), and left that pitiable creature slobbering upon the tree-stump, left the din and outcrying and hideousness behind us, my very stomach turning at the sounds, and Apache, too, I think, affected unpleasantly. We went directly to the south upon the track that led to the Placer Camp on Kettle River.

On either side of us the forest thinned out there, but the place was full of a wavering light, for the tree-stumps to left and right of the track were all smouldering with little, flickering blue flames, and sending up a white smoke, for this is the manner of clearing the forest after the trees are felled.

Through this place of flickering lights and waving shadows we still progressed, leading our horses. Here Apache Kid looked round sharply, and at the moment I heard a sound as of a twig snapping, but from what quarter the sound came I could not tell. We were both then looking back, half expecting to see some one issue forth behind us into the light of that space where the tree-stumps spluttered and flared and smoked.

"Perhaps it was just one of these stumps crackling," said I.

"It did n't sound just like that; however, I suppose that was all," Apache Kid replied. "Well this is our route now." And we struck west through the timber, back in the direction that Baker City lay, keeping in a line parallel to the waggon road. And ever and again as we went Apache emitted a low, long whistle and hearkened and whistled again, and hearkened and seemed annoyed at the silence alone replying.

Then, coming to the end of the place of smouldering stumps, we struck back as though to come out on the waggon road before its entering into Camp Kettle. "Where in thunder is Donoghue?" snapped Apache Kid, and suddenly the horse I was leading swung back with a flinging up of its head. Apache Kid was leading the other two and they also began a great dancing and snorting.

"We have you covered!" cried a harsh voice. "No tricks now! Just you keep holt of them reins. If you let 'em drop, your name is Dennis! That 'll be something to occupy your hands."

I think the voice quieted the horses, if it perturbed us, for they became tractable on the instant and ceased their trembling and waltzing. And there, risen out of a bush before us, stood two men, one with a Winchester at the ready and the other with his left hand raised, the open palm facing us, and a revolver looking at me over that, his "gun hand" being steadied on the left wrist.

I had seen Apache Kid in a somewhat similar predicament before, but his coolness again amazed me. And, if I may be permitted to say so, I astonished myself likewise, for after the first leap of the heart I stood quite easy, holding my horse-more like an onlooker than a participant in this unchancy occurrence.

"I think you have made a mistake, gentlemen," said Apache Kid.

"Oh, no mistake at all," said he with the Winchester. "I 've just come out to make you an offer, Apache Kid."

"You have my name," said Apache Kid, "but I have n't the pleasure of yours."

"Why," said I, "I 've seen that man at the Laughlin House;" and at the same moment Apache Kid recognised the other in a sudden flickering up of one of the nighest stumps.

"Why, it's my old inquisitive friend-the hog," said he, looking on him. "Where did you learn that theatrical style of holding up a gun to a man? Won't you introduce your friend?"

"That's all right," said the other. "I want you to listen to me. Here's what we are offering you. You can either come right along with us to Camp Kettle and draw out a sketch plan of where the Lost Cabin Mine lies, or else--" he raised his Winchester.

Apache Kid whistled softly.

"How would it suit you," said he, after what seemed a pause for considering the situation into which we had fallen, "if I drew up the sketch after you plugged me with the Winchester?"

"O!" cried the man. "The loss of a fortune's on the one hand. The loss o' your life's on the other. We give you the choice."

"It seems to me," said Apache Kid, "that your hand is the weaker in this game; for on your side is the loss of a fortune or the taking of a life."

"I 'd call that the stronger hand, I guess," said the man.

"Well, all a matter of the point of view," murmured Apache Kid, with an appearance of great ease. "But presuming that I am aware of the location of that place, what assurance could I have that once you had the sketch in your hands you would n't slip my wind-in the language of the country?"

He with the revolver, I noticed, glanced a moment at his partner at that, but quickly turned his attention to us again. "Besides, I might draw up a fake map and send you off on a wild goose chase," said Apache Kid, as though with a sudden inspiration.

"We've thought of that," said he with the Winchester, "and you 'd just wait with a friend of ours while we went to make sure o' the genewinness o' your plan."

"Oh! That's what I'd do?" said Apache Kid, and stood cheeping with his lips a little space and staring before him. Then turning to me, "I 'm up against it now," he said, "in the language of the country. The terms are all being made for me and at this rate--" he swung round again to these two-"you really mean that you are so bent on this that if I did n't speak up, did n't give you the information you wanted, you'd-eh-kill me-kill the goose with the golden eggs?"

I marked a change in the tone of Apache's voice, and looking at him noticed that there was a glitter in his eye and his breath was coming through his nostrils in fierce gusts, and under his breath he muttered: "The damned fools! I could keep them blithering here till morning!"

"We might find other means to get the right of it out of you," said the man with the Winchester. "I 've seen a bit of the Indians from whom you take your name, and I reckon some of their tricks would bring you to reason."

"What!" cried Apache Kid. "You'd threaten that, would you? You'd insult me-coming out with a hog like that to hold me up, too," and he pointed at the man with the revolver.

"Come! Come!" cried he of the Winchester, "easy wi' that hand. If you don't come to a decision before I count three, you 're a dead man. I 'll run chances on finding the Lost Cabin Mine myself. Come now, what are you going to do? One--"

"Excuse me interrupting," said Apache Kid, "but are you aware that the gentleman you have brought with you there is an incompetent?"

"Haow?" said the Winchester man. "What you mean?"

"That!" said Apache Kid, and, leaping back and wheeling his horse between the Winchester and himself, he had plucked forth his revolver and- But another crack-the crack of a rifle-rang out in the forest. I am not certain which was first, but there, before my eyes, the two men, who had a moment earlier stood exulting over us, sank to the earth, he with the revolver falling second, so that as he sagged down I heard the breath of life, one might have thought, belch out of him. It was really the gasp, I suppose, when the bullet struck him, but it was the most helpless sound I ever heard in my life-something like the quack of a duck. Sorry am I that ever I heard that sound, for it, I believe, more than the occurrence of that night itself, seemed to sadden me, give me a drearier outlook on life. I wonder if I express myself clearly? I wonder if you understand what I felt in my heart at that sound? Had he died with a scream, I think I should have been less haunted by his end.

If our horses shied at the smell of men whom they could not see, they were evidently well enough accustomed to the snap of firearms, for beyond a quick snort they paid no heed. As for me, I found then that I had been a deal more upset by this meeting than I had permitted myself to believe; and my nerves must have been terribly strung, for no sooner had they fallen than I shuddered throughout my body, so that I must have looked like one suffering from St. Vitus dance.

Apache Kid looked at me with a queer, pained expression on his face, scrutinising me keenly and quickly and then looking away. And into the wavering light of the burning stumps came Donoghue, with his rifle lying in the crook of his arm, right up to us and began speaking. No, I cannot call it speaking. There was no word intelligible. His eyes were the eyes of a sober man, but when he spoke to us not a word could we distinguish, and he seemed aware of that himself, spluttering painfully and putting his hand to his mouth now and again, as with a sort of anger at himself and his condition. Then suddenly, as though remembering something, away he went through the timber the way he had come.

"Fancy being killed by that!" said Apache Kid, wetting his lips with his tongue, and a sick look on his face.

"What's wrong with him?" said I.

"Drunk," said he, and never a word more. But he followed Donoghue, to where stood a horse, the reins hitched to a tree.

"That's a tough looking mount he's got," said Apache Kid, and then, like an afterthought: "Try to forget about those two fellows lying there," he added to me.

I looked at him in something of an emotion very nigh horror.

"Have they to lie there till-till they are found?"

"Yes," said he, "by the wolves to-night-if the light of the stumps doesn't keep them off. Failing that, to-morrow-by the buzzards."

I looked round then, scarcely aware of the movement, and there, between the trees, I saw the clearing with the smouldering, twinkling stumps.

The leader of these two lay with his back and his heels and the broad soles of his feet toward me; but the other, "the hog from Ontario," lay looking after us, with his dead eyes and his face lighting and shadowing, lighting up and shadowing pitifully in that ghastly glow.

I turned round no more. I breathed in relief when we came clear of the forest into the open, sandy ground; but when I saw the stars thick in the sky, Orion, Cassiopeia, and Ursa Major, the tears welled in my eyes; they seemed so far from the terrors of that place.

"I 'll wait till you mount," said Apache Kid, holding my horse's head while I gathered the reins.

When I raised my foot to the stirrup the beast swerved; but at the third try I got in my foot, and with a spring gained the high saddle.

Donoghue's mount was walking sedately enough, but all the lean body of it had an evil look. Apache stood to watch his partner mount to the saddle. Donoghue flung the reins over the horse's neck and came to its left. He seemed to remember its nature, despite his condition then, for he ran his hand over the saddle and gave a tug to the cloth to see that it was firm. Then with a quick jerk, before the horse was well aware, he had yanked the cinch up another hole or two. At this, taken by surprise, the beast put its ears back and hung its head and its tail between its legs. Donoghue pulled his hat down on his head, caught the check-rein with his left and clapped his right hand to the high, round pommel. There was a moment's pause; he cast a quick glance to the horse's head; thrust his foot into the huge stirrup, and with a grunt and a mighty swing was into the saddle. And then the beast gathered itself together and with an angry squeal leapt from the ground. Half a dozen times it went up and down, as you have perhaps seen a cat or a ferret do-with stiff legs and humped back. But Donoghue seemed part of the heavy, creaking saddle, and after these lurchings and another half-dozen wheelings the brute calmed. Apache Kid swung himself up to his horse and we struck on to the stage road in the light of the stars.

And just then there came a clinking of horse's hoofs to our ears and there, on the road coming up from Camp Kettle, and bound toward Baker City, was an old, grey-bearded man leading a pack-horse and spluttering and coughing as he trudged ahead in the dust.

"It's a good night, gentlemen," he said, stopping and eyeing us-Donoghue across the road, in the lead, and already a few paces up the hillside, Apache Kid with the led horse, I blocking his passage way.

"Yes; it's a fair night," said Apache Kid, civilly enough, but I thought him vexed at this encounter.

"It's a cough I take at times," said the old man, wheezing again. "I 'm getting up in years. Yes, you 're better to camp out in the hills instead of going into Camp Kettle to-night. I 've seen some camps in my day-I 'm gettin' an old man. No; I could n't stop in that place to-night."

His pack-horse stood meekly behind him, laden up with blankets, pans, picks, and the inevitable Winchester.

"Yes, siree, you 're better in the hills, a fine starry night o' summer, instead of down there. It's a cough I have," he wheezed. "I 'm gettin' an old man. Any startling news to relate?"

"Nothing startling," said Apache Kid.

"What you think o' the rush to Spokane way? Anything in it, think you?" said the old man in his slow, weary voice.

"O, I think--" began Apache Kid, but the old man seemed to forget he had put a question.

"What you think o' this part o' the country?" he asked, and then abruptly, without evidently desiring an answer: "Well, well, I 'll give you good night. I 'll keep goin' on, till I get a good camp place-maybe all night I don't like Camp Kettle to-night," and grumbling something about being an old man now, he plodded on, his pack-horse waking up at the jerk on the rein and following behind.

"Aye," sighed Apache Kid to me, "no wonder they say 'as crazy as a prospector.' It's the hills that do it. The hills and the loneliness and all that," he said with a wave of his hand in the starshine. Then suddenly he spurred forward his horse upon Donoghue and in a low, vehement voice: "Stop that, Donoghue!" he said. "What on earth are you wanting to do?"

For Donoghue was glaring after the weary old prospector and dragging his Winchester from the sling at his saddle. He managed to splutter out the word "blab" as he pointed after the man and then pulled again at the Winchester which he found difficult to get free. But Apache Kid smote Donoghue's horse upon the flank and pressed him forward and so we left the road and began breasting the hill with the stars, brilliant and seeming larger to me than ever they seemed seen through the atmosphere of the old country, shining down on us out of a cloudless sky.

Perhaps it had been better had Donoghue got his rifle free, callous though it may seem to say so. For other lives might have been spared and these mountains, into the foothills of which we now plunged, have not been assoiled with the blood of many had that one solitary old prospector ceased his weary seekings and his journeyings there, as Donoghue intended.