at his elbow.

"Well, I don't dance with men for partners! When I shassay, Trin, I want
a feminine piece of flesh an' blood"--he sneered, and then went on to
amplify--"with garters on."

"You bet!" agreed his faithful, if laconic pal, on feeling the other's
playful dig in his ribs.

The subject of men dancing together was a never-ceasing topic of
conversation between these two cronies. But whatever the attitude of
others Sonora knew that Trinidad would never fail him when it came
to nice discriminations of this sort. His reference to an article of
feminine apparel, however, was responsible for his recalling the fact
that he had not as yet received his daily assurance from the presiding
genius of the bar that he stood well in the estimation of the only lady
in the camp. Therefore, leaving the table, he went over to Nick and
whispered:

"Has the Girl said anythin' about me to-day, Nick?"

Now the role of confidential adviser to the boys was not a new one to
the barkeeper, nor was anyone in the camp more familiar than he with
their good qualities as well as their failings. Every morning before
going to work in the placers it was their custom to stop in at The Polka
for their first drink--which was, generally, "on the house." Invariably,
Nick received them in his shirt-sleeves,--for that matter he was the
proud possessor of the sole "biled shirt" in the camp,--and what with
his red flannel undershirt that extended far below the line of his
cuffs, his brilliantly-coloured waistcoat and tie, and his hair combed