"He ain't exactly bald," drawled the uncomfortable miner. "His hair
was parted down the middle by a stroke of lightnin'. Or maybe you
combed it yourself."

"Don't you try to git comical with me!" she answered. "I didn't come
here for triflin'."

Her back being turned towards the end of the room wherein the redheaded
Keno was ensconced, that diffident individual furtively put forth his
hand and clutched up his boots and trousers from the floor. The latter
he managed to adjust as he wormed about in the berth. Then silently,
stealthily, trembling with excitement, he put out his feet, and
suddenly bolting for the door, with his boots in hand, let out a yell
and shot from the house like a demon, the pup at his heels, loudly
barking.

"Keno! Keno! come back here and stand your share!" bawled Jim,
lustily, but to no avail.

"Mercy in us!" Miss Doc exclaimed. "That man must be crazy."

Jim sank back in his bunk hopelessly.

"It's only his clothes makes him look foolish," he answered. "He's
saner than I am, plain as day."

"Then it's lucky I came," decided the visitor, vigorously sewing at the
trousers. "The looks of this house is enough to drive any man insane.
You're an ornary, shiftless pack of lazy-joints as ever I seen. Why
don't you git up and cook your breakfast?"