shirts, red, blue, and even white, came proudly to the front. Trousers
were dropped outside of boots, and the boots themselves were polished.
A run on bear's-grease and hair-oil lent a shining halo to nearly every
head the camp could boast. Then the groups began to gather near the
open shop of the smith.

"We'd ought to have a bell," suggested Lufkins, the teamster.
"Churches always ring the bell to let the parson know it's time he was
showin' up to start the ball."

"Well, I'll string up a bar of steel," said Webber. "You can get a
crackin' fine lot of noise out of that."

He strung it up in a framework just outside the door, ordinarily
employed for hoisting heavy wagons from the earth. Then with a hammer
he struck it sharply.

The clear, ringing tone that vibrated all through the hills was a
stirring note indeed. So the bell-ringer struck his steel again.

"That ain't the way to do the job," objected Field. "That sounds like
scarin' up voters at a measly political rally."

"Can you do it any better?" said the smith, and he offered his hammer.

"Here comes Doc Dennihan," interrupted the barkeep. "Ask Doc how it's
done. If he don't know, we'll have to wait for old If-only Jim
hisself."

The brother of the tall Miss Doc was a small man with outstanding ears,