Suddenly he paused and said, "Strange, ain't it, you should speak of it
to-night? Now I call that queer!"

He laid down his cards and gazed mysteriously at his companion. Uncle
Jim knew perfectly that Uncle Billy had regularly once a week for
many years declared his final determination to go over to Angel's and
prospect his claim, yet nevertheless he half responded to his partner's
suggestion of mystery, and a look of fatuous wonder crept into his eyes.
But he contented himself by saying cautiously, "You spoke of it first."

"That's the more sing'lar," said Uncle Billy confidently. "And I've been
thinking about it, and kinder seeing myself thar all day. It's mighty
queer!" He got up and began to rummage among some torn and coverless
books in the corner.

"Where's that 'Dream Book' gone to?"

"The Carson boys borrowed it," replied Uncle Jim. "Anyhow, yours wasn't
no dream--only a kind o' vision, and the book don't take no stock in
visions." Nevertheless, he watched his partner with some sympathy, and
added, "That reminds me that I had a dream the other night of being in
'Frisco at a small hotel, with heaps o' money, and all the time being
sort o' scared and bewildered over it."

"No?" queried his partner eagerly yet reproachfully. "You never let
on anything about it to ME! It's mighty queer you havin' these strange
feelin's, for I've had 'em myself. And only to-night, comin' up from
the spring, I saw two crows hopping in the trail, and I says, 'If I see
another, it's luck, sure!' And you'll think I'm lyin', but when I went