Having completed his notes, McNamara shook hands gravely with his
companions and strode out through the door, past the bulk that
sprawled across his path, and, without pause or glance,
disappeared.

A dozen willing, though unsympathetic, hands laid the drunkard on
the roulette-table, where the bartender poured pitcher upon
pitcher of water over him.

"He ain't hurt none to speak of," said a bystander; then added,
with enthusiasm:

"But say! There's a MAN in this here camp!"




CHAPTER VI

AND A MINE IS JUMPED


"Who's your new shift boss?" Glenister inquired of his partner, a
few days later, indicating a man in the cut below, busied in
setting a line of sluices.

"That's old 'Slapjack' Simms, friend of mine from up Dawson way."

Glenister laughed immoderately, for the object was unusually tall
and loose-jointed, and wore a soiled suit of yellow mackinaw. He