know how much lime and iron and coke to mix with it, that the operation may succeed.

There is plenty of use for the scientific man and his furnace in a prosperous mining camp, therefore, and his business is a profitable, pleasant, and healthy one, so long as he preserves himself against inhaling the lead fumes that his fire-tests set free from the metals.

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHARITY OF "THE HONEST MINER."

He drifted down into the little mining camp late one afternoon in the early spring of '76. Where he came from no one knew, and no one felt sufficient interest in the matter to inquire. It was an every-day occurrence for mento come and go, to drift into the camp from points up in the mountains and drift off again over the hills, so that the coming or going of one man elicited no interest from the people of the camp.

He was a tall, rawboned individual, with a careless, swinging walk, and great long limbs encased in a pair of pants that held themselves so much aloof from his large cowhide shoes that a considerable portion of his lower limbs were exposed to view. No one knew his name and no one asked to know it, but as the days passed by and he continued to hang around the camp, people began to take notice of him, and when it became necessary to refer to him, spoke of him as "Shanks." Shanks proved to be a very quiet, unassuming individual, and cut as much figure in the society of the camp as the proverbial wooden man would have done. He might have seen better days and had perhaps possessed a certain amount of self-pride, but he bore in his person and habits no evidence of such things, and if they ever had existed, they had completely lost their identity. He became a part and parcel of the camp popu

lation, floating along, taking what each day brought, with seemingly no thought for the future and no regard for the past.

To him time was nothing. It mattered not whether the sun shone or whether it did not. He made no complaint no matter what happened, and when there was talk of an Indian outbreak and the people of the camp were in a high state of excitement, he remained cool and calm as if there was no thought of danger. Some people said he was a philosopher, while others, and the great majority, said he was too indolent and lazy to take interest in anything. It is true that he never unnecessarily exerted himself. He drifted along in this "fancy free" condition for a couple of months, now and then, when hunger forced him to it, doing little odd jobs about the camp, but under no circumstances taking steady work.

He lived a sort of independent life, mingling but little with others, and soon came to be regarded as a nonentity by the people about him. In fact but little notice was taken of him, and he passed and repassed almost unnoticed and unobserved

One morning some one in passing Shanks' tent heard groans within, and on entering found the man twisting about on his straw pallet with a high fever. For two days he had not been about the camp, but no comment was made on his absence as no one felt sufficient interest in him to speak of it. The doctor of the camp was called on, and after feeling Shanks' pulse and looking at his tongue said: "It's about up with him, boys, and he is in a fair way to go over the range.

"What'll we do with 'im? some one asked

"Jist as well let him stay thar an' die," another replied. "He don't know nothing now, an' he' jist es well die thar as anywhar else."

"Not while I got 'er cabin, he won't," spoke up a large man, who had always been considered the hardest character in the camp. "Not so long as Joe Riggs is able ter

wiggle no man won't be left here ter die in no sich er way as this. You fellers fall to here now an' help ter git the feller up here to my cabin, an' I'll take care of him der best I can."

The fellows fell to at once, for there was not a man in the camp who did not know Joe Riggs well enough to appreciate the value of his friendship, and not one of them but would have gone to almost any length to have avoided the consequence of his ire. More than once Joe had emphasized his dislike of a man with a sixshooter.

As long as a man treated Joe Riggs right, and refrained from too close an intimacy with his affairs, Joe Riggs was a friend to him, but the moment that man overstepped Joe's conception of right, safety of person demanded immediate departure from the camp.

his

"Now, Doc," Joe said, when Shanks was stowed away in his own bed, "you tend ter this man, and if yere got any idee in medersin, an' know how ter dish it out so's ter pull him outer the mire, I want yer to do it. Ef yer don' know what's fer 'im, fill up on sumthing en' keep er tryin' till ye hit it. When yer done come around ter me fer yer pay. I been in this shape once myself, boys, an' I know whut it is ter suffer fer a little attention, an' ef Joe Riggs 's considered a tough cuss, he's got little heart left fer a feller creature who is a sufferin', an' even old Shanks is worthy uv some kindness, an' he's er goin' ter get it, the best I know how ter give it ter him."

As day after day passed, and the sick man continued in a delirious state tossing his hands wildly about him and uttering wild broken sentences, Joe sat by his side and watched over him, with the tenderest care, no doubt in this kind office finding some sort of solace for his over troubled soul. Joe's life in the West had been a busy, rushing one and no time had he found to indulge in thoughts of the past, of the years away back toward his youth, when he was an innocent soul and his hands were free from crime. But in the silent vigils of the quiet nighttime when all of the camp lay still in sleep, he sat through

the darkness, and his thoughts went back to the old home in the East.

Up through the gloom of the years came a trooping of memories, and above all and the brightest of all was the face of a fond mother. He shuddered as he recalled her

love for her boy, and mentally measured the awful distance he had drifted away from her, and tears the first that had come to his eyes for many years coursed down his hard cheeks.

The men around the camp sometimes came in to offer their assistance, but usually Joe sat up alone during the

night, and he preferred it, for somehow since the fountain of the past had been opened and a stream of memories set to flowing through his mind, he loved to sit and enjoy his thoughts in solitude.

One day as Joe was passing the saloon, some of the loungers remarked:

"Joe's stickin' ter old Shanks like er brother." "That's whut he is. An' its the queerest thing I ever He's ther last man in ther camp I'd a thought

seed, too. of a doin'

sech a thing.

Thar's sometin' mighty curius

erbout it. I'd never a dreamed o' Joe takin' no interest in a sick feller like ole Shanks'.

He hain't bin inter ther

s'loons for several days, hed yer noticed thet?"

"I guess I had," replied the barkeeper, "fer Joe's allers bin one of the steadiest customers we had, an' of he was sorter quarrelsome sometimes, he wan't never close with his money."

"Joe wan't never so bad a man, nohow," said another, "es some people thought. When he was a friend to a feller he 'ould do anything fer 'im."

"Yes," said another," but somehow he seemed sorter got er notion that ther world were ergin him.”

"Yes," said another," but how'd he ever come to take to ole Shanks, d'yer s'pose?"

Just then one of the "boys boys" called for the drinks, and the loungers dropped the conversation and stood up along the bar ready for an emergency.

One day the doctor came and pronounced the crisis passed, for he found the high fever had ceased, and the sufferer lay calmly sleeping, while his cheek was no longer hot and flushed.

"He'll get well, now, the doctor said, if he has proper care."

"An' h'll hev it," Joe replied with emphasis, "if I'm able ter give it ter him."

That evening as the twilight was fading into night, Shanks awoke, and after his eyes had wandered around the room he fixed them on the face of Joe Riggs with a startled,