The Man From The Bitter Roots

In the silence which followed, Miss Vi doing belated chamberwork upstairs sounded like six on an ore-wagon as she walked up and down the uncarpeted hall.

"Wisht they'd sing somethin'," said Porcupine Jim wistfully.

As though his desire had been communicated by mental telepathy Ma Snow's soprano came faintly from the kitchen--"We all like she-e-e--p-." Miss Rosie's alto was heard above the clatter of the dishes she was placing on the table in the dining-room--"We all like she-e-e--p-." Miss Vi's throaty contralto was wafted down the stairs--"We all like she-e-e-p." "Have gone" sang the tenor. "Have gone astray--astray"--Mr. Snow's booming bass came through the stove-pipe hole. The baritone arrived from the stable in time to lend his voice as they all chorded.

"The stage's comin'," the musical hostler announced when the strains died away. The entranced audience dashed abruptly for the door.

A combination of arnica and vanilla seemed indeed to have sharpened the Judge's hearing for the stage was fully an hour earlier than any one had reason to expect.

"Don't see how he can make such good time over them roads loaded down like he is with Mungummery-Ward Catalogues and nails comin' by passel post." Yankee Sam turned up his coat collar and shivered.

"Them leaders is turrible good snow-horses; they sabe snow-shoes like a man." Lannigan stretched his neck to catch a glimpse of them through the pines before they made the turn into the Main street.

There was a slightly acid edge to Uncle Bill's tone as he observed: "I ought to git my Try-bune to-night if the postmistress at Beaver Crick is done with it."

"Git-ep! Eagle! Git-ep, Nig!" They could hear the stage driver urging his horses before they caught sight of the leader's ears turning the corner.

Then Porcupine Jim, who had the physical endowment of being able to elongate his neck like a turtle, cried excitedly before anyone else could see the rear of the stage: "They's somebudy on!"

A passenger? They looked at each other inquiringly. Who could be coming into Ore City at this time of year? But there he sat--a visible fact--in the back seat--wearing a coon-skin cap and snuggled down into a coon-skin overcoat looking the embodiment of ready money! A Live One--in winter! They experienced something of the awe which the Children of Israel must have felt when manna fell in the wilderness. Even Uncle Bill tingled with curiosity.

When the steaming stage horses stopped before the snow tunnel, the population of Ore City was waiting like a reception committee, their attitudes of nonchalance belied by their gleaming, intent eyes.

The stranger was dark and hatchet-faced, with sharp, quick-moving eyes. He nodded curtly in a general way and throwing aside the robes sprang out nimbly.