The boys immediately and silently formed a ring, on the outer edge of which were massed all the men who had been outside, and who came pouring in like flies before a shower. No one squatted or hugged the wall, for it was understood that these two men fought only with knives, so the spectators were in a state of abject safety.

The Judge, after settling for the drinks, turned, and saw for the first time his enemy.

"Hello, Billy!" said he, pleasantly; "let's take a drink first."

Billy, who was a red-haired man, with a snapping-turtle mouth, but not a vicious-looking man for all that, briefly replied, "All right," and these two determined enemies clinked their glasses with the unconcern of mere social drinkers.

But, after this, they proceeded promptly to business; the Judge, who was rather slow on his guard, was the owner of a badly cut arm within three minutes by the bar-keeper's watch, but not until he had given Billy, who was parrying a thrust, an ugly gash in his left temple.

There was a busy hum during the adjustment of bets on "first blood," and the combatants very considerately refrained from doing serious injury during this temporary distraction; but within five minutes more they had exchanged chest wounds, but too slight to be dangerous.

Betting became furious--each man fought so splendidly, that the boys were wild with delight and enthusiasm. Bets were roared back and forth, and when Pentecost, by virtue of his universally conceded authority, commanded silence, there was a great deal of finger-telegraphy across the circle, and head-shaking in return.

Such exquisite carving had never before been seen at Hanney's--that was freely admitted by all. Men pitied absent miners all over the State, and wondered why this delightful lingering, long-drawn-out system of slaughter was not more popular than the brief and commonplace method of the revolver. The Webfoot rapturously and softly quoted the good Doctor Watt's:

"My willing soul would stay In such a place as this, And--"

when suddenly his cup of bliss was clashed to the ground, for Billy, stumbling, fell upon his own knife, and received a severe cut in the abdomen.

Wounds of this sort are generally fatal, and the boys had experience enough in such matters to know it. In an instant the men who had been calmly viewing a life-and-death conflict bestirred themselves to help the sufferer. Pentecost passed the bottle of brandy over the counter; half a dozen men ran to the spring for cold water; others hastily tore off coats, and even shirts, with which to soften a bench for the wounded man. No one went for the Doctor, for that worthy had been viewing the fight professionally from the first, and had knelt beside the wounded man at exactly the right moment. After a brief examination, he gave his opinion in the following professional style:

"No go, Billy; you're done for."

"Good God!" exclaimed the Judge, who had watched the Doctor with breathless interest; "ain't ther' no chance?"

"Nary," replied the Doctor, decidedly.

"I'm a ruined man--I'm a used-up cuss," said the Judge, with a look of bitter anguish. "I wish I'd gone under, too."

"Easy, old hoss," suggested one of the boys; "_you_ didn't do him, yer know."

"That's what's the matter!" roared the Judge, savagely; "nobody'll ever know which of us whipped."

And the Judge sorrowfully took himself off, declining most resolutely to drink.

Many hearts were full of sympathy for the Judge; but the poor fellow on the bench seemed to need most just then. He had asked for some one who could write, and was dictating, in whispers, a letter to some person.

Then he drank some brandy, and then some water; then he freely acquitted the Judge of having ever fought any way but fairly. But still his mind seemed burdened. Finally, in a very thin, weak voice, he stammered out:

"I don't want--to make--to make it uncomfortable--for--for any of--you fellers, but--is ther' a--a preacher in the camp?"

The boys looked at each other inquiringly; men from every calling used to go to the mines, and no one would have been surprised if a backsliding priest, or even bishop, had stepped to the front. But none appeared, and the wounded man, after looking despairingly from one to another, gave a smothered cry.

"Oh, God, hez a miserable wretch got to cut hisself open, and then flicker out, without anybody to say a prayer for him?"

The boys looked sorrowful--if gold-dust could have bought prayers, Billy would have had a first-class assortment in an instant.

"There's Deacon Adams over to Pattin's," suggested a bystander; "an'

they do say he's a reg'lar rip-roarer at prayin'! But 'twould take four hours to go and fetch him."

"Too long," said the Doctor.

"Down in Mexico, at the cathedral," said another, "they pray for a feller after he's dead, when yer pay 'em fur it, an' they say it's jist the thing--sure pop. I'll give yer my word, Billy, an' no go back, that I'll see the job done up in style fur yer, ef that's any comfort."

"I want to hear it myself," groaned the sufferer; "I don't feel right; can't nobody pray--nobody in the crowd?"

Again the boys looked inquiringly at each other, but this time it was a little shyly. If he had asked for some one to go out and steal a mule, or kill a bear, or gallop a buck-jumping mustang to 'Frisco, they would have fought for the chance; but praying--praying was entirely out of their line.

The silence became painful: soon slouched hats were hauled down over moist eyes, and shirt-sleeves and bare arms seemed to find something unusual to attend to in the boys' faces. Big Brooks commenced to blubber aloud, and was led out by old Thompson, who wanted a chance to get out of doors so he might break down in private. Finally matters were brought to a crisis by Mose--no one knew his other name. Mose uncovered a sandy head, face and beard, and remarked:

"I don't want to put on airs in this here crowd, but ef nobody else ken say a word to the Lord about Billy Bent, I'm a-goin' to do it myself.

It's a bizness I've never bin in, but ther's nothin' like tryin'. This meetin' 'll cum to order to wunst."

"Hats off in church, gentlemen!" commanded Pentecost.

Off came every hat, and some of the boys knelt down, as Mose knelt beside the bench, and said:

"Oh, Lord, here's Billy Bent needs 'tendin' to! He's panned out his last dust, an' he seems to hev a purty clear idee that this is his last chance. He wants you to give him a lift, Lord, an' it's the opinion of this house thet he needs it. 'Tain't none of our bizness what he's done, an' ef it wuz, you'd know more about it than we cud tell yer; but it's mighty sartin that a cuss that's been in the digging fur years needs a sight of mendin' up before he kicks the bucket."

"That's so," responded two or three, very emphatically.

"Billy's down, Lord, an' no decent man b'lieves that the Lord 'ud hit a man when he's down, so there's one or two things got to be done--either he's got to be let alone, or he's got to be helped. Lettin' him alone won't do him or anybody else enny good, so helpin's the holt, an' as enny one uv us tough fellers would help ef we knew how to, it's only fair to suppose thet the Lord'll do it a mighty sight quicker. Now, what Billy needs is to see the thing in thet light, an' you ken make him do it a good deal better than _we_ ken. It's, mighty little fur the Lord to do, but it's meat an' drink an' clothes to Billy just now. When we wuz boys, sum uv us read some promises ef you'rn in thet Book thet wes writ a good spell ago by chaps in the Old Country, an' though Sunday-school teachers and preachers mixed the matter up in our minds, an' got us all tangle-footed, we know they're dar, an' you'll know what we mean. Now, Lord, Billy's jest the boy--he's a hard case, so you can't find no better stuff to work on--he's in a bad fix, thet we can't do nuthin'

fur, so it's jest yer chance. He ain't exactly the chap to make an A Number One Angel ef, but he ain't the man to forget a friend, so he'll be a handy feller to hev aroun'."

"Feel any better, Billy?" said Mose, stopping the prayer for a moment.

"A little," said Billy, feebly; "but you want to tell the whole yarn.

I'm sorry for all the wrong I've done."

"He's sorry for all his deviltry, Lord--"

"An' I ain't got nothin' agin the Judge," continued the sufferer.

"An' he don't bear no malice agin the Judge, which he shouldn't, seein'

he generally gin as good as he took. An' the long an' short of it, Lord, is jest this--he's a dyin', an' he wants a chance to die with his mind easy, an' nobody else can make it so, so we leave the whole job in your hands, only puttin' in, fur Billy's comfort, thet we recollect hearing how yer forgiv' a dyin' thief, an' thet it ain't likely yer a-goin' to be harder on a chap thet's alwas paid fur what he got. Thet's the whole story. Amen."

Billy's hand, rapidly growing cold, reached for that of Mose, and he said, with considerable effort:

"Mose, yer came in ez handy as a nugget in a gone-up claim. God bless yer, Mose. I feel better inside. Ef I get through the clouds, an' hev a livin' chance to say a word to them as is the chiefs dar, thet word'll be fur _you_, Mose. God bless yer, Mose, an' ef my blessin's no account, it can't cuss yer, ennyhow. This claim's washed out, fellers, an' here goes the last shovelful, to see ef ther's enny gold in it er not."

And Billy departed this life, and the boys drank to the repose of his soul.

THE NEW SHERIFF OF BUNKER COUNTY.

He suited the natives exactly. What they would have done had he not been available, they shuddered to contemplate. The county was so new a one that but three men had occupied the sheriff's office before Charley Mansell was elected. Of the three, the first had not collected taxes with proper vigor; the second was so steadily drunk that aggrieved farmers had to take the law in their own hands regarding horse-thieves; the third was, while a terrible man on the chase or in a fight, so good-natured and lazy at other times, that the county came to be overrun with rascals. But Charley Mansell fulfilled every duty of his office with promptness and thoroughness. He was not very well known, to be sure, but neither was any one else among the four or five thousand inhabitants of the new county. He had arrived about a year before election-day, and established himself as repairer of clocks and watches--an occupation which was so unprofitable at Bunkerville, the county town, that Charley had an immense amount of leisure time at his disposal. He never hung about the stores or liquor-shop after dark; he never told doubtful stories, or displayed unusual ability with cards; neither did he, on the other hand, identify himself with either of the Bunkerville churches, and yet every one liked him. Perhaps it was because, although short, he was straight and plump, whereas the other inhabitants were thin and bent from many discouraging tussles with ague; perhaps it was because he was always the first to see the actual merits and demerits of any subject of conversation; perhaps it was because he was more eloquent in defense of what he believed to be right than the village pastors were in defense of the holy truths to which they were committed; perhaps it was because he argued Squire Backett out of foreclosing a mortgage on the Widow Worth when every one else feared to approach the squire on the subject; but, no matter what the reason was, Charley Mansell became every one's favorite, and gave no one an excuse to call him enemy. He took no interest in politics, but one day when a brutal ruffian, who had assaulted a lame native, escaped because the easy-going sheriff was too slow in pursuing, Charley was heard to exclaim, "Oh, if I were sheriff!" The man who heard him was both impressionable and practical. He said that Charley's face, when he made that remark, looked like Christ's might have looked when he was angry, but the hearer also remembered that the sheriff-incumbent's term of office had nearly expired, and he quietly gathered a few leading spirits of each political party, with the result that Charley was nominated and elected on a "fusion" ticket. When elected, Charley properly declined, on the ground that he could not file security bonds; but, within half an hour of the time the county clerk received the letter of declination, at least a dozen of the most solid citizens of the county waited upon the sheriff-elect and volunteered to go upon his bond, so Charley became sheriff in spite of himself.