adopted as a residence, for in smaller letters beneath the sign was painted: “This ain’t no store—Keep out!” Loring, with lazy amusement, read this evidence of a shiftlessness greater than his own.

The crowd began to gravitate toward the saloons. “Hey, other way there!” shouted McKay, for he well knew that if the crowd began drinking there, very few would reach camp. A big Mexican, who had been imbibing heavily on the train, lurched toward the saloons, bellowing: “Me much mal’ hombre. I take a drink when I damn please!”

“You much mal’ hombre, eh?” said McKay, smiling. “Then take that!” He stepped up to the man, and let drive a blow from one shoulder that almost broke the mutineer’s jaw. The man staggered, then turned and ran, but up the trail.[15] The other men howled with laughter, then they picked up their blanket rolls and bundles, and laughing and singing started up the trail, where the deep shadows of the tall suwaras made black streaks against the white porphyry of the projecting cliffs.

[15]

Loring and Hop Wah followed at the end of the procession, the former consoling himself for his lack of blankets by thinking how much easier walking was without them; the latter cheerfully singing a song of which verse, chorus, and envoi were: “La la boom boom! La la boom boom!” If this were lacking in originality, it was at least capable of infinite repetition, and it turned out to be Wah’s one musical number.

Mile after mile up the trail toiled the straggling line, the Mexicans calling loudly to each other, or mocking with jeering whoops the unfortunates who slipped on the loose stones. McKay, chuckling to himself with pleasure, led the little band. He was thinking of the expressions of praise and surprise, of the congratulations upon the successful outcome of his expedition, which would be bestowed upon him in camp.

Immediately ahead of Loring walked the[16] three other white men of the collection. The volubility of their cursing, as they stumbled along, caused McKay to drop back to them. After the customary greeting of “Well, gents, how are you stacking up?” he began to probe into the cause of their discontent.

[16]

“What’s the work, boss, anyhow?” they asked.

“Can you ‘polish’ the head of a drill?” asked McKay. He inquired as a matter of form, for one glance at their slouching shoulders and their thin chests had given him his answer. “Can’t?” he observed 

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