"What about 'm?" he exulted between mouthfuls. "Well, you can stack your chips that he didn't get in on the French Hill benches. _How far is it, my man_?" (in the well-mimicked, patronizing tones of St. Vincent). "_How far is it_?" with the patronage left out. "_How far to French Hill_?" weakly. "_How far do you think it is_?" very weakly, with a tremolo which hinted of repressed tears. "_How far_--" The pocket-miner burst into roars of laughter, which were choked by a misdirected flood of tea, and which left him coughing and speechless. "Where'd I leave 'm?" when he had recovered. "Over on the divide to Indian River, winded, plum-beaten, done for. Just about able to crawl into the nearest camp, and that's about all. I've covered fifty stiff miles myself, so here's for bed. Good-night. Don't call me in the mornin'." He turned into the blankets all-standing, and as he dozed off Vance could hear him muttering, "_How far is it, my man_? _I say, how far is it_?" Regarding Lucile, Corliss was disappointed. "I confess I cannot understand her," he said to Colonel Trethaway. "I thought her bench claim would make her independent of the Opera House." "You can't get a dump out in a day," the colonel interposed. "But you can mortgage the dirt in the ground when it prospects as hers does. Yet I took that into consideration, and offered to advance her a few thousand, non-interest bearing, and she declined. Said she didn't need it,--in fact, was really grateful; thanked me, and said that any time I was short to come and see her." Trethaway smiled and played with his watch-chain. "What would you? Life, even here, certainly means more to you and me than a bit of grub, a piece of blanket, and a Yukon stove. She is as gregarious as the rest of us, and probably a little more so. Suppose you cut her off from the Opera House,--what then? May she go up to the Barracks and consort with the captain's lady, make social calls on Mrs. Schoville, or chum with Frona? Don't you see? Will you escort her, in daylight, down the public street?" "Will you?" Vance demanded. "Ay," the colonel replied, unhesitatingly, "and with pleasure." "And so will I; but--" He paused and gazed gloomily into the fire. "But see how she is going on with St. Vincent. As thick as thieves they are, and always together." "Puzzles me," Trethaway admitted. "I can grasp St. Vincent's side of it. Many irons in the fire, and Lucile owns a bench claim on the second tier of French Hill. Mark me, Corliss, we can tell infallibly the day that Frona consents to go to his bed and board,--if she ever does consent." "And that will be?" "The day St. Vincent breaks with Lucile." Corliss pondered, and the colonel went on. "But I can't grasp Lucile's side of it. What she can see in St. Vincent--" "Her taste is no worse than--than that of the rest of the women," Vance broke in hotly. "I am sure that--"