Hugh grinned and looked at the man. He had yellow hair, a great mop of it, and twinkling eyes heavily thatched by overhanging brows. He learned later that the man’s name was Sam Clemens. The world came to know him better as Mark Twain. A bearded miner who had come out of the store gave the remark his attention. “You couldn’t do that, Sam,” he said at length. “If you did that, don’t you see you’d kill the whole dog?” Clemens looked at the miner. “Maybe you’re right. Anyhow, the other half would be too sick to howl,” he said hopefully. “If you owned the tail you could cut that off. Or if you owned one of the ears, say,” explained the man with the beard. “I don’t reckon your pardner could kick on that. But if you killed half the dog the rest of it would sure die. Any one can see that, Sam. You sure made a fool remark that time.” “Yes, I can see now you’re right,” the lank man agreed. “I must be out of my head. Probably the altitude.”[9] ----- [9] Mark Twain afterwards made use of this in one of his books. A good many bits of his humour can be traced to the days when he was a youth in Nevada.—W. M. R. ----- “O’ course you could buy the other fellow’s interest in the dog and then kill it,” pursued the literal-minded one. “No objection to that, I reckon.” “Yes, I could do that—if someone would lend me the money. But I wouldn’t, come to think of it.” Clemens brightened up till he was almost cheerful. “I’d give the dog to you, Hank.” Attracted by the lank stranger’s dry humour, Hugh reached for a three-cornered stool and started to sit down. He changed his mind abruptly. Out of a saloon next door, named the Glory Hole from Aurora’s famous treasure lode, a big bearded man in an army coat came slouching. It was the first time Hugh had seen Sam Dutch since their meeting at the Crystal Palace. The boy stood, slightly crouched, his right thumb hitched lightly in the pocket of his trousers. Every nerve was taut as a fiddle string. The eyes of McClintock, grown hard as quartz, did not waver a hair’s breadth. Dutch stood in front of the saloon a moment, uncertain which way to turn. He came toward the little group before the store. Apparently he was in arrears of sleep, for a cavernous yawn spread over and wrinkled his face. The yawn came suddenly to a period and left the man gaping, his mouth ludicrously open. Evidently he was caught by complete surprise at sight of young McClintock. “You here!” he presently growled. Hugh said nothing. There is strength in silence when accompanied by a cold unwinking gaze. Dutch made a mistake. He delivered an ultimatum. “Twenty-four hours. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get out. If you’re here then——” The threat needed no words to complete it. Without lifting his eyes from the killer Hugh sidestepped to the middle of the road. If bullets began to fly he had no desire to endanger the bystanders. “I’ll be here,” he said crisply. “If you feel that way, no use waiting twenty-four hours. Come a-shootin’.”