A single street contained the whole of its actual business population. And of what was this whole visible street composed? Almost entirely of frame buildings for the retail of ardent spirits; in other words, of drinking-saloons. "Good Old Bourbon," "The Best Cognac," "Capital Rye," and other inviting appellations, of the same class, were the only evident appeals to those who chanced to pass through it, for their custom. Occasionally, indeed, you might find a liquor-store which in a measure protected a different class of business. In the front of one, you might find piles of ready-made clothing. Within another were all the appliances for three-card Monte or Faro. Here, were cigars and tobacco. This one, also, did duty as a corner-grocery. These places were generally left to their own care, from the hour at which they were closed until the following morning. The honesty of frontier-life protected them from being broken into. At this time there was living in Susanville an aged settler named Pascal Taylor, but more commonly known as "Old Zac." He was an independent sort of Communist. Did he need chicken for a pot-pie, he would appropriate the fowls of his fellow-settlers without the slightest scruple. If he needed a new pair of pantaloons, it was equally indifferent to him whether he made a requisition upon the piles of clothes in front of the store of a dealer of such articles, or upon the dwellings of his nearest neighbors. However, let me do him justice. When detected, he would invariably repay the injured party in kind, by appropriating another article of the same sort and bringing it to him. In fact, he might be termed a continual debtor to life, paying, from time to time, by incurring another debt. Whether at the close of his career his account with life might be balanced, must, nevertheless, remain a matter of considerable doubt. Tom Long was the owner of one of the drinking-saloons, I have mentioned, as composing the line of street or road which was named Susanville. His residence was on the hill rising from one side of the line of liquor-shanties in which its regular inhabitants made money. One night, old "Zac" was standing beside the spot where Tom was dispensing liquor. He was a favorite of Tom's. For what reason he was so, it would be impossible to say. But Tom employed him to do up odd "chores" for him, and occasionally assisted him in a way which in the East might have been stigmatized as "red-hot" charity. In Susanville, it was not considered so. Old "Zac" was a privileged person. Well, the truth is, Tom was tired with the employment of the day. He wanted to quit business and retire to his home. Turning to "Zac," he pushed out the bottle and a tumbler. "Take a drink, Zac?" "You bet--" responded the recipient of Tom's bounty. "I say," he continued, lifting the Old Rye to his lips, "here's long life to you." "I want to go home." "Why in thunder don't yu go, then?" "Zac, I think I will, if you'll 'tend business for me."