It was quite palatial--boasting a real floor made of puncheons, or hewn logs. A bunk, against the wall, was made of a second log set four feet from the log wall, with a hammock mattress of sacking stuffed with dried bracken stretched between them. There was the usual huge fireplace of granite rocks used for both warmth and cooking, and a box pantry-cupboard nailed to the wall. His cup and plate and saucer were of tin, and his cutlery was an iron spoon, a three-tined fork and a hunting dagger. The dishes had not been washed for weeks. In warm weather he kept a few things in a small palisade driven in the shallow water at the river's edge, which was cool the year 'round. Longley put his raised bread dough in a frying pan, put a second pan on top, raked the ashes off some coals, and started it baking. A man on horseback, driving two pack animals before him, stopped at the low doorway. “Hello, John! Glad to see you,” called Longley. “Glad to get here. Like to sleep in a house again. Tired of shaking the lizards out of my blankets every morning.” “Ever shake out a rattler?” “Not yet, though they say it's been done more than once.” “You're just in time. Turn the beasts into the corral. And then will you just ride back to Kitty Douglas' for me? She promised me a pie, and I need a new starter for my sour dough (batter). By that time everything will be ready to eat.” “You mean the 'Kitty Douglas' of the signs I've just passed?” asked John, grinning. “Yes. What were they, today?” “'Fresh pies, by Kitty Douglas,' 'Bread made every day, by Kitty Douglas,' 'New-laid eggs every day, by Kitty Douglas'!” “Kitty's cooking is as fair as the reputation of her house is not. She charges two dollars for a meal of pork and beans.” “'Tis the regular price everywhere. I'll be back soon.” After the meal John went to, the barbecue, imbibing rather freely of the fire-water barrel and making a night of it. Heavy travel continued over the bridge all afternoon--a prairie schooner with three oxen, two mules and a bronco pulling it; a prospector in his red flannel undershirt, driving a laden donkey; a hurdy-gurdy troupe on its way to the barbecue; a stage-coach drawn by six half-broken wild horses; an old Spanish settler on a beautiful, black thoroughbred; a late arrival from Oregon, mounted upon a sturdy mule with his young wife upon a pillion behind him, and a whole drove of China-men being taken out to work a white man's claim up on the Divide. There passed Welch miners, who were to be the fore-runners of quartz mining; miners from Australia, who were to replace the wooden “bateas” of the Mexicans with the rocker and the iron gold-pan, and the term of “specimen” with “nugget.” Finally came a hale, old voyaguer whom Longley greeted heartily as he swung open the toll gate: “Greetings, Monsieur Francois Gendron, and from whence came you today?” The big Frenchman handed over the “six-bits” toll for himself and his horse. “From New Helvetia.”