"I don't find, however," he continued, "that my full-jumping pays very well. I've got the energy and the savvy, but the luck isn't with me. And I'm too old a Californian not to know there's no good bucking against bad luck." He paused and tapped with the tip of his cane against the side of the desk, evidently expecting his companion to speak. This time, however, Gault vouchsafed no reply, but sat looking at him with a steady and somewhat frowning intentness. The colonel continued, nothing abashed: "I've run into bad luck belts before, but never as wide a one as this. It's about the biggest I've struck yet, and I've had some experience. Not that it's knocked me out," he said, looking up and speaking with quick, genuine earnestness--"don't imagine that." "Nothing is farther from my mind," said Gault; for the old man's look demanded an answer. "For an old-timer like me, privations, misfortunes, poverty, don't matter. We pioneers who came round the isthmus and across the plains aren't afraid of a little more roughing it to finish up on. A day without dinner don't frighten us, and we don't put our fingers in our mouths and cry because we haven't got sheets to our beds or fires in our stoves. But when you've women in your corral it's different--especially women that haven't always seen the rough side of things." "Of course it makes a difference," the other said, to fill up the colonel's second and more persistent pause. "Well, that's how it is with me. If it was only myself I'd not think twice of it. But I have to consider my daughter. It's not the same with her. During her childhood she had every luxury, but lately I've not been able to give her all that I'd like to, though, of course, she's never really suffered. And just now my affairs are in such a devil of a tangle that--well, I was going to ask you if you could oblige me with a temporary loan--just a trifle to tide us over this spell of bad weather--say fifty dollars." The colonel looked into the younger man's face quite unembarrassed, his old countenance still preserving its expression of debonair self-satisfaction. The money in his hand, he gave it a slight clink, and then dropped it into a worn leather purse with a clasp that snapped, and said gaily: "This is the best medicine for low spirits. Not that mine are low--no, sir; it takes more than a temporary shortness of funds to knock out a pioneer of '49. Whether it's champagne or beer or water, there's no difference when it comes to quenching your thirst, and at my age that's all you want to drink for." "You're a better philosopher than most of the pioneers," said Gault, feeling the embarrassment that the old man seemed so complacently free from.