“He’s from the country,” said the colonel, compassionately, “an’ hesn’t hed the right schoolin’. P’r’aps,” continued the colonel, “he’d enjoy the cockfight at the saloon to-night—these country boys are pretty well up on roosters. Ask him, Tom.” Tom put the question, and the party, in deep disgust, heard the man reply: “No, thank you; I think it’s cruel to make the poor birds hurt each other.” “Look here,” said the good-natured Bozen, “the poor lubber’s all gone in amidships—see how flat his breadbasket is. I say, messmate,” continued Bozen, with a roar, and a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, “come and splice the main-brace.” “No, thank you,” answered the unreasonable stranger; “I don’t drink.” The boys looked incredulously at each other, while the colonel arose and paced the front of the saloon two or three times, looking greatly puzzled. He finally stopped and said: “The mizzable rat isn’t fit to be out uv doors, an’ needs takin’ keer ov. Come here, feller,” called the colonel; “be kinder sociable—don’t stand there a gawpin’ at us ez ef we wuz a menagerie.” The youth approached slowly, stared through the crowd, and finally asked: “Is there any one here from Pawkin Centre?” No one responded. “Some men went out to Californy from Pawkin Centre, and I didn’t know but some of ’em was here. I come from ther’ myself—my name’s Mix,” the youth continued. “Meanin’ no disrespect to your dad,” said the colonel, “Mr. Mix, Senior, ortn’t to hev let you come out here—you ain’t strong enough—you’ll git fever ’n ager ’fore you’ve washed dirt half a day.” “I ain’t got no dad,” replied the stranger; “leastways he ran away ten years ago, an’ mother had a powerful hard time since, a-bringin’ up the young uns, an’ we thought I might help along a big sight if I was out here.” The colonel was not what in the States would be called a prayer-meeting man, but he looked steadily at the young man, and inwardly breathed a very earnest “God have mercy on you all.” Then he came back to the more immediate present, and, looking about, asked: “Who’s got sleepin’-room for this young man?” “I hev,” quickly answered Grump, who had approached, unnoticed, while the newcomer was being interviewed. Every one started, and Grump’s countenance did not gather amiability as he sneakingly noticed the general distrust. “Yer needn’t glare like that,” said he, savagely; “I sed it, an’ I mean it. Come along, youngster—it’s about the time I generally fry my pork.” And the two beauties walked away together, while the crowd stared in speechless astonishment. “He won’t make much out uv that boy, that’s one comfort,” said Black Tom, who had partially recovered from his wonder. “You ken bet yer eye-teeth that his pockets wouldn’t pan out five dollars.” “Then what does he want uv him?” queried Slim Sam.