For Bill, in his dress and in his daring deeds, was as tough and wild as any of them; indeed, there was a spirit of desperation in the man, which more than once had roused the admiration of the camp, in times of danger, and which had its source in a certain feeling in William Wilmerding’s heart, which was his life secret--a secret which he had come to bury in this strange new existence. Nothing but despair of his heart’s desire would have brought and kept him here. Every camp in those days had its own pet pursuit, and in this one it was horse-racing. Their track was not as smooth as civilization would have made it, but for that very reason better horses and better riders were required. Every spring and autumn they had a grand race-day, and the purses put up were so large, and the private betting was so reckless, that big sums of money were exchanged, and often the rich became poor, and the poor rich. These men had no families dependent upon them, and when once their blood was up, they did not hesitate to risk their last cent. On the occasion of one of the spring races, the bustle and excitement were at their very height, and the most important race of the day was about to be run, when there drove into the field a wagon, in which were seated two such strange and alien-looking figures, that even the exciting demands of the present moment gave place, for a little while, to this new influence. The cart was driven by a hale and hearty old man, who looked impressively proud of his mission, and who was lifted so far above mining etiquette as to take off his hat to the assembled horse racers, as he brought his cart to a standstill. It was probably, however, reverence for his passengers that led to this “break.” The passengers were two gray-clad, white-bonneted sisters of charity, who looked about them, on this alien scene, with mild-eyed wonder. One of them was stout, middle-aged, and homely, with energy and resolution written on every line of her face. The other was small, and young, and fair. As the cart halted, the old man got up and announced that the sisters had come up from the mission, two hundred miles away, to ask for contributions toward the building of an orphanage, of which there was pressing need. His speech was listened to with the politest attention by the crowd, a few men, here and there, being so far affected as to take off their hats in a shame-faced sort of way, and then confusedly to put them on again. The two sisters said nothing, but their mere presence there, looking about them with placid kindly faces that carried a message of pure goodness to every heart, so impressed the camp that, for the moment, the zest about the coming race seemed in danger of eclipse.