“It’s always the same,” he said; “if a man meets a few travellers in the bush, he’s bound to come back raving about rangers. If they’d seen Struggles there, they would have gone off with a long yarn about a ranger crouching behind a tree. As to recognizing people riding fast among tree-trunks--it is an impossibility.” Struggles, however, stoutly maintained his original assertion, and all the sarcasms and arguments of his opponent were thrown away upon his stolid complacency. It was noticed that Ferguson seemed unaccountably put out about the whole matter. Something seemed to be on his mind, too; for occasionally he would spring off his perch and pace up and down the room with an abstracted and very forbidding look upon his swarthy face. It was a relief to everyone when suddenly catching up his hat, and wishing the company a curt “Good-night,” he walked off through the bar, and into the street beyond. “Seems kinder put out,” remarked Long McCoy. “He can’t be afeard of the rangers, surely,” said Joe Shamus, another man of consequence, and principal shareholder of the El Dorado. “No, he’s not the man to be afraid,” answered another. “There’s something queer about him the last day or two. He’s been long trips in the woods without any tools. They do say that the assayer’s daughter has chucked him over.” “Quite right too. A darned sight too good for him,” remarked several voices. “It’s odds but he has another try,” said Shamus. “He’s a hard man to beat when he’s set his mind on a thing.” “Abe Durton’s the horse to win,” remarked Houlahan, a little bearded Irishman. “It’s sivin to four I’d be willin’ to lay on him.” “And you’d be afther losing your money, a-vich,” said a young man with a laugh. “She’ll want more brains than ever Bones had in his skull, you bet.” “Who’s seen Bones to-day?” asked McCoy. “I’ve seen him,” said the young miner. “He came round all through the camp asking for a dictionary--wanted to write a letter likely.” “I saw him readin’ it,” said Shamus. “He came over to me and told me he’d struck something good at the first show. Showed me a word about as long as your arm--’abdicate,’ or something.” “It’s a rich man he is now, I suppose,” said the Irishman. “Well, he’s about made his pile. He holds a hundred feet of the Conemara, and the shares go up every hour. If he’d sell out he’d be about fit to go home.” “Guess he wants to take somebody home with him,” said another. “Old Joshua wouldn’t object, seein’ that the money is there.”