"There wa' n't never much love lost between Eliza and me," he remarked, as if pursuing a train of thought that had been interrupted. "After the two boys died of the shakes, down in the Missouri Bottoms, both in one week, I kind o' lost my interest in kids. But I'd like to know she was in better hands than mine, for her mother's sake." "Eliza," said Simon, in a tone of gentle authority which the Lame Gulch Professor rarely assumed. "Eliza, give your pa that money, and tell him to bury your ma decent." Christie took the money. "Well," said he, "I guess you're correct about the prospectors. They're right after your claim!--Good-bye Eliza." "Good-bye," said Eliza, digging the heel of her boot into the bed of pine needles. Yet Christie did not go. "I'll send her duds up after the funeral," he said. "And her ma's things along with them. And, say!" he added with a sort of gulp of determination, while a dark flush went over his face. "About that _door-mat_, you know. It wasn't respectful and--_I apologize_!" With that, Christie strode down the hill to his dead wife, and Simon and the child turned and walked hand in hand toward the lean-to. Half way across the clearing Simon Jr. unabashed by his late ejection, joined the pair. "She's our little girl now, Simon," said the professor, gravely. "Yes," quoth Eliza, with equal gravity. Upon which Simon Jr. kicked up his heels in the most intelligent manner, and pranced off in pursuit of the succulent yucca. VII. THE BOSS OF THE WHEEL.