"That's her fifteen minute whistle," replied Dad. "She'll be the last boat to leave Totatla City this fall. I'd like to catch her. If you'll weigh me out that thousand dollars----" Lucky Jim opened one of the sacks and did that. He poured the dust into the old man's poke. "Now," said Dad, "I'll pay you for the grub. I guess I just about cleaned it up. How much was it?" "Oh, call it two hundred dollars." Dad weighed that amount out of his thousand and poured in back into Lucky Jim's poke. Dad produced his dunnage bag. Into this Lucky Jim threw the four full sacks, $20,000 worth. "Hey!" cried Dad, alarmed. "What yuh doin'? That ain't mine!" "Ain't I got as good a right to go outside as you have?" The old man's face lighted up. "Gosh, that'll be great!" he cried. Lucky Jim swung Dad's sack across his shoulders. "Let's get aboard," he suggested. "I've still got a little debt to settle at the Red Fox." [Illustration] He picked up the remaining sack of gold and led the way on board the steamboat. Out of the corner of his eye he beheld a little raft drift past on which were seated two men back to back, sort of like twin billikins. He waved to them airily. He dropped Dad's seventy-odd years' gatherings in the _Dusty Diamond's_ saloon. "Don't ever let that bag out of your sight," he told Dad. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Lucky Jim did not reappear on the dock until the gangplank had been hauled ashore and the lines cast off. Dad Manslow, almost frantic, stood on the saloon deck waving and shouting. "Come on!" he cried, "Come on!" Lucky Jim could still have jumped aboard. "I can't come today, Dad," he made answer. "I'm too sleepy. Take care of yourself. So long." The _Dusty Diamond_ swung out into the channel. Lucky Jim strolled across the street into the Red Fox and entered the bar. He was familiarly greeted by half a hundred men not unlike himself. He took off his old fur cap and bowed acknowledgments; tapped his breast. "Lucky Jim," he cried, "from Easy Money bar." He turned to stare at Pinleg Scoddy whose face was creased into something that remotely resembled a smite of welcome. He flung his poke on the bar. "Take eleven ounces out of that!" ordered Lucky Jim coldly. Pinleg Scoddy started at the size of the poke, and guessed at its value to within five ounces. He pushed it back toward its owner. "Aw, forget that," he cried, "and have a little drink on the house." "Take eleven ounces of dust out of that poke!" repeated Lucky Jim. This time there was no temporizing. With a face as red as a split beet, Pinleg Scoddy weighed out what was coming to him and returned the poke to Lucky Jim. The latter tucked the poke under his arm and turned to the crowd. "Boys," he cried, "I'm going up to the Nugget hotel to raise the roof. I need all the help I can get. Come along!" A minute later the Red Fox bar was empty. A PINKERTON novelette in our next number DOWNSTREAM _By_ Robert E. Pinkerton