"An' so that's went an' follered me down here, too," sighed Johnny. "A man can't get away from some things. Well, let's get back on th' trail. All th' prospectors I ever saw wore cowhide boots, with low, flat heels. Somehow I can't see myself trampin' around with these I'm wearin'; an' they're too expensive to wear 'em out that way. What else? Need any blastin' powder?" "Cussed if I wouldn't grub-stake you if you wasn't goin' up there," grinned Pop. "It takes a fool for luck; an' it'll be just like you to fall down a canyon an' butt th' dirt off'n a million dollar nugget. I got a notion to do it anyhow." "You needn't get no notions!" retorted Johnny. "I'm goin' to hog it. Prospectors never get grub-staked unless they're busted; an' I ain't got there yet. Oh, yes; I got to get them fishhooks--you see, I ain't aimin' to cripple my back workin' hard _all_ th' time. I'll fill a sack in th' mornin', eat my dinner an' rest all afternoon. Next day I'll fill another sack, an' so on. Now, what am I goin' to get for my outfit? I'll need a lot of things." "Go see Charley James, acrost th' street. He keeps th' general store; an' he's got more trash than anybody I ever saw." "Mebby he can tell me what I need," suggested Johnny, hopefully. As Pop started to answer, the doorway darkened and a man stepped into the room. Pop's face paled and he swiftly moved to one side, out of range. The newcomer glanced at Johnny, swore under his breath and his hand streaked to his holster. It remained there, for he discovered that he was glaring squarely down a revolver barrel. "Let loose of it!" snapped Johnny. "Now, then: What's eatin' you?" "Why--why, I mistook you for somebody else!" muttered the other. "Comin' in from th' sunlight, sudden like, I couldn't see very well. My mistake, Stranger. What'll you have?" Johnny grunted skeptically. "Yo're shore you can see all right now?" "It's all right, Nelson," hastily interposed the anxious proprietor, nodding emphatic assurance. "It's all right!" "My mistake, Mr. Nelson," smiled the stranger. "I shouldn't 'a' been so hasty--but I was fooled. Yore looks are shore misleadin'." "They suits me. What's wrong about 'em?" demanded Johnny. "There you go again!" snorted Pop in quick disgust. "A gent makes a mistake, says he didn't mean no harm in it, an' you goes on th' prod! Didn't I _tell_ you that yore looks would get you into trouble? Didn't I?" "Oh! Is _that_ it?" He arose and slipped the gun back into its holster. "I'll take th' same, Stranger." "Now yo're gettin' some sense," beamed Pop, smiling with relief. "Mr. Nelson, shake han's with Tom Quigley. Here's luck." "Fill 'em again," grinned Johnny. "Not that I hankers for th' kind of liquor you sells, but because we has to do th' best we can with what's pervided." "Pop's sellin' better liquor than he used to," smiled Quigley. "Am I to thank you for th' improvement?" "I refuse to accept th' responsibility," laughed Johnny.