Tuesday night was a memorable one on Suffering Creek. Never had there been such a gathering in Minky's store; and his heart must have been rejoiced to see the manner in which so many of the dollars he had expended in the purchase of gold-dust came fluttering back to their nest in his till. The camp appeared to have made up its mind to an orgy of the finest brand. Drink flowed and overflowed. The store that night fairly swam in whisky. The flood set in the moment supper was finished, and from that time until two o'clock in the morning the lusty storekeeper never had a moment's rest. Men drank themselves drunk, and drank themselves sober again. There was no poker or faro. No one wanted to gamble. There was sufficient gamble in their minds on the subject of to-morrow's stage to satisfy them for the moment. Would it get through? That was the question. And the general opinion was an emphatic denial. How could it? Had not scouts been sent out inquiring of outlying settlers as to the prospect of a clear road? Had not information come in that James was abroad, had been seen in a dozen different places in the district? Had not the belief become general that the Spawn City trail was being carefully watched, and even patrolled, by this common enemy? Everybody knew that these things were so. The whole of this stage business was simply flying in the face of Providence. And amidst all the comment and talk Minky served the requirements of his customers, wrapped in sphinx-like reserve. His geniality never failed him. He had a pleasant word for everybody. And at every gibe, at every warning, he beamed and nodded, but otherwise could not be drawn into controversy. One remark, and one only, had he for all and sundry who chose him as a butt for their pleasantries. "Wal," he declared easily, "if I ladled out good United States currency, to feed that bum tough James an' his crew o' hawks, seems to me its findin' its way home right smart." It was quite true. He stood to win in every direction. Sooner or later every cent of money he had paid out in the purchase of gold would find its way back to him, and go to help swell the fortune which was the effort of his life. These men had not the commercial instinct of Minky. And, furthermore, his meeting at night with the gambler, and its resulting compact, was still a secret. The popular laugh was for the moment against him, but he continued to smile. And he knew that his smile would last the longer. He would still be smiling when even the ghost of their laugh had been laid to rest. * * * * *