The derelicts of a mining camp must ever be interesting to the student of human nature, so wide is the field for study. But it were better to be a student, simply, when probing amongst the refuse heaps of life's debris. A sentimentalist, a man of heart, would quickly have it broken with the pity of it all. A city's tragedies often require search to reveal them, but upon the frontier tragedy stalks unsepulchered in the background of nearly every life, ready to leap out in all its naked horror and settle itself leech-like upon the sympathetic heart, stifling it with the burden of its misery. No, it is not good to delve into the dark pages of such folks' lives too closely, unless armored with impenetrable callousness. But one cannot help wondering whence all those living tragedies come. Look at the men. For the most part strong, able creatures, apparently capable of fighting the lusty battle of life with undiminished ardor. Look at the women. They are for the most part thinking women, healthy, capable. And yet--well, nine-tenths of them are not so cut off from their home cities, their friends and relatives, without some more than ordinary reason. It is a sad sight to see the women plunged headlong into the fight for existence in such places, to witness the cruel iron thrust upon them its searing brand, to watch all the natural softness of their sex harden to the necessary degree for a successful issue to the battle, to witness their frequent unsexing and ultimate degradation. Such results are common enough when a woman enters the lists. It is so often a mere question of time. And when the end is achieved, how awful, how revolting, but how natural. How Birdie Mason came to find herself the one woman on Suffering Creek--leaving out the later advent of Scipio's wife--it is not for us to ask. Whatever her little tragedy it is hers alone, and does not concern us. All that we need think of is her future, and the pity that so well-favored a woman has not found her lot cast in places where her womanhood has its best chances. However, she is there, living the life of all such hired "helps," drudging from morning till night in one long round of sordid labor, in an atmosphere stinking with the fetid breath of debased humanity. But as yet the life has made no inroads upon her moral health. Her sunny good nature sets her singing over the most grinding labors. Her smiling face, and ready tongue, give her an air of happiness and joy of life which seems well-nigh invincible. And her popularity contrives her many thrilling moments and advantages which she is too much a woman and a child to deny herself.