“I will go,” said Loring. “It isn’t that I fear what these Mexicans may do, because I don’t care. But I can’t stand it here. Good-bye, Mac! You have been a good friend to me. I know I deserved to be fired. Deserved a lot worse; but Mac,” he added desperately, “I will make good somewhere!” McKay almost imperceptibly shook his head, then smiled and again extended his hand. “Well, anyhow, buck up, Steve! I’ve got to get down to work now. Good-bye, and good luck!” “Wait just a minute!” Loring called after him. McKay turned, and Stephen held out his newly received pay check. “Will you be kind enough to give this to Hankins up at the saloon, when you get time? I owe it to him, and to his partner.” “You certainly did do things up in great shape last night, Steve,” said McKay, as he took the check, after Stephen had endorsed it with a shaking hand. “Got cheated, I suppose?” “Rather,” answered Loring. “It is strange,” thought McKay to himself, as he walked away, “with fellows like these saloon keepers. You could give them everything that you have, and no matter what happened they would keep it safely for you. But play cards and they’ll stick it into you for keeps.” Re-entering his tent, Stephen began to put his few belongings into a saddle-bag. His packing was not a long operation. He looked rather wistfully about the little tent, which had grown to seem to him almost a home. Then, slinging the bag over his shoulder, he started for the corral. It was still very early, and few people were about. One or two of the Mexican teamsters were at the corral, sleepily kicking their horses into the traces. These looked at Stephen blackly, for in a mining camp news travels very fast. Stephen’s hands shook so that he had great difficulty in forcing the bit into the restive jaws of his pony. At last, however, “_Muy Bueno_” was saddled, and led out into the road. As Loring was putting up the corral bars again, a bare-footed little Mexican girl came pattering past. Stephen had often befriended her in small ways, so now she greeted him with shy warmth. “_Buenos dies, amigo!_” she chattered. The little child’s greeting started the tears to his eyes. Fumbling in his pocket, from among his few coins, he brought out a quarter. With a dismal attempt at a smile, he tossed it to her. “Eh, Señorita Rosa, here is two bits for you, _dos reales_, buy candy with big pink stripes.” The child ran up to him and gratefully seized his hand with both of her grimy little paws. He cut short her repeated thanks with a quick “_No hay de que_,” and swung into the saddle.