"Yes; that's what I said. Of course, you understand that if the rain keeps on an' raises the creek har at Hurley's, then the miners won't be able to work for days an' days?"
"I understand that, Hank."
"Wa'al, if they don't work, an' have somethink to okerpy their minds, do you know what they will do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," said Mr. Willett.
"Why, they'll crowd into the saloons an' git drunk. When even a well-meanin' man is drunk he's a beast, but when these rough fellows drink that devil's broth, whisky, why it makes 'em reg'lar out and out fiends."
"I understand you," said Mr. Willett sadly.
The two men relapsed into silence and again lay down on the blankets that had been given them by the vigilance committee.
Hank Tims was right in his surmise.
Morning brought no cessation to the storm, and as a consequence the miners could not work, for Hurley's Gulch was transformed from a little stream into a raging torrent.
As has been before stated, a majority of these miners were industrious, honest men; and their vigilance committee, though apt to do wrong in its efforts to be just, had a repressing effect on the lawless element.