"But I haven't heard what kept you all this while up at the diggings," Yates was saying, as Sybil turned again toward the table. "I know you haven't been at work—you're too lazy for that, and too wise; fools work, and cute men, like you and I, catch gold easier."
Dickinson laughed, and pulled out an old wallet, rattled the coins which it contained, and held up to view a shot-bag, apparently containing a large quantity of gold dust.
"All from a quiet game under a clump of myrtle bushes," he said, with another laugh.
"But that hasn't kept you all this time."
"No; I was over to Sancher's ranche. I knew there was nothing going on here, and we are apt to get cross when it is stupid—eh, Mrs. Yates?"
"Did you speak?" she asked, as if suddenly aroused by his voice.
"I say Phil and I are not two angels for temper in dull times; do you think so?"
"Oh, yes," she answered, good-naturedly enough; "fallen angels, you know, twice degraded."
The men laughed heartily, and Dickinson gave her a glance of honest admiration; she was evidently a woman for whom he felt sincere respect—the sentiment which a dull rogue has for a clear-headed, acute person whom he is willing to acknowledge as his superior.
"Ah, it's of no use to clash tongues with you," he said. "I learned that a great while ago."