"Why, I thought you were out hunting."
"So I was."
"And found nothing?"
"You're mistaken there, pard. I found more than I expected."
"What, gold?" asked several in chorus. "Been prospectin'?"
"No."
"A pretty squaw?"
"Ha, ha. No, not this time; they're too d— scarce."
"Well, what did you find, man? Don't be so mysterious."
"I found this," and Pritchen drew from beneath his buckskin jacket a small book, which had been kept in place by his leathern belt. "Look," he said, holding it up to view, "isn't that a find! 'Robert Browning's Selected Poems,' that's what it is."