“I don’t want you to pay me till you are worth five hundred dollars, Mr. Bickford. The sum is small, and I don’t need it.”
“Thank you, Joe. You’re a good friend. I’ll stick by you if you ever want help.”
In the evening the camp presented a lively appearance.
When it was chilly, logs would be brought from the woods, and a bright fire would be lighted, around which the miners would sit and talk of home and their personal adventures and experiences. One evening Mr. Bickford and Joe were returning from a walk, when, as they approached the camp-fire, they heard a voice that sounded familiar, and caught these words:
“I’m from Pike County, Missouri, gentlemen. They call me the Rip-tail Roarer. I can whip my weight in wildcats.”
“By gosh!” exclaimed Joshua, “if it ain’t that skunk from Pike. I mean to tackle him.”
CHAPTER XXXI
JUDGE LYNCH PRONOUNCES SENTENCE
The gentleman from Pike was sitting on a log, surrounded by miners, to whom he was relating his marvelous exploits. The number of Indians, grizzly bears, and enemies generally, which, according to his account, he had overcome and made way with, was simply enormous. Hercules was nothing to him. It can hardly be said that his listeners credited his stories. They had seen enough of life to be pretty good judges of human nature, and regarded them as romances which served to while away the time.
“It seems to me, my friend,” said Kellogg, who, it will be remembered, had been a schoolmaster, “that you are a modern Hercules.”
“Who’s he?” demanded the Pike man suspiciously, for he had never heard of the gentleman referred to.