After the burial of Shuffles they had returned to the Frying Pan, where they were entertained by Bonnie Belle.
The Devil’s Den had been kept closed out of respect for the dead manager, and a Sabbath-day stillness rested upon the camp.
The Vigilante opened his store to turn an honest penny, and the gambling-dens, for the Devil’s Den did not have a monopoly by any means, had opened wide their doors, to catch those miners and loafers who would drop in.
The Frying Pan had fed an enormous crowd at supper, and then settled down to rest.
One of the rules of Bonnie Belle, and which was religiously respected, was that the Devil’s Den should never open on Sundays, and the miners seemed really glad of this respite from the noisy bustle of the place and the gambling and drinking which was sure to come.
The more Surgeon Powell and Buffalo Bill saw of the strange woman who seemed to hold the destinies of Pocket City in her little hand, the more they were pleased with her, and mystified.
They knew that there was an unreadable page of her history to which she alone held the key. She talked like one who had seen much of the world, young as she was, and conversed with Surgeon Powell with much knowledge upon the military strength of the different powers of Europe, and launched off into the fine arts with equal fluency.
She did not appear anxious to show her learning, yet understood well the political history of the country, and the faults and virtues of the different national parties.
Her reading had been varied and instructive, and she seemed glad of a chance to discuss something else than hotel fare, gambling, and mining.
When the officer and scout bade her good night and good-by, for they said they were to leave at an early hour the next morning, she asked, with a smile: