Devils Ford | Page 5

the old man."
The astonishment and bewilderment of the party had gradually given
way to a boyish and impatient interest.
"Hadn't we better do the job at once?" suggested Dick Mattingly.
"Or throw ourselves into those new clothes, so as to be ready," added
the younger Kearney, looking down at his ragged trousers. "I say,
Fairfax, what are the girls like, eh?"
All the others had been dying to ask the question, yet one and all
laughed at the conscious manner and blushing cheek of the questioner.
"You'll find out quick enough," returned Fairfax, whose curt
carelessness did not, however, prevent a slight increase of color on his
own cheek. "We'd better get that job off our hands before doing
anything else. So, if you're ready, boys, we'll just waltz down to
Thompson's and pack up the shanty. He's out of it by this time, I reckon.

You might as well be perspiring to some purpose over there as gaspin'
under this tree. We won't go back to work this afternoon, but knock off
now, and call it half a day. Come! Hump yourselves, gentlemen. Are
you ready? One, two, three, and away!"
In another instant the tree was deserted; the figures of the five
millionaires of Devil's Ford, crossing the fierce glare of the open space,
with boyish alacrity, glistened in the sunlight, and then disappeared in
the nearest fringe of thickets.

CHAPTER II
Six hours later, when the shadow of Devil's Spur had crossed the river,
and spread a slight coolness over the flat beyond, the Pioneer coach,
leaving the summit, began also to bathe its heated bulk in the long
shadows of the descent. Conspicuous among the dusty passengers, the
two pretty and youthful faces of the daughters of Philip Carr, mining
superintendent and engineer, looked from the windows with no little
anxiety towards their future home in the straggling settlement below,
that occasionally came in view at the turns of the long zigzagging road.
A slight look of comical disappointment passed between them as they
gazed upon the sterile flat, dotted with unsightly excrescences that
stood equally for cabins or mounds of stone and gravel. It was so feeble
and inconsistent a culmination to the beautiful scenery they had passed
through, so hopeless and imbecile a conclusion to the preparation of
that long picturesque journey, with its glimpses of sylvan and pastoral
glades and canyons, that, as the coach swept down the last incline, and
the remorseless monotony of the dead level spread out before them,
furrowed by ditches and indented by pits, under cover of shielding their
cheeks from the impalpable dust that rose beneath the plunging wheels,
they buried their faces in their handkerchiefs, to hide a few
half-hysterical tears. Happily, their father, completely absorbed in a
practical, scientific, and approving contemplation of the topography
and material resources of the scene of his future labors, had no time to
notice their defection. It was not until the stage drew up before a

rambling tenement bearing the inscription, "Hotel and Stage Office,"
that he became fully aware of it.
"We can't stop HERE, papa," said Christie Carr decidedly, with a shake
of her pretty head. "You can't expect that."
Mr. Carr looked up at the building; it was half grocery, half saloon.
Whatever other accommodations it contained must have been hidden in
the rear, as the flat roof above was almost level with the raftered ceiling
of the shop.
"Certainly," he replied hurriedly; "we'll see to that in a moment. I dare
say it's all right. I told Fairfax we were coming. Somebody ought to be
here."
"But they're not," said Jessie Carr indignantly; "and the few that were
here scampered off like rabbits to their burrows as soon as they saw us
get down."
It was true. The little group of loungers before the building had
suddenly disappeared. There was the flash of a red shirt vanishing in an
adjacent doorway; the fading apparition of a pair of high boots and blue
overalls in another; the abrupt withdrawal of a curly blond head from a
sashless window over the way. Even the saloon was deserted, although
a back door in the dim recess seemed to creak mysteriously. The
stage-coach, with the other passengers, had already rattled away.
"I certainly think Fairfax understood that I--" began Mr. Carr.
He was interrupted by the pressure of Christie's fingers on his arm and
a subdued exclamation from Jessie, who was staring down the street.
"What are they?" she whispered in her sister's ear. "Nigger minstrels, a
circus, or what?"
The five millionaires of Devil's Ford had just turned the corner of the
straggling street, and were approaching in single file. One glance was
sufficient to show that they had already availed themselves of the new

clothing bought by Fairfax,