"She ain't spoke about it, Clarence."
"I doubt if she sees it," opined the cook unfeelingly, "for your face is so red you can't tell where your skin leaves off and your shirt begins."
"Pink ain't my color anyhow. I more'n half wish," said Brindell disconsolately, "that I had my Navvyho back. Looks to me like this greaser outfit is goin' to give us fellers the double cross."
"They wouldn't dasit!" But in spite of the cook's sanguine opinion they did "dast," and when the numbers were called for the second time there was not an American dancer on the floor.
"Is this here slight a accident or a insult?" inquired Mossy Green who "placered" over in Bay Horse Gulch. "Because," continued Mossy, deftly running the point of his jack-knife between the thick soles of his miner's shoes and the uppers to remove traces of clay, "if it's a meant insult I hopes it doesn't happen again."
"I jest put a fine aidge on my ax this afternoon," observed the cook in apparent irrelevance, as he ran his eye contemplatively over
