here," Fred explained. "There was a negro in the party who had been a chef in a Chicago hotel; and he was the one soul in the crowd that treated me half decently."
"Perhaps uncle will retain you as cook," said Randy, mischievously, and then he stopped short, for he did not wish to hurt Fred's feelings. The supper passed off pleasantly, and Fred announced that he felt a hundred times better than the day previous.
It was around ten o'clock, and the sun had just set over the mountains to the westward, leaving the Hollow in an uncertain, pale-blue light, which would last until sunrise at four, when a messenger on muleback dashed along the trail from Gold Bottom. "Thar's a lynchin' goin' on down to Smedley's!" he yelled, as he sped by. "They've caught a sneak thief by the name o' Guardley, an' they're goin' ter make him do er dance on nuthin'. Better be gittin' down thar, if ye want ter see justice done!"
