insen-
sible. I saw him just before midnight, and he scarcely breathed. They said he was dying, and preparations began to be made for the burial. I took the right hand in mine that terrible right hand so helpless now, so pale and thin and pulseless, kissed it gently the kiss of forgiveness in the dimly- lighted room, when no one observed me, and went home.
The next morning, however, Hirst was not dead. He lay as he lay through the night, and the sur geons said dissolution was only a question of time. The camp was in suspense. Was it possible that this man, who for ten years had been the terror of Oregon and northern California, could still live with a navy bullet through his body fired at two feet distance !
Another day, and the man opened his eyes and began to talk to his poor, patient little wife, who never left his side.
Hard as it may seem on the camp, I am bound to say it did not like this at all. The camp had thoroughly, and very . cheerfully too, made up its mind that Hirst was a dead man, and it did not like to be disappointed.
Three days more and the surgeons announced the possibility of recovery. The camp was disgusted.
In less than forty days Hirst was walking about the claim with his arm in a sling, quietly giving directions to his labourers.
One day a man came rushing to
