His fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side，and a shade of regret passed over his face. “It’s goin’ to bestiffer’n hell，” he said. “An’ it’s up to me to get mended an’
get out o’ here.”
He crawled out of the hole and went down the hillto his camp. Half an hour later he returned， leading hispack-horse. His open shirt disclosed the rude bandageswith which he had dressed his wound. He was slow andawkward with his left-hand movements， but that did notprevent his using the arm.
The bight of the pack-rope under the dead man’sshoulders enabled him to heave the body out of the hole.
Then he set to work gathering up his gold. He workedsteadily for several hours， pausing often to rest hisstiffening shoulder and to exclaim：
“He shot me in the back， the measly skunk！ He shot mein the back！”
When his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrappedsecurely into a number of blanket-covered parcels， hemade an estimate of its value.
“Four hundred pounds， or I’m a Hottentot，” he concluded.
“Say two hundred in quartz an’ dirt—that leaves twohundred pounds of gold. Bill！ Wake up！ Two hundredpounds of gold！ Forty thousand dollars！ An’ it’s yourn—allyourn！”
He scratched his head delightedly and his fingersblundered into an unfamiliar groove. They quested along itfor several inches. It was a crease through his scalp wherethe second bullet had ploughed.
He walked angrily over to the dead man.
“You would， would you？” he bullied. “You would， eh？
Well， fixed you good an’ plenty， an’ I’ll give you decentburial， too. That’s more’n you’d have done for me.” Hedragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in.
It struck the bottom with a dull crash， on its side， the facetwisted up to the light. The miner peered down at it.
“An’ you shot me in the back！” he said accusingly.
With pick and shovel he filled the hole. Then he loadedthe gold on his horse. It was too great a load for theanimal， and when he had gained his camp he transferredpart of it to his saddle-horse. Even so， he was compelled toabandon a portion of his outfit—pick and shovel and goldpan，extra food and cooking utensils， and divers odds andends.
The sun was at the zenith when the man forced thehorses at the screen of vines and creepers. To climb thehuge boulders the animals were compelled to uprear andstruggle blindly through the tangled mass of vegetation.
Once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removedthe pack to get the animal on its feet. After it started onits way again the man thrust his head out from among theleaves and peered up at the hillside.
“The measly skunk！” he said， and disappeared.
There was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs.
The trees surged back and forth， marking the passageof the animals through the midst of them. There was aclashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone， and now and againan oath or a sharp cry of command. Then the voice of theman was raised in song： —
“Tu’n around an’ tu’n yo’ face
Untoe them sweet hills of grace
（D’ pow’rs of sin yo’ am scornin’！）.
Look about an’ look aroun’，
Fling yo’ sin-pack on d’ groun’
（Yo’ will meet wid d’ Lord in d’ mornin’！）.”
The song grew faint and fainter， and through thesilence crept back the spirit of the place. The stream oncemore drowsed and whispered； the hum of the mountainbees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weightedair fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. Thebutterflies drifted in and out among the trees， and overall blazed the quiet sunshine. Only remained the hoofmarksin the meadow and the torn hillside to mark theboisterous trail of the life that had broken the peace ofthe place and passed on.
