Emaciated he was; as much, perhaps, as he
dared be, with a needy undertaker at Bentley's Flat
and a new and enterprising coroner at Sonora. Pov-
erty and zeal are an upper and a nether millstone.
It is dangerous to make a third in that kind of
sandwich.
As Mr. Beeson sat there, with his ragged elbows
on his ragged knees, his lean jaws buried in his
lean hands, and with no apparent intention of going
to bed, he looked as if the slightest movement would
tumble him to pieces. Yet during the last hour he had
winked no fewer than three times.
There was a sharp rapping at the door. A rap at
that time of night and in that weather might have
surprised an ordinary mortal who had dwelt two
years in the gulch without seeing a human face, and
could not fail to know that the country was impass-
able; but Mr. Beeson did not so much as pull his
eyes out of the coals. And even when the door was
pushed open he only shrugged a little more closely
into himself, as one does who is expecting some-
thing that he would rather not see. You may observe
this movement in women when, in a mortuary chapel,
the coffin is borne up the aisle behind them.
But when a long old man in a blanket overcoat,
his head tied up in a handkerchief and nearly his
entire face in a muffler, wearing green goggles and
with a complexion of glittering whiteness where it
could be seen, strode silently into the room, laying a
hard, gloved hand on Mr.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147