The Outcasts of Poker Flat Vocabulary

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts of the settlement.

And they were tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp, and company.

Toward morning he awoke benumbed and cold.

It came slowly in a whirling mist of snowflakes, that dazzled and confused the eye.

It interfered with a profession which required coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his own language, he "couldn't afford it."

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

+ And pulseless and cold, with a derringer by his side and a bullet in his heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: + BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

He did not waken the sleepers.

Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

Even the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, leaving them still locked in each other's arms.

The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability.

The Innocent, with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to their fullest extent.

"That's what they call it," said the woman, querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning her face to the wall, passed quietly away.

Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, calmly surveying them.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

The Innocent, with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to their fullest extent.

The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to "chatter."

Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the flickering camp-fire.

Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of laughter.

For some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bring himself to disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so offered the hypothesis that he had wandered from the camp and had accidentally stampeded the animals.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

Mother Shipton saw it, and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky fastness hurled in that direction a final malediction.

He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance.

Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines in the caon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus.

Only Mother Shipton--once the strongest of the party--seemed to sicken and fade.

This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand before the game was played out."

What could be seen of the landscape appeared magically changed.

"Poker!" replied Oakhurst, sententiously; "when a man gets a streak of luck--nigger-luck--he don't get tired.

There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity.

As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can you pray?"

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it was "square fun."

Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges.

Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which gradually died away.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

We've had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat--you come along, and slap you get into it, too.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: + BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.

The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to "chatter."

It interfered with a profession which required coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his own language, he "couldn't afford it."

Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton snored.

The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable group, and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward, as if in token of the vow.

But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high around the hut--a hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which the castaways still clung.

He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first naturally reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently _cachd_.

It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked it.

Toward morning he awoke benumbed and cold.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance-- "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army,'" The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal.

This was done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain other objectionable characters.

"Just you go out there and cuss, and see."

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the Duchess's waist.

In the fresh, open face of the new-comer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as the "Innocent," of Sandy Bar.

And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance.

The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability.

That night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very hut.

This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand before the game was played out."

If you can hold your cards right along, you're all right.

"It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carry away our money."

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand before the game was played out."

With the easy good-humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanging his own riding-horse, "Five Spot," for the sorry mule which the Duchess rode.

But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log-house near the trail.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

He looked over the valley, and summed up the present and future in two words--"Snowed in!"

And so for the rest of that night the Homeric demigods again walked the earth.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance-- "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army,'" The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal.

"It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carry away our money."

Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges.

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after somebody."

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passed over the heads of the outcasts.

And they were tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp, and company.

It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: + BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.

He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first naturally reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently _cachd_.

It came slowly in a whirling mist of snowflakes, that dazzled and confused the eye.

Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines in the caon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

Through the marvellously clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles away.

Luck," continued the gambler, reflectively, "is a mighty queer thing.

Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, produced somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack.

They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices and footsteps broke the silence of the camp.

"Poker!" replied Oakhurst, sententiously; "when a man gets a streak of luck--nigger-luck--he don't get tired.

And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

The lovers turned from the dreary prospect and looked into each other's eyes, and were happy.

The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was set apart for the ladies.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

"Is this yer a d---d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered animals in the foreground.

Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain.

The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to "chatter."

It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked it.

Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point.

"They'll find out the truth about us _all_ when they find out anything," he added, significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now."

The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was forgotten.

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

In the fresh, open face of the new-comer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as the "Innocent," of Sandy Bar.

Some months before he had chanced upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the _Iliad_.

The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was set apart for the ladies.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance House?

He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance.

The spot was singularly wild and impressive.

But all human stain, all trace of earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifully flung from above.

Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous.

All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest and animation she had not shown for many days.

This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand before the game was played out."

It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, had camping been advisable.

It was one of the peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past.

There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the flickering camp-fire.

Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, calmly surveying them.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

The luck gives in first.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

But music failed to fill entirely the aching void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by Piney--story-telling.

It came slowly in a whirling mist of snowflakes, that dazzled and confused the eye.

So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passed over the heads of the outcasts.

As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can you pray?"

As the lovers parted they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been heard above the swaying pines.

As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked the tops of the pine-trees, and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles.

The tracks were already rapidly disappearing in the snow.

The trail was narrow and difficult.

No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods.

Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these indications.

The fire was replenished, the men lay down before the door, and in a few minutes were asleep.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, and exchanged significant glances.

A horseman slowly ascended the trail.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

Whether Mr. Oakhurst had _cachd_ his cards with the whiskey as something debarred the free access of the community, I cannot say.

"Is this yer a d---d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered animals in the foreground.

The cheerful gayety of the young man and Mr. Oakhurst's calm infected the others.

Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, calmly surveying them.

It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it was "square fun."

Whether Mr. Oakhurst had _cachd_ his cards with the whiskey as something debarred the free access of the community, I cannot say.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges.

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

He now proposed to narrate the principal incidents of that poem--having thoroughly mastered the argument and fairly forgotten the words--in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar.

It was one of the peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past.

It was apparently of a jocular nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fist into his mouth.

He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that would not bear trifling.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet above their heads.

All you know about it for certain is that it's bound to change.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

The cheerful gayety of the young man and Mr. Oakhurst's calm infected the others.

But even this act did not draw the party into any closer sympathy.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

"They'll find out the truth about us _all_ when they find out anything," he added, significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now."

Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet above their heads.

"Poker!" replied Oakhurst, sententiously; "when a man gets a streak of luck--nigger-luck--he don't get tired.

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside and showed him a pair of snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

"You've starved yourself," said the gambler.

All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife.

He excused himself to the Innocent by saying that he had "often been a week without sleep."

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

It interfered with a profession which required coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his own language, he "couldn't afford it."

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets.

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high around the hut--a hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which the castaways still clung.

"I reckon they're after somebody," he reflected; "likely it's me."

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet above their heads.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, produced somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack.

This was done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain other objectionable characters.

With the easy good-humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanging his own riding-horse, "Five Spot," for the sorry mule which the Duchess rode.

And when pitying fingers brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told, from the equal peace that dwelt upon them, which was she that had sinned.

Don't waken the kids.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they might last ten days longer.

"They'll find out the truth about us _all_ when they find out anything," he added, significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now."

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in judgment.

The lovers parted with a long embrace.

It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: + BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.

I regret to say that some of these were ladies.

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

Mr. Oakhurst, whose professional habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possible amount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson, somehow managed to take upon himself the greater part of that duty.

A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts of the settlement.

But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a weary search for the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed from the rocks.

At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going no farther, and the party halted.

But when he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation.

That night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very hut.

There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic greeting of Mr. Oakhurst.

A horseman slowly ascended the trail.

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some one had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer.

At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside and showed him a pair of snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle.

We've had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat--you come along, and slap you get into it, too.

It did her good, she privately informed the Duchess.

He then handed him his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson.

This was done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain other objectionable characters.

Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicose state into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shipton snored.

Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the Duchess's waist.

It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent citizen.

The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut.

But turning to where Uncle Billy had been lying, he found him gone.

When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the flickering camp-fire.

At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp.

At midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point.

There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity.

This was done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain other objectionable characters.

It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it was "square fun."

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: + BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.

Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point.

He then handed him his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson.

"It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carry away our money."

In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after somebody."

As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked the tops of the pine-trees, and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles.

As the lovers parted they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been heard above the swaying pines.

He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance.

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it was "square fun."

A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they might last ten days longer.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

It was apparently of a jocular nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fist into his mouth.

All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

"Is this yer a d---d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered animals in the foreground.

Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in this category.

There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic greeting of Mr. Oakhurst.

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst.

But when he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation.

She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance House?

Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of laughter.

No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods.

It was distant a day's severe travel.

Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some one had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

If you ain't--and perhaps you'd better not--you can wait till Uncle Billy gets back with provisions."

Don't try it over again."

"And yet it don't somehow sound like whiskey," said the gambler.

The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was set apart for the ladies.

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

The fire was replenished, the men lay down before the door, and in a few minutes were asleep.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts of the settlement.

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

It became more and more difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half hidden in the drifts.

"Poker!" replied Oakhurst, sententiously; "when a man gets a streak of luck--nigger-luck--he don't get tired.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

Piney was no chicken, but it was a soothing and original theory of the pair thus to account for the fact that she didn't swear and wasn't improper.

But they were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience.

But all human stain, all trace of earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifully flung from above.

A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts of the settlement.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

But music failed to fill entirely the aching void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by Piney--story-telling.

Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the Duchess's waist.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

A suspicion leaped to his brain and a curse to his lips.

We've had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat--you come along, and slap you get into it, too.

The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their professional tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to "chatter."

After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the door and thus addressed him: "Tommy, you're a good little man, but you can't gamble worth a cent.

But turning to where Uncle Billy had been lying, he found him gone.

But they were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high around the hut--a hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which the castaways still clung.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible example, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets of the sums he had won from them.

It was one of the peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past.

He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that would not bear trifling.

The cavalcade provoked no comments from the spectators, nor was any word uttered by the escort.

Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point.

Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in these indications.

For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance-- "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army,'" The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal.

Even the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, leaving them still locked in each other's arms.

It came slowly in a whirling mist of snowflakes, that dazzled and confused the eye.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

But a crude sentiment of equity residing in the breasts of those who had been fortunate enough to win from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local prejudice.

Did you enjoy reading Bret Harte's short story The Outcasts of Poker Flat?

A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they might last ten days longer.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

But when he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation.

But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log-house near the trail.

The thought of deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions never perhaps occurred to him.

But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log-house near the trail.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous.

It was one of the peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past.

When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of the accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the flickering camp-fire.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand before the game was played out."

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

And they were tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp, and company.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity.

He now proposed to narrate the principal incidents of that poem--having thoroughly mastered the argument and fairly forgotten the words--in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a moment forgot his annoyance.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

"I reckon they're after somebody," he reflected; "likely it's me."

Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain.

And, doing so, suddenly he heard his own name called.

He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the sleepers, for there was no time to lose.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

But turning to where Uncle Billy had been lying, he found him gone.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

"Is this yer a d---d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered animals in the foreground.

Toward morning he awoke benumbed and cold.

A secret committee had determined to rid the town of all improper persons.

"Is this yer a d---d picnic?" said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered animals in the foreground.

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

But they were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience.

He had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seek his fortune.

Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock, calmly surveying them.

He then handed him his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson.

Luck," continued the gambler, reflectively, "is a mighty queer thing.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous.

No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods.

For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance-- "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army,'" The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

But, unluckily, the Innocent met this objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log-house near the trail.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

It became more and more difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half hidden in the drifts.

He had met him some months before over a "little game," and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth.

The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut.

Yet he could not help feeling the want of that excitement which, singularly enough, was most conducive to that calm equanimity for which he was notorious.

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

In spite of his remonstrances, it was not long before they were more or less under its influence.

"It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carry away our money."

The moon through the rifted clouds looked down upon what had been the camp.

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

And when pitying fingers brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told, from the equal peace that dwelt upon them, which was she that had sinned.

In the morning, looking into each other's faces, they read their fate.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

The philosophic Oakhurst alone remained silent.

But they were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going no farther, and the party halted.

"Just you go out there and cuss, and see."

In spite of his remonstrances, it was not long before they were more or less under its influence.

But turning to where Uncle Billy had been lying, he found him gone.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can you pray?"

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

The cavalcade provoked no comments from the spectators, nor was any word uttered by the escort.

He turned suddenly and kissed the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame and her trembling limbs rigid with amazement.

He ran to the spot where the mules had been tethered; they were no longer there.

The Duchess, more cheerful than she had been, assumed the care of Piney.

Don't try it over again."

When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside and showed him a pair of snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle.

But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife.

The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was forgotten.

As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can you pray?"

For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance-- "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army,'" The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal.

"We'll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow'll melt, and we'll all go back together."

There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked ominous.

So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passed over the heads of the outcasts.

Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he approached, and exchanged significant glances.

After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the door and thus addressed him: "Tommy, you're a good little man, but you can't gamble worth a cent.

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweeping anathema.

I regret to say that some of these were ladies.

With the easy good-humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanging his own riding-horse, "Five Spot," for the sorry mule which the Duchess rode.

It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent citizen.

Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not fortunate.

As he gazed at his recumbent fellow-exiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah-trade, his habits of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him.

It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in judgment.

For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance-- "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army,'" The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that would not bear trifling.

He turned suddenly and kissed the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame and her trembling limbs rigid with amazement.

No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods.

"We'll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow'll melt, and we'll all go back together."

Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest and animation she had not shown for many days.

Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets.

He had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seek his fortune.

It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it was "square fun."

It contained Mother Shipton's rations for the last week, untouched.

Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point.

This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand before the game was played out."

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

Only Mother Shipton--once the strongest of the party--seemed to sicken and fade.

Only when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point.

A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they might last ten days longer.

She then set herself to the task of amusing "the child," as she and the Duchess were pleased to call Piney.

She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance House?

It is but due to the sex, however, to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was only in such easily established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit in judgment.

"It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carry away our money."

A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible example, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets of the sums he had won from them.

At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going no farther, and the party halted.

After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the door and thus addressed him: "Tommy, you're a good little man, but you can't gamble worth a cent.

A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they might last ten days longer.

"Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst," said the Innocent, pointing to the Duchess, "and I can shift for myself."

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.

The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range.

He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow.

But even this act did not draw the party into any closer sympathy.

He had met him some months before over a "little game," and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth.

It was one of the peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past.

But music failed to fill entirely the aching void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by Piney--story-telling.

And, doing so, suddenly he heard his own name called.

But they were furnished with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience.

They had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to be married, and here they were.

It did her good, she privately informed the Duchess.

But when he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation.

And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

Some months before he had chanced upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the _Iliad_.

He had met him some months before over a "little game," and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth.

The Innocent, with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to their fullest extent.

All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine-tree where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

He now proposed to narrate the principal incidents of that poem--having thoroughly mastered the argument and fairly forgotten the words--in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar.

Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of laughter.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

Some months before he had chanced upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the _Iliad_.

A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts of the settlement.

The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was set apart for the ladies.

Through the marvellously clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles away.

The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut.

As he gazed at his recumbent fellow-exiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah-trade, his habits of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

But a crude sentiment of equity residing in the breasts of those who had been fortunate enough to win from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local prejudice.

But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness and vociferation.

Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which gradually died away.

Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which gradually died away.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.

Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest and animation she had not shown for many days.

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

In the fresh, open face of the new-comer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as the "Innocent," of Sandy Bar.

It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent citizen.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

The Innocent slumbered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn.

I regret to say that some of these were ladies.

Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young woman familiarly known as the "Duchess"; another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard.

At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon the ground, declared her intention of going no farther, and the party halted.

Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, that towered twenty feet above their heads.

It was distant a day's severe travel.

"It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carry away our money."

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

Through the marvellously clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles away.

Neither Mr., Oakhurst nor his female companions caring to relate their personal experiences, this plan would have failed, too, but for the Innocent.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night.

It was not until he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that it was "square fun."

But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from a weary search for the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed from the rocks.

At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp.

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

As it was, he felt compelled to retire up the caon until he could recover his gravity.

Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of laughter.

But when he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation.

He listened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward.

Did you enjoy reading Bret Harte's short story The Outcasts of Poker Flat?

He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts first naturally reverted to the whiskey, which he had prudently _cachd_.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept.

The Duchess, without knowing exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney's shoulder, spoke no more.

But music failed to fill entirely the aching void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by Piney--story-telling.

The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was set apart for the ladies.

He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

"That is," said Mr. Oakhurst, _sotto voce_ to the Innocent, "if you're willing to board us.

It had lately suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a prominent citizen.

This was done permanently in regard of two men who were then hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in the banishment of certain other objectionable characters.

They had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to be married, and here they were.

The thought of deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions never perhaps occurred to him.

A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible example, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets of the sums he had won from them.

As the lovers parted they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been heard above the swaying pines.

As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave it--snow!

As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy.

"Doing what?" asked Tom.

Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines in the caon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus.

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

In that advanced season, the party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras.

There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity.

Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges.

And it's finding out when it's going to change that makes you.

Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not fortunate.

Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less with propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not fortunate.

He was too much of a gambler not to accept fate.

The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability.

But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife.

And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

And they were tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp, and company.

The Innocent, with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to their fullest extent.

It was certain that, in Mother Shipton's words, he "didn't say cards once," during that evening.

The Duchess, without knowing exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney's shoulder, spoke no more.

He looked over the valley, and summed up the present and future in two words--"Snowed in!"

I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in the refrain: "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army."

If you can hold your cards right along, you're all right.

In the fresh, open face of the new-comer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as the "Innocent," of Sandy Bar.