"A trolley-car runs part way, and then--we'll take a cab. Come on," he
added, anxiously, for he could see some of his saloon friends edging
near.
The trolley came down almost to the station, and in a few moments they
were aboard with Kelley seated beside Florence and Mrs. Morse fondly
clinging to her son, who seemed more boyish than ever to Kelley. The old
trailer was mightily embarrassed by his close contact with a sprightly
girl. He had never known any one like her. She looked like the pictures
in the magazines--same kind of hat, same kind of jacket and skirt--and
she talked like a magazine story, too. Her face was small, her lips
sweet, and her eyes big and bright.
She was chatty as a camp bird, and saw everything, and wanted to know
about it. Why were there so many empty cabins? What was the meaning of
all those rusty, ruined mills? Weren't there any gardens or grass?
"Why, you see, miss, the camp is an old busted camp. I'm working a
lease--I mean, we are--"
"What do you mean by a lease?"
"Well, you see, a lot of men have got discouraged and quit, and went
back East and offered their claims for lease on royalty, and I and
another feller--and Fred--we took one of these and it happened to have
ore in it."
"How long has Fred been with you?--he never mentioned you in his
letters."
"Why, it's about a year since we took the lease." Kelley began to grow
hot under her keen eyes.
"Strange he never wrote of you. He seems very proud of you, too."