It had been falling for several
days, had already called a faint spring color to the wan landscape,
repairing with tender touches the ravages wrought by the proprietors, or
charitably covering their faults. The ragged seams in gulch and canyon
lost their harsh outlines, a thin green mantle faintly clothed the torn
and abraded hillside. A few weeks more, and a veil of forgetfulness
would be drawn over the feeble failures of the Lone Star claim. The
charming derelicts themselves, listening to the raindrops on the roof
of their little cabin, gazed philosophically from the open door, and
accepted the prospect as a moral discharge from their obligations. Four
of the five partners were present. The Right and Left Bowers, Union
Mills, and the Judge.
It is scarcely necessary to say that not one of these titles was the
genuine name of its possessor. The Right and Left Bowers were two
brothers; their sobriquets, a cheerful adaptation from the favorite game
of euchre, expressing their relative value in the camp.
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