RS. EVANS gave a final tap with her hammer to the wheel of an old buckboard which she had just succeeded in patching together with rude skill, and then stepped back to view the result of her labor.
"I guess that's good for several trips yet," she remarked with evident satisfaction, "if that mule just holds out," turning a doubting eye on an old gray horse with spavined knees and a blind eye, now sunk in relaxed and listless slumber.
"Oh, he'll get along all right, and I'll go with you to hist him up whenever he stumbles," replied Mrs. Nitschkan, who leaned comfortably against a huge, pink boulder on the rocky hillside behind them.
"He'd better hold out," Mrs. Evans bestowed a menacing glance at the animal. "How'd ever I get 'Vitina' fer man an' beast, applied external and internal, to all the poor sufferers through this camp an' up an' down these mountains if he don't?"
As she stood, with hands on hips, considering the question, she formed a complete contrast to her friend. A wide sombrero was thrust jauntily on one side of her sleek, brown head and a trim gingham gown of starched freshness was belted tightly about her compact, little waist. A determined, bird-like creature with quick, darting movements, she seemed the very embodiment of force and energy.
Mrs. Nitschkan, on the other hand, was a sturdy, devil-may-care daughter of the mountains; her very costume expressing her complete indifference to all prevailing conventions.
Her dress consisted of a man's coat thrown loosely over a man's flannel shirt open at the throat, and a short skirt which entirely failed to conceal her heavy miner's boots. A soft hat was pushed far back on her curly, brown head, and in her sun-burned face twinkled a pair of bright, blue eyes, while her frequent smile displayed small, milk-white teeth.
"I guess we'd best climb up and try that seat," suggested Mrs. Evans. "If it's goin' to give way with us, I'd rather it'd do it here than any old place along the road, probably just in front of the post-office."
They were about to attempt this somewhat hazardous feat when, hearing shouts, they turned quickly to see two of their friends hastening down the mountain road and gesticulating in such a manner as to convey the fact that they bore news of especial importance.
"Well, what do you think?" cried Mrs. Thomas as she drew near, her round pink-and-white face all aglow with excitement.
"Yes, vat you tink?" echoed Mrs. Landvetter, a huge feather pillow of a woman, spotlessly Dutch.
"What?" exclaimed both women.
"There ain't nothin' happened to Sile at the Mont d'Or Mill is there?" breathlessly from Mrs. Evans.
"Nor to Jack in the Gold Bug?" from Mrs. Nitschkan.
"Oh, Land, no! Get your men folks out of your heads fer onc't. It's just this," fluttered Mrs. Thomas, "I seen Rufe Hayes, that drives the hack up from the station, an' he says that a lady peddler's jus' come up on the train. Rufe says she was peart as could be, talkin' to every one on the hack an' offerin' 'em free samples of medicine."
"Medicine!" for a moment, Mrs. Evans's face fell, then her unfaltering courage expressed itself in a firmer set of the lips. "What kind?" she demanded briskly.
"All kinds," explained Mrs. Thomas volubly. "A black case full of 'em. She says that this thing of givin' one kind of medicine fer all diseases is clean out of date. She says, this peddler does, that different diseases require different remedies."
"She does," repeated Mrs. Evans with superior scorn. "Well, it's plain to be seen that she's not on to the newest thing in medicine, and," with some heat, "if anybody's goin' to get out of this game, it ain't me, an' you can tell her so with my compliments. It's a matter of principle with me. I know I got a good thing in 'Vitina,' an' something that the folks here needs. That's the only reason that I took the agency fer it. It's the best medicine fer man an' beast that ever was put up. You girls know what a way we got to live here. The nearest doctor seven miles off over the Pass, an' us either dead or got well by the time he gets here.
"Now if this peddler can work any such miracles in this camp as I've done with 'Vitina,' all right. I'm ready to make my bow and get out, but I guess my standin' 's such that folks here know I'm no faker."
But in spite of a stiff upper lip, she was considerably perturbed in spirit. She knew her Zenith, as the little village far up in the Rockies was called, and Zenith was but an epitome of the fickle world, which lavishes its adulation upon the unfortunate objects of its interest only to cast them heedlessly upon the rocks or into the lions' den when a new favorite captures its attention.