"Fer if not that, will ye tell me why else they want 'er opened up?
There's as much gold here as I've got in me pocket, an' not a dom bit more." "Well, that man I knowed in Minnesota, he tuk a crooked sthick," gobbled Mike, whose speech, as well as his mind had been driven askew by the railroad tie; but Murphy impatiently shut him up again.
"A-ah, an' that's about as much as ye iver did know, I'm thinkin', le's have no more av yer crooked sthick.

Hand me down that other pick, fer this wan is no sharper than me foot." He worked steadily after that, flinging up the moist soil with an asperated "a-ah" that punctuated regularly each heave of his shoulder muscles.

In a little he climbed out and helped Mike rig a windlass over the hole.

Mike pottered a good deal, and stood often staring vacantly, studying the next detail of their work.

When he was not using them, his hands drooped helplessly at his sides, a sign of mental slackness never to be mistaken.