Jack scowled an awful scowl, and if he called them "pukes" with a few swear words added, it was a mild way of pouring out his anger.

But after dinner the boys surrounded him and fairly laughed him into a good humor, so that he set up drinks for the crowd.
Foot races were a great Sunday sport, and dog fights were not uncommon.
One dog in our camp was champion of the ridge, and though other camps brought in their pet canines to eat him up, he was always the top dog at the end of the scrimmage, and he had a winning grip on the fore foot of his antagonist.
A big "husky" who answered to the name of Cherokee Bob came our way and stopped awhile.

He announced himself a foot racer, and a contest was soon arranged with Soda Bill of Nevada City, and each went into a course of training at his own camp.

Bob found some way to get the best time that Bill could make, and comparing it with his own, said he could beat in that race.

So when it came off our boys gathered up their money, and loaded down the stage, inside and out, departing with swinging hats and flying colors, and screaming in wild delight at the sure prospect of doubling their dust.