"We calculate to take a moonlight pasear over to the Cross Roads and meet the down stage at about twelve to-night.

There's plenty of time yet," he added, with a slight laugh; "it's only three o'clock now." There was a dead silence.

Even the rain withheld its continuous patter, a dumb, gray film covered the ashes of the hushed hearth.

For the first time the Right Bower exhibited some slight embarrassment.
"I reckon it's held up for a spell," he said, ostentatiously examining the weather, "and we might as well take a run round the claim to see if we've forgotten nothing.

Of course, we'll be back again," he added hastily, without looking at the Old Man, "before we go, you know." The others began to look for their hats, but so awkwardly and with such evident preoccupation of mind that it was not at first discovered that the Judge had his already on.