In his abstraction he was not aware that the auctioneer's assistant was also looking at him curiously, and that possibly his dejected and half-clad appearance had excited the attention of one of the cynical bystanders, who was exchanging a few words with the assistant.

He was, however, recalled to himself a moment later when the portmanteau was knocked down at fifteen dollars, and considerably startled when the assistant placed it at his feet with a grim smile.

"That's your property, Fowler, and I reckon you look as if you wanted it back bad." "But--there's some mistake," stammered Flint.

"I didn't bid." "No, but Tom Flynn did for you.

You see, I spotted you from the first, and told Flynn I reckoned you were one of those chaps who came back from the mines dead broke.