In the Heart of the Rockies: A Story of Adventure in Colorado

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER II

  FINDING FRIENDS

  The weather was fine, and Tom Wade found the voyage more pleasant thanhe had expected. The port-holes were kept open all the way, and thecrowded quarters were less uncomfortable than would have been the casehad they encountered rough weather. There were some very rough spiritsamong the party forward, but the great majority were quiet men, andafter the first night all talking and larking were sternly repressedafter the lights were out. The food was abundant, and although somegrumbled at the meat there was no real cause of complaint. A rope acrossthe deck divided the steerage passengers from those aft, and as therewere not much more than one-half the emigrants aboard that the _Parthia_could carry, there was plenty of room on deck.

  But few of the passengers suffered from sea-sickness, and the women satand chatted and sewed in little groups while the children played about,and the men walked up and down or gathered forward and smoked, while afew who had provided themselves with newspapers or books sat in quietcorners and read. Tom was one of these, for he had picked up a few bookson the United States at second-hand bookstalls at Portsmouth, and thisprevented him from finding the voyage monotonous. When indisposed toread he chatted with Brown the carpenter and his mates, and sometimesgetting a party of children round him and telling them stories gatheredfrom the books now standing on the shelves in his room at Southsea. Hewas glad, however, when the voyage was over; not because he was tired ofit, but because he was longing to be on his way west. Before leaving theship he took a very hearty farewell of his companions on the voyage, andon landing was detained but a few minutes at the custom-house, and thenentering an omnibus that was in waiting at the gate, was driven straightto the station of one of the western lines of railway.

  From the information he had got up before sailing he had learnt thatthere were several of these, but that there was very little differenceeither in their speed or rates of fare, and that their through-rates toDenver were practically the same. He had therefore fixed on the Chicagoand Little Rock line, not because its advantages were greater, but inorder to be able to go straight from the steamer to the station withouthaving to make up his mind between the competing lines. He found onarrival that the emigrant trains ran to Omaha, where all the lines met,and that beyond that he must proceed by the regular trains. An emigranttrain was to leave that evening at six o'clock.

  "The train will be made up about four," a good-natured official said tohim, "and you had best be here by that time so as to get a corner seat,for I can tell you that makes all the difference on a journey like this.If you like to take your ticket at once you can register that trunk ofyours straight on to Denver, and then you won't have any more troubleabout it."

  "Of course we stop to take our meals on the way?"

  "Yes; but if you take my advice you will do as most of them do, get abig basket and lay in a stock of bread and cooked meat, cheese, andanything you fancy, then you will only have to go out and get a cup oftea at the stopping-places. It comes a good bit cheaper, and you getdone before those who take their meals, and can slip back into the carsagain quick and keep your corner seat. There ain't much ceremony inemigrant trains, and it is first come first served."

  "How long shall we be in getting to Denver?"

  "It will be fully a week, but there ain't any saying to a day. Theemigrant trains just jog along as they can between the freight trainsand the fast ones, and get shunted off a bit to let the expresses passthem."

  Thanking the official for his advice, Tom took his ticket, registeredhis trunk, and then went out and strolled about the streets of New Yorkuntil three o'clock. He took the advice as to provisions, and getting asmall hamper laid in a stock of food sufficient for three or four days.The platform from which the train was to start was already occupied by aconsiderable number of emigrants, but when the train came up he was ableto secure a corner seat. The cars were all packed with their fullcomplement of passengers. They were open from end to end, with a passagedown the middle. Other cars were added as the train filled up, but notuntil all the places were already occupied. The majority of thepassengers were men, but there were a considerable number of women, andstill more children; and Tom congratulated himself on learning from theconversation of those around him that a good many were not going beyondChicago, and that almost all would leave the train at stations betweenthat place and Omaha.

  The journey to Chicago was the most unpleasant experience Tom had evergone through. The heat, the dust, and the close confinement seemed totell on the tempers of everyone. The children fidgeted perpetually, thelittle ones and the babies cried, the women scolded, and the mengrumbled and occasionally quarrelled. It was even worse at night thanduring the day; the children indeed were quieter, for they lay on thefloor of the passage and slept in comparative comfort, but for the menand women there was no change of position, no possibility of rest. Thebacks of the seats were low, and except for the fortunate ones by thewindows there was no rest for the head; but all took uneasy naps withtheir chins leaning forward on their chest, or sometimes with theirheads resting on their neighbour's shoulder. Tom did not retain hiscorner seat, but resigned it a few hours after starting to a weary womanwith a baby in her arms who sat next to him. He himself, strong as hewas, felt utterly worn out by the fatigue and sleeplessness.

  Beyond Chicago there was somewhat more room, and it was possible to makea change of position. Beyond Omaha it was much better; the train wasconsiderably faster and the number of passengers comparatively few. Henow generally got a seat to himself and could put his feet up. Thepeople were also, for the most part, acquainted with the country, and hewas able to learn a good deal from their conversation. There were butfew women or children among them, for except near the stations of therailway, settlements were very rare; and the men were for the most parteither miners, ranchemen, or mechanics, going to the rising town ofDenver, or bound on the long journey across the plains to Utah orCalifornia. It was on the eighth day after starting that Denver wasreached.

  Before leaving the ship Tom had put on his working clothes and a flannelshirt, and had disposed of his black suit, for a small sum, to afellow-passenger who intended to remain at New York. This had somewhatlightened his portmanteau, but he was glad when he found that there werevehicles at the station to convey passengers up the hill to Denver,which was some three miles away, and many hundred feet above it. He wastoo tired to set about finding the Empire Saloon, but put up at thehotel at which the omnibus stopped, took a bath and a hearty meal, andthen went straight to bed.

  After breakfast the next morning he at once set out. He had nodifficulty in finding the whereabouts of the Empire Saloon, which helearned from the clerk of the hotel was a small place frequented almostentirely by miners. Its appearance was not prepossessing. It had beenbuilt in the earliest days of Denver, and was a rough erection. Thesaloon was low, its bare rafters were darkly coloured by smoke, a numberof small tables stood on the sanded floor, and across the farther end ofthe room ran a bar. On shelves behind this stood a number of blackbottles, and a man in his shirt sleeves was engaged in washing upglasses. Two or three rough-looking men in coloured flannel shirts, withthe bottoms of their trousers tucked into high boots, were seated at thetables smoking and drinking.

  "I am expecting a letter for me here," Tom said to the man behind thebar. "My name is Wade."

  "The boss is out now," the man said. "He will be here in an hour or so.If there is anything for you he will know about it."

  "Thank you. I will come again in an hour," Tom replied. The man noddedshortly, and went on with his work. When Tom returned, the bar-tendersaid to a man who was sitting at one of the tables talking to theminers, "This is the chap I told you of as was here about the letter."

  "Sit right down," the man said to Tom, "I will talk with you presently;"and he continued his conversation in a low tone with the miners. It wasnearly half an hour before he concluded it. Then he rose, walked acrossthe room to Tom, and held out his hand.

  "Shake, young fellow,"
he said; "that is, if you are the chap StraightHarry told me might turn up here some day."

  "I expect I am the fellow," Tom said with a smile. "My uncle's name isHarry Wade."

  "Yes, that is his name; although he is always called Straight Harry.Yes, I have got a letter for you. Come along with me." He led the wayinto a small room behind the saloon, that served at once as his bed-roomand office, and motioned to Tom to sit down on the only chair; thengoing to a cupboard he took out a tin canister, and opening it shook outhalf a dozen letters on to the table.

  "That is yourn," he said, picking one out.

  It was directed to Tom, and contained but a few lines. "_If you come Ihave gone west. Pete Hoskings will tell you all he knows about me andput you on the line. Your affectionate uncle._"

  "Are you Mr. Hoskings?" he asked the landlord.

  "I am Pete Hoskings," the man said. "There ain't been no Mister to myname as ever I can remember."

  "My uncle tells me that you will be able to direct me to him, and willput me on the line."

  "It would take a darn sight cuter fellow than I am to direct you to himat present," the man said with a laugh. "Straight Harry went away fromhere three months ago, and he might be just anywhere now. He may begrubbing away in a mine, he may be hunting and trapping, or he may havebeen wiped out by the Indians. I know where he intended to go, at leastin a general sort of way. He did tell me he meant to stay about there,and it may be he has done so. He said if he moved away and got a chancehe would send me word; but as there ain't nairy a post-office withinabout five hundred miles of where he is, his only chance of sending aletter would be by a hunter who chanced to be going down to thesettlements, and who, like enough, would put it into his hunting-shirtand never give it another thought. So whether he has stayed there or notis more nor I can say."

  "And where is _there?_" Tom asked. "It is among the hills to the westof the Colorado River, which ain't much, seeing as the Colorado is abouttwo thousand miles long. However, I can put you closer than that, for heshowed me on a map the bit of country he intended to work. He said hewould be back here in six months from the time he started; and that ifyou turned up here I was either to tell you the best way of gettingthere, or to keep you here until he came back. Well, I may say at oncethat there ain't no best way; there is only one way, and that is to geton a pony and ride there, and a mighty bad way it is. The only thing foryou to do is to keep on west along the caravan tract. You have to crossthe Green River,--that is the name of the Colorado on its upper course.Fort Bridger is the place for you to start from, but you have got towait there until you sight some one or other bound south; for as togoing by yourself, it would be a sight better to save yourself alltrouble by putting that Colt hanging there to your head, and pulling thetrigger. It is a bad country, and it is full of bad Indians, and thereain't many, even of the oldest hands, who care to risk their lives bygoing where Straight Harry has gone.

  "I did all I could to keep him from it; but he is just as obstinate as amule when he has made up his mind to a thing. I know him well, for weworked as mates for over a year down on the Yuba in California. We madea good pile, and as I had got a wife and wanted to settle I came backeast. This place had a couple of dozen houses then; but I saw it waslikely to boom, so I settled down and set up this saloon and sent for mywife to come west to me. If she had lived I should have been in a sightbigger place by this time; but she died six months after she got here,and then I did not care a continental one way or the other; and I likebetter to stop here, where I meet my old mates and can do as I like,than to run a big hotel. It ain't much to look at, but it suits me, andI am content to know that I could buy up the biggest place here if I hada fancy to. I don't take much money now, but I did when the place wasyoung; and I bought a few lots of land, and you may bet they have turnedout worth having. Well, don't you act rashly in this business. Anotherthree months your uncle will turn up, if he is alive; and if he don'tturn up at all I dare say I can put you into a soft thing. If you go onit is about ten to one you get scalped before you find him. Where areyou staying?"

  "At the Grand. The omnibus stopped there last night."

  "Well, you stay there for a week and think it over. You have got tolearn about the country west of the Colorado. You had best come here todo that. You might stay a month at the Grand and not find a soul whocould tell you anything worth knowing, but there ain't a day when youcouldn't meet men here who have either been there themselves or haveheard tell of it from men who have."

  "Are the natives friendly now?" Tom asked. "In a letter he wrote twoyears ago to us, my uncle said that he should put off going to a part ofthe country he wanted to prospect until the Indians were quiet."

  "The darned critters are never either friendly or quiet. A red-skin ispizen, take him when you will. The only difference is, that sometimesthey go on the war-path and sometimes they don't; but you may bet thatthey are always ready to take a white man's scalp if they get a chance."

  "Well, I am very much obliged to you for your advice, which I willcertainly take; that is, I will not decide for a few days, and will comein here and talk to the miners and learn what I can about it."

  "You can hear at once," the landlord said. He stepped back into thesaloon, and said to the two men with whom he had been talking: "Boys,this young chap is a Britisher, and he has come out all the way to joinStraight Harry, who is an uncle of his. Straight Harry is with BenGulston and Sam Hicks, and they are prospecting somewhere west of theColorado. He wants to join them. Now, what do you reckon his chanceswould be of finding them out and dropping in on their campfire?"

  The men looked at Tom with open eyes.

  "Waal," one of them drawled, "I should reckon you would have just aboutthe same chance of getting to the North Pole if you started off on foot,as you would of getting to Straight Harry with your hair on."

  Tom laughed. "That is not cheering," he said.

  "It ain't. I don't say as an old hand on the plains might not manage it.He would know the sort of place Harry and his mates would be likely tobe prospecting, he would know the ways of the red-skins and how totravel among them without ever leaving a trail or making a smoke, buteven for him it would be risky work, and not many fellows would care totake the chances even if they knew the country well. But for atenderfoot to start out on such a job would be downright foolishness.There are about six points wanted in a man for such a journey. He hasgot to be as hard and tough as leather, to be able to go for dayswithout food or drink, to know the country well, to sleep when he doessleep with his ears open, to be up to every red skin trick, to be ableto shoot straight enough to hit a man plumb centre at three hundredyards at least, and to hit a dollar at twenty yards sartin with hissix-shooter. If you feel as you have got all them qualifications you canstart off as soon as you like, and the chances aren't more'n twenty toone agin your finding him."

  "I haven't anyone of them," Tom said.

  "Waal, it is something if you know that, young chap. It is not everytenderfoot who would own up as much. You stick to it that you don't knowanything, and at the same time do your best to learn something, and youwill do in time. You look a clean-built young chap, and you could nothave a better teacher than Straight Harry. What he don't know, whetherit is about prospecting for gold or hunting for beasts, ain't worthknowing, you bet. What is your name, mate?"

  "Tom Wade."

  "Waal, let us drink. It ain't like you, Pete, to keep a stranger dry aslong as you have been doing."

  "He ain't up to our customs yet," the landlord said, as he moved offtowards the bar.

  "It is a custom everywhere," the miner said reprovingly, "for folks tostand drink to a stranger; and good Bourbon hurts no man."

  The landlord placed a bottle and four glasses on the counter. Each ofthe miners filled his glass for himself, and the bottle was then handedto Tom, who followed their example, as did Hoskings.

  "Here is luck to you," the miner said, as he lifted his glass. Threeglasses were set down empty, but Tom had to stop hal
f-way with his tocough violently.

  "It is strong stuff," he said apologetically, "and I never drank spiritswithout water before. I had a glass of grog-and-water on board a shipsometimes, but it has always been at least two parts of water to one ofspirits."

  "We mostly drink our liquor straight out here," the miner said. "But Iam not saying it is the best way, especially for one who ain't used toit, but you have got to learn to do it if you are going to live long inthis country."

  "Standing drinks round is a custom here," Pete Hoskings explained,seeing that Tom looked a little puzzled, "and there ain't no worseinsult than to refuse to drink with a man. There have been scores of menshot, ay, and hundreds, for doing so. I don't say that you may not putwater in, but if you refuse to drink you had best do it with your handon the butt of your gun, for you will want to get it out quick, I cantell you."

  "There is one advantage in such a custom anyhow," Tom said, "it willkeep anyone who does not want to drink from entering a saloon at all."

  "That is so, lad," Pete Hoskings said heartily. "I keep a saloon, andhave made money by it, but for all that I say to every young fellow whohopes to make his way some time, keep out of them altogether. In countryplaces you must go to a saloon to get a square meal, but everyone drinkstea or coffee with their food, and there is no call to stay in the placea minute after you have finished. Calling for drinks round has been theruin of many a good man; one calls first, then another calls, and no onelikes to stand out of it, and though you may only have gone in for oneglass, you may find you will have to drink a dozen before you get out."

  "Why, you are a downright temperance preacher, Pete," one of the minerslaughed.

  "I don't preach to a seasoned old hoss like you, Jerry. I keep mypreaching for those who may benefit by it, such as the youngster here;but I say to him and to those like him, you keep out of saloons. If youdon't do that, you will find yourself no forwarder when you are fiftythan you are now, while there are plenty of openings all over thecountry for any bright young fellow who will keep away from liquor."

  "Thank you," Tom said warmly; "I will follow your advice, which will beeasy enough. Beyond a glass of beer with my dinner and a tot of grog,perhaps once in three months when I have gone on board a ship, and didnot like to say no, I have never touched it, and have no wish to do so."

  "Stick to that, lad; stick to that. You will find many temptations, butyou set your face hard against them, and except when you come upon ahard man bent on kicking up a muss, you will find folks will think nonethe worse of you when you say to them straight, 'I am much obliged toyou all the same, but I never touch liquor.'"

  Tom remained four days at the hotel, spending a good deal of his time atthe saloon, where he met many miners, all of whom endorsed what thefirst he had spoken to had said respecting the country, and theimpossibility of anyone but an old hand among the mountains making hisway there.

  On the fourth evening he said to Pete Hoskings: "I see that your advicewas good, and that it would be madness for me to attempt to go bymyself, but I don't see why I should not ride to Fort Bridger; not ofcourse by myself, but with one of the caravans going west. It would be agreat deal better for me to do that and to learn something of the plainsand camping than to stay here for perhaps three months. At Fort BridgerI shall be able to learn more about the country, and might join somehunting party and gain experience that way. I might find otherprospectors going up among the hills, and even if it were not near wheremy uncle is to be found, I should gain by learning something, and shouldnot be quite a greenhorn when I join him."

  "Well, that is sensible enough," Pete Hoskings said, "and I don't knowas I can say anything against it. You certainly would not be doing anygood for yourself here, and I don't say that either an hotel or a saloonis the best place for you. I will think it over, and will let you knowwhen you come round in the morning; maybe I can put you a little in theway of carrying it out."

  The next morning when Tom went to the saloon, Jerry Curtis, one of theminers he had first met there, was sitting chatting with Pete Hoskings.

  "I had Jerry in my thoughts when I spoke to you last night, Tom," thelatter said. "I knew he was just starting west again, and thought Iwould put the matter to him. He says he has no objection to yourtravelling with him as far as Fort Bridger, where maybe he will make astay himself. There ain't no one as knows the plains much better than hedoes, and he can put you up to more in the course of a month than youwould learn in a year just travelling with a caravan with farmers boundwest."

  "I should be very much obliged indeed," Tom said delightedly. "It wouldbe awfully good of you, Jerry, and I won't be more trouble than I canhelp."

  "I don't reckon you will be any trouble at all," the miner said. "I wasnever set much on travelling alone as some men are. I ain't much of atalker, but I ain't fond of going two or three months without opening mymouth except to put food and drink into it. So if you think you willlike it I shall be glad enough to take you. I know Straight Harry well,and I can see you are teachable, and not set upon your own opinions asmany young fellows I have met out here are, but ready to allow thatthere are some things as men who have been at them all their lives mayknow a little more about than they do. So you may take it that it is abargain. Now, what have you got in the way of outfit?"

  "I have not got anything beyond flannel shirts, and rough clothes likethese."

  "They are good enough as far as they go. Two flannel shirts, one on andone off, is enough for any man. Two or three pairs of thick stockings.Them as is very particular can carry an extra pair of breeches in caseof getting caught in a storm, though for myself I think it is just aswell to let your things dry on you. You want a pair of high boots, abuffalo robe, and a couple of blankets, one with a hole cut in themiddle to put your head through; that does as a cloak, and is like whatthe Mexicans call a poncho. You don't want a coat or waistcoat; thereain't no good in them. All you want to carry you can put in yoursaddle-bag. Get a pair of the best blankets you can find. I will go withyou and choose them for you. You want a thing that will keep you warmwhen you sleep, and shoot off the rain in bad weather. Common blanketsare no better than a sponge.

  "Then, of course, you must have a six-shooter and a rifle. No man in hissenses would start across the plains without them. It is true thereain't much fear of red-skins between here and Bridger, but there isnever any saying when the varmint may be about. Can you shoot?"

  "No; I never fired off a rifle or a pistol in my life."

  "Well, you had better take a good stock of powder and ball, and you canpractise a bit as you go along. A man ain't any use out on these plainsif he cannot shoot. I have got a pony; but you must buy one, and asaddle, and fixings. We will buy another between us to carry our swag.But you need not trouble about the things, I will get all that fixed."

  "Thank you very much. How much do you suppose it will all come to?"

  "Never you mind what it comes to," Pete Hoskings said roughly. "I toldyour uncle that if you turned up I would see you through. What you havegot to get I shall pay for, and when Straight Harry turns up we shallsquare it. If he don't turn up at all, there is no harm done. This is mybusiness, and you have got nothing to do with it."

  Tom saw that he should offend Hoskings if he made any demur, and thekind offer was really a relief to him. He had thirty pounds still in hisbelt, but he had made a mental calculation of the cost of the thingsJerry had considered essential, and found that the cost of a horse andsaddle, of half another horse, of the rifle, six-shooter ammunition,blankets, boots, and provisions for the journey, must certainly amountup to more than that sum, and would leave him without any funds to liveon till he met his uncle.

  He was so anxious to proceed that he would have made no excuse, althoughhe saw that he might find himself in a very difficult position. Pete'sinsistence, therefore, on taking all expenses upon himself, was aconsiderable relief to him; for although determined to go, he had had anuneasy consciousness that it was a foolish step. He therefore expressedhis warm
thanks.

  "There, that is enough said about it," the latter growled out. "Themoney is nothing to me one way or the other, and it would be hard if Icouldn't do this little thing for my old mate's nephew. When are youthinking of making a start, Jerry?"

  "The sooner the better. I have been four months here already and havenot struck a vein, that is, not one really worth working, and the soonerI make a fresh start the better. To-day is Wednesday. There will beplenty of time to get all the things to-day and to-morrow, and we willstart at daylight on Friday. You may as well come with me, Tom, andlearn something about the prices of things. There are some Indianscamped three miles away. We will walk over there first and pick up acouple of ponies. I know they have got a troop of them, that is whatthey come here to sell. They only arrived yesterday, so we shall havethe pick of them."

  Before starting there was a short conversation between Jerry and thelandlord, and then the former put on his broad-brimmed hat.

  "Have you seen any red-skins yet?"

  "I saw a few at some of the stations the train stopped at between thisand Omaha."

  "Those fellows are mostly Indians who have been turned out of theirtribes for theft or drunkenness, and they hang about the stations tosell moccasins and other things their squaws make, to fresh arrivals.

  "The fellows you are going to see are Navahoes, though not goodspecimens of the tribe, or they would not be down here to sell ponies.Still, they are a very different sort from those you have seen."

  An hour's walking took them to a valley, in which the Indians wereencamped. There were eight wigwams. Some women paused in their work andlooked round at the newcomers. Their dogs ran up barking furiously, butwere driven back by a volley of stones thrown by three or four boys,with so good an aim that they went off with sharp yelps. Jerry strolledalong without paying any attention to the dogs or boys towards a partyof men seated round a fire. One of them rose as they approached.

  "My white brothers are welcome," he said courteously. "There is room bythe fire for them," and he motioned to them to sit down by his side. Apipe, composed of a long flat wooden stem studded with brass nails, witha bowl cut out of red pipe-stone, was now handed round, each taking ashort puff.

  "Does my brother speak the language of the Navahoes?" the chief asked inthat tongue.

  "I can get along with it," Jerry said, "as I can with most of yourIndian dialects."

  "It is good," the chief said. "My brother is wise; he must have wanderedmuch."

  "I have been a goodish bit among your hills, chief. Have you come fromfar?"

  "The moon was full when we left our village."

  "Ah, then you have been a fortnight on the road. Well, chief, I havecome here to trade. I want to buy a couple of ponies."

  The chief said a word or two to a boy standing near, and he with four orfive others at once started up the valley, and in a few minutes returnedwith a drove of Indian ponies.

  "They are not a bad lot," Jerry said to Tom.

  "They don't look much, Jerry."

  "Indian ponies never look much, but one of those ponies would gallop aneastern-bred horse to a stand-still."

  Jerry got up and inspected some of the horses closely, and presentlypicked out two of them; at a word from the chief two of the lads jumpedon their backs and rode off on them at full speed, and then wheelinground returned to the spot from where they started.

  "My white brother is a judge of horses," the chief said; "he has pickedout the best of the lot."

  "There are three or four others quite as good," Jerry said carelessly."Now, chief, how many blankets, how much powder and lead, and what elsedo you want for those two horses?"

  The chief stated his demands, to which Jerry replied: "You said justnow, chief, that I was a wise man; but it seems that you must regard meas a fool."

  For half an hour an animated argument went on. Two or three times Jerrygot up, and they started as if to quit the village, but each time thechief called them back. So animated were their gestures and talk thatTom had serious fears that they were coming to blows, but their voicessoon fell and the talk became amicable again. At last Jerry turned toTom.

  "The bargain is struck," he said; "but he has got the best of me, andhas charged an outrageous sum for them," Then, in his own language, hesaid to the chief:

  "At noon to-morrow you will send the ponies down to the town. I willmeet them at the big rock, half a mile this side of it, with the tradegoods."

  "They shall be there," the chief said, "though I am almost giving themto you."

  As they walked away, Tom said:

  "So you have paid more than you expected, Jerry?"

  "No, I have got them a bargain; only it would never have done to let thechief know I thought so, or the horses would not have turned upto-morrow. I expect they have all been stolen from some other tribe. Thetwo I have got are first-rate animals, and the goods will come to aboutfourteen pounds. I shall ride one of them myself, and put our swag on myown pony. That has been a very good stroke of business; they would neverhave sold them at that price if they had been honestly come by."