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He looked again at the heaps of cast-off clothing on the floor and his gorge rose within him. "I tell you," he cried, before his father could speak, "that I'll never wear another donation party pair of pants. No, nor a shirt-tail shirt, either. I'm through with having the boys make fun of me. I'll earn my own clothes every summer and I'll earn mother's too."
Wonder they wouldn't pick on you." With the words they did. I put Barbara behind me, and was conscious only of a blinding snow of paper flakes, the punch and slap of dusters, in an uproar of horns and bells. "Good deal like fighting a swarm of bees in your shirt-tail with a willow switch," old Bill panted at my shoulder. "Gosh!" as the snapping of firecrackers let loose beneath our feet.
"Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard," she said to me, "you are nothing but an old pedant. I always suspected as much. The smallest little ragamuffin who goes along the road with his shirt-tail sticking out through a hole in his pantaloons knows more about me than all the old spectacled folks in your Institutes and your Academies. To know is nothing at all; to imagine is everything.
They finally decided that Peter should go to Hunston first, at once and alone. He would walk in, lest the use of the Cypriani boat should betray them; and there take charge of the situation and see what could be done. "You sit tight," Peter urged, "and give me a chance at it first. The Gazette has got nothing on me, you know; they can camp on my shirt-tail till they get good and tired.
With a whoop he dashed through the doorway, rounded into the open, and sprinted for the corral fence, his bare legs twinkling like the side-rods of a speeding locomotive and his shirt-tail fluttering in the morning breeze. Andy White leaped from his bunk, saw the dead lion, and started to follow Haskins. Another cowboy, Avery, was dancing on one foot endeavoring to don his overalls.
By the time that the horse and burro were packed, and the start onward might be made, the emigrant train also was again in motion, and the miners were descending again into their ravines and ditches. The great majority of the emigrants continued eastward, bound for "the Sacramenty," there to renew their strength. A few stayed in camp at Shirt-tail.
"Thou'lt not mind my getting into my clothes, for 't is not shirt-tail weather." "Sixty miles and upward I've come since five o'clock yesterday morning, and I'd agree to sleep under a field-piece in full action."
Caragol was in the stern, his loose shirt-tail flapping away as he held one hand to his eyebrows like a visor. "I see it!... I see it perfectly.... Ah, the bandit, the heretic!" And he extended his threatening fist toward a point in the horizon exactly opposite to the one upon which the periscope was appearing.
"Well, if we don't we can wash out a lot of gold, anyhow." "What are dry diggings, Charley?" "They're diggin's in dry ground, where you have to bring in the water some way. Wet diggin's are placers in the beds of streams where you're in the water already. Shirt-tail was wet diggin's. They're the hardest because your feet are soaked and get sore, and you catch rheumatism and fever and everything.
"I've found some gold I've panned out half a sackful. We haven't been here long. Wasn't seasick a bit scarcely. These are the Shirt-tail diggin's," replied Charley. "What kind of time did you have? Did you kill any Injuns? Do you have to go on? Why don't you stop now and mine? Is this all your crowd? Did you have a lot of fun? Do you want me to show you how to pan?"
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