overcoat every year; a "polushuba" (pol'ooshoo-ba), or outer coat of sheepskin, every two years; one pair of "brodnias" (brode'nee-yas), or loose leather boots, every three and a half months in winter; and one pair of "kati" (kottee'), or low shoes, every twenty-two days in summer. The quality of the food and clothing furnished by the Government may be inferred from the fact that the cost of maintaining a hard-labor convict at the mines is about $50 a year, or a little less than fourteen cents a day.1

After having examined the Middle Kara prison as carefully as time and circumstances would permit, we proceeded up the valley to a point just beyond the penal settlement of Upper Kara, and, leaving our vehicles there, walked down towards the river to the mines.

The auriferous sand in the valley of the Kara lies buried under a stratum of clay, gravel, or stones, varying in thickness from ten to twenty feet. The hard labor of the convicts consists in the breaking up and removal of this overlying stratum and the transportation of the "pay gravel," or gold-bearing sand, to the "machine," where it is agitated with water in a sort of huge iron hopper and then allowed to run out with the water into a series of shallow inclined troughs, or flumes, where the "black sand" and the particles of gold fall to the bottom and are stopped by low transverse cleats. The first placer that we visited is shown in the illustration on page 173, which was made from an imperfect photograph taken by Mr. Frost under very unfavorable conditions. The day was cold and dark, a light powdery snow was falling, and a more dreary picture than that presented by the mine can hardly be imagined. Thirty or forty convicts, surrounded by a cordon of Cossacks, were at work in a sort of deep gravel pit, the bottom of which was evidently at one time the bed of the stream. Some of them were loosening with pointed crowbars the hardpacked clay and gravel, some were shoveling it upon small hand-barrows, while others were carrying it away and dumping it at a distance of 150 or 200 yards. The machine was not in operation, and the labor in progress was nothing more than the preliminary "stripping," or laying bare of the gold-bearing stratum. The 1 This was the estimate given me by Major Potu

lof.

convicts, most of whom were in leg-fetters, worked slowly and listlessly, as if they were tired out and longed for night; the silence was broken only by the steady clinking of crowbars, a quick, sharp order now and then from one of the overseers, or the jingling of chains as the convicts walked to and fro in couples carrying hand-barrows. There was little or no conversation except that around a small campfire a few yards away, where half a dozen soldiers were crouching on the snowy ground watching a refractory tea-kettle and trying to warm their benumbed hands over a sullen, fitful blaze. We watched the progress of the work for ten or fifteen minutes, and then, chilled and depressed by the weather and the scene, returned to our vehicle and drove back to the Lower Diggings.

The hours of labor in the Kara mines are from 7 A. M. to 5 P. M. in winter, and from 5 A. M. to 7 P. M. in summer. A considerable part of this time, however, is spent by the convicts in going back and forth between the "razreis" (raz-rays'), or "cutting," and the prisons where they spend their nights. The amount of gold extracted from the placers annually is eleven poods, or about four hundred pounds, all of which goes into the private purse of his Majesty the Tsar. The actual yield of the mines is probably a little more than this, since many of the convicts of the free command surreptitiously wash out gold for themselves and sell it to dealers in that commodity, who smuggle it across the Chinese frontier. To have "golden wheat," as the convicts call it, in one's possession at all in Siberia is a penal offense; but the profits of secret trade in it are so great that many small speculators run the risk of buying it from the convicts, while the latter argue that "the gold is God's," and that they have a perfect right to mine it for themselves if they can do so without too much danger of detection and punishment. The cost of maintaining the Kara penal establishment was estimated by Major Potulof at 500,000 rubles, or about $250,000, a year. What proportion of this expense is borne by the Tsar, who takes the proceeds of the convicts' labor, I could not ascertain. He receives from all his gold-mines in Eastern Siberia — the “cab- about 3600 inet mines," as they are called pounds of pure gold per annum.

George Kennan.

the new ladies in the camp, still under consideration by the other ladies, but entirely acceptable, it seemed, to Mr. Strode. The lady was in a thorough-going mood to-night; she neglected even the business of waltzing for energetic conversation with her partner, and seemed impatient of the coolness of his replies. "He intends to capture the room-take us all by storm." Mrs. Dansken caught these words as the pair swept by her. "Good idea - before you ladies have a chance to combine."

"He's too late, then," said Mrs. Paul. "It does n't take us long, I can assure you, when we 've got a cause."

Strode laughed, and stooped to murmur something in her ear, with a glance at Mrs. Dansken.

"Does n't she know ?" Mrs. Paul exclaimed aloud. "How very queer! Somebody must tell her at once.”

The name of her escort, Mr. Blashfield, was the only one on Mrs. Dansken's card; but now the waltz was over and she found herself in the midst of her accustomed circle. She perceived that Strode was walking across the room with Mrs. Paul, and instantly fixed her features in an expression of unconsciousness until they were at her side, when she turned in effusive surprise. But Mrs. Paul proceeded at once to business.

"Mrs. Dansken, have none of these gentlemen told you of the introduction we are to be favored with to-night? They are very considerate, I 'm sure, but it 's no time now to spare one another's feelings. We are to be taken by surprise, it seems."

"Yes?" said Mrs. Dansken.

"I think it's perfectly abominable he should n't have told you! I'm afraid you don't look after your young gentlemen, Mrs. Dansken. You are too busy making them comfortable." Allusions to her professional hospitality were not pleasing to Mrs. Dansken, but she merely smiled, and asked if it was Mr. Strode who needed looking after.

"Oh, Mr. Strode can take care of himself, I think. He is n't going to be run off with by anybody's pretty waitress. It's that poor young Embury and your Annie, Allie, whatever her name is they were married last nightgoodness knows where! He's going to present her to us this evening. Do you mean to say you had n't the faintest suspicion what was going on?"

"My dear," said Mrs. Dansken, gallantly hugging to her breast her deep chagrin, "I've had these young persons on my mind all day, especially 'my' Annie, as you call her. I had my suspicions, but I was ashamed of them." She could not help a little huskiness in her voice. "But it seems one need n't be ashamed

of anything. I'm happy to say nothing that girl could do could possibly surprise me.'

"But it is too bad about Frank Embury! And the worst of it is, we can't punish her without punishing him too. I think it's the brazenest performance I ever heard of! The question is, how are we to receive her-as what she is, or what he wants to make us believe she is?" asked Mrs. Paul.

"Oh, I don't care what she is! She is his wife now- - let him look out for her." Mrs. Dansken disdained the applause that followed this speech. It was bitter to her that the catastrophe of her household should be paraded in this way, and that a Mrs. Paul should be the one to inform her of it.

"He's quite capable of it," she went on, her smarting eyes fixed on a far corner of the room. "He has quite circumvented me. I begin to think I 'm a perfect child."

"I don't see why Embury has n't a right to bring his wife. I should want to bring mine, if I had one," said Strode, judicially. "Let them have their dance, I say. Embury has paid for his share of the floor."

"They may have the whole of it for me," said Mrs. Dansken. She asked Blashfield to give her his arm and he took her away, out of the discussion.

"She's all right," commented Mrs. Paul, looking after her. "She will never forgive him- and I would n't either. Any young man may be foolish, but to marry her, and brazen it out to our very faces!"

"I wish you would take me home," said Mrs. Dansken. "I believe I 'm not much of a fighter after all. Mrs. Paul seems to have taken the whole thing upon her shoulders. She will see that justice is done; I can't say I care to stay and look on. It will be thumbs down with every woman in the room."

"I ain't anxious to see it myself," said Blashfield. "But don't you think-had n't we better stand by him, Mrs. Dansken? Frank's a pretty good boy."

Mrs. Dansken gave him a look. “You can come back and stand by him, if you wish to. I think you'll have your hands full."

They were in the middle of the room, opposite the main entrance, when the whisper went round, "There they come!"

Blashfield fairly blenched. He fell back, leaving Mrs. Dansken to face the triumphant young couple, advancing; Embury looking handsomer than she had ever seen him, with a girl on his arm who was the apotheosis of Milly.

All his personal grievances had been outlawed in that day of Frank's seclusion with his wife-the day that had lasted years. He saw Mrs. Dansken before him, as in dreams one sees a friend from whom one has long been

separated. He remembered only that she had been kind-that now, if ever, she must be kind. He looked at her earnestly, insistently, imploringly, seeing that her face remained cold. He held out his hand. She swerved from him, and bore off Blashfield with her to a bench against the wall.

Tell him to come to me one moment without that girl."

Blashfield obediently crossed the room to the place where Frank had seated his wife. The neighboring ladies had instantly moved away; he was standing at her side, covering her isolation. He had taken her fan and was beating back the bright hair from her temples, not daring to look at her now the ordeal was upon them.

He could have embraced Blashfield for his bow to Milly and his matter-of-course manner to them both, though the little man was pink with embarrassment. He attempted no foolish congratulations, but asked Milly, quite naturally, if she were well, and said, with a deeper blush, that they missed her awfully.

Milly came out of her stony silence to say, "Mr. Blashfield, would you give my love to Ann, please, and tell her-"A look from Frank disturbed her and she stopped.

"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Embury." Again Frank would have liked to embrace poor Blashfield, who was having a desperate time of it. "Ann is a regular funeral in the house ever since you left. Embury, Mrs. Dansken wants to speak with you. Will you let me stay with Milly?" This was somehow even better than the " Mrs. Embury"; a choking feeling in her throat made Milly put down her head.

"Mrs. Dansken might have spoken to me a moment ago," said Frank. "She did n't seem particularly anxious then."

"She was taken by surprise, you know. You'd better go and speak to her, Embury. Don't you think he had ?" He addressed himself to Milly, who turned her face away and said, "I don't want to speak to Mrs. Dansken." Blashfield looked unhappy. He rose up and bowed again to Milly. "Take her away, for God's sake!" he muttered to Frank, apart. "She has n't a friend in the room."

Frank was cool and savage.

"It would be all right if the women were n't here. But you can't fight women with a woman you know - and your wife. Take her out of it." "We'll have a dance first," said Frank. "But I thank you, Blashfield."

"I'd like to dance with her myself," said Blashfield, "but I 've got to take Mrs. Dansken home."

"What is the matter with Mrs. Dansken?" "She is afraid there's going to be a row.

Come and speak to her, Frank; you ought to, for your wife's sake.”

"For my wife's sake!" said Frank, scornfully. "I must go back to my wife. Thank you, Blashfield."

"Blashfield is the flag of truce," the ladies said. But the flag of truce disappeared a moment later with Mrs. Dansken, and the ladies understood that the terms of surrender were off.

Frank and Milly took their places as third couple in the lanciers. He had not dared to ask her if she could dance, but she showed no hesitation and bore herself to his entire admiration. The manner of the perfect servant, which Mrs. Dansken had approved, did not forsake her now; she stood up as calmly as if she had been behind her mistress's chair, with the double file of laughing young men's faces in front of her.

"My brave girl-my beauty," Frank whispered, and the next moment he saw that they were deserted. The set had melted away and they stood in their places alone. He whirled Milly off into another set that was forming; that too dissolved, and left them objects of commiseration or of derision to the room.

Then they took their seats. "I wish we could go away," Milly said.

"We will go, after a while. I will not skulk out of the room with you and leave a trail of sneers behind us. Who are they?— a lot of washed-out old women; and where did they come from, I should like to know? Ladies don't assemble in mining camps, as a rule." Frank stopped, and Milly said:

"I'm not a lady. I never pretended to be." "And they do pretend, that is just the difference." He was more sure of himself, now that the case was simple- his bride to buckler against the world. "We will have one waltz together. Can you waltz, Milly?"

Milly smiled faintly in reminiscence. "What should I care about the music if I'd never danced to it?" she asked.

"Ah, that night! Poor Milly! — Heavens, how beautiful you look! You are my Cinderella after all. We'll make those proud sisters own up who is the belle of the ball. Wait till the men have their turn."

Frank was not himself to-night. He was not in the habit of such speeches as these, but the form of attack he was meeting called up all that was cruelest and coarsest in his nature. The company had now got down to the level of primitive instincts. It was simply a tussle for supremacy.

When the waltz began Frank rose and took Milly by the hand. Her hand was cold. He looked at her beautiful face and saw that she was colorless, except for her bright hair and

her opaque, gem-like eyes, on which the light floated as on dark green water.

"Can you go through with it?" he whispered.

"Can I waltz?" asked Milly. "You will see."

"What are those poor things going to do now?" Mrs. Paul exclaimed as they took their places. "Does he imagine that she can dance? I propose we give them the floor."

It was yielded them by tacit consent, and they floated over it, a pair of dancers who might have been chosen to incarnate the spirit of the waltz.

"That's business," Strode murmured, and then not another word was spoken. The company were reduced to the attitude of mere spectators; every eye followed the exalted, dreamlike motions of the beautiful young pair. This was Milly's triumph. Whether it was worth the cost Frank did not ask himself. He flung himself into it with an aching forecast that such henceforth would be the nature of his wife's triumphs-conquered by strife, and in a field open to all competitors without subtle distinctions. A perfect physical endowment; a sense of rhythm; muscles true to the quiver of a nerve; a calm, uneager face. The soul of the waltz passed, in anguished ecstasy, before the silent company, and the hearts of the women were pained and the men were at Milly's feet. But none the less was she doomed.

66

Really, one would think it was professional," said Mrs. Paul. "How does she keep herself in practice?"

"By Jove, she's stunning! It does n't look as if she needed much practice," said Strode. Such remarks did not help Milly's case, especially as a majority of the young men carried their defection to the point of going over to her in a body, asking to be introduced, and crowding her card with their names.

The ladies were beaten from the field. Those who had escorts summoned them, and at 11 o'clock Milly was the only woman in the room. The best of the men had gone with the ladies. It needed but a glance to show Frank that the tables were turned, and that the retreat of the women had been a stroke of vengeance. The men whose names were on Milly's list were not such as he intended his wife should dance with.

When it was seen that he was taking his beautiful waltzer away, a crowd of protestants gathered about them, reproaching her familiarly and joking with Frank in a way that drove him wild. Some of them had been drinking. Decidedly Strode was not himself. He had disposed of Mrs. Paul at her door and had hastened back, pausing for a parenthetical glass at the bar, to confirm his indorse

the

ment of Milly. It was he who followed up retreat, who intercepted the pair at the foot of the staircase, and tipsily demanded his dance with the bride. The stairs went up from the office of the hotel, where a crowd of men were laughing witnesses of the scene.

"Some other time, Strode," said Frank, controlling himself.

"Wha''s your hurry? Have n't you cut her out and got you' brand on her?" Strode muttered, lapsing into cowboy slang.

They had reached the first landing, Strode pursuing. Frank turned upon him. "Clear out, before I kick you downstairs."

Strode braced himself, and Frank took him by the collar and flung him backwards off the landing. It was not far to fall. Strode was up and at the bedroom door, sobered and white with rage, as Frank shut the door upon his wife and faced about to meet him. Strode looked into his eyes. "You've got to apologize," he muttered.

Frank laughed at this proposition, following the scene on the stairs. He was perfectly cool. "Do you want any more of the same sort ?" he asked.

"When will you meet me like a gentleman ?" "Like an idiot, you mean! Gentlemen don't fight duels off the stage."

"Gentlemen, with us, don't use their fists," said the Arkansas boy. "You are a ard!"

COW

"Am I? You shall prove it - any ridiculous way you like, and as soon as you like." "Twelve o'clock then, out here in the lot back of the hotel. Who's your friend?"

Frank thought a moment. "Blashfield," he said. "You need n't make a noise about it." "I think you will squeal first," said Strode. "Hound!" said Frank, looking after him. He went into his room and took Milly in his lap, putting his head down upon her shoulder. She laid her hands timidly one on each side of his temples, and felt the hot veins throbbing. Her heart was very soft towards him, her wonderful young lover, her protector, whom she found more formidable than all the dangers he had tried to save her from.

"He'd taken too much, had n't he?" she whispered.

Frank shuddered.

“You ain't afraid he 'll make you trouble?" He shook his head. He gripped her to him, gave her a little shake, and put her down from his knees.

"Why wouldn't you let me dance?" she asked presently, following him with her eyes as he strode about the room. "You was n't jealous, was you u?"

He threw up his head like a creature that feels itself stifling. It was clear that Milly had