Behind the tree a goodly portion of the banquet was in readiness.
Keno's pie was there, together with a mighty stack of doughnuts, plates
on plates of pickles, cans of fruit preserves, a mighty pan of cold
baked beans, and a fine array of biscuits big as a man's two fists.
From time to time the carpenter, who had saved up his appetite for
nearly twenty-four hours, went back to the table and feasted his eyes
on the spread. At length he took and ate a pickle. From that, at
length, his gaze went longingly to Keno's pie. How one little pie
could do any good to a score or so of men he failed to see. At last,
in his hunger, he could bear the temptation no longer. He descended on
the pie. But how it came to be shied through the window, practically
intact, half a moment later, was never explained to the waiting crowd.
By the time gray noon had come across the mountain desolation to the
group of little shanties in the snow, old Jim was thoroughly alarmed.
Little Skeezucks was helplessly lying in his arms, inert, breathing
with difficulty, and now and again moaning, as only a sick little mite
of humanity can.
"We can't take him down," said the miner, at last. "He ought to have a
woman's care."
Keno was startled; his worry suddenly engulfed him.
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