Harte - 
 
 Southern Branch 
 of the 
 
 University of California 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Form L-l
 
 OCT 2 2 1929 
 
 ; JUN 2 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 tttru 
 1941 
 
 ... 
 
 9 
 
 DEC 2 9 1948 
 
 FEB 2 7 1952 
 2 9 
 
 2 3 1374 
 SEP- 16 I97S
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 <<bc liitocrs'iDe press, 
 1900 
 
 '''SO 6
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 BY BRET HARIK. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Houghton & Co.
 
 <J 
 
 -7 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I BARKER'S LTICK . 1 
 
 JA YELLOW DOG . . . . . . . 44 
 
 *A MOTHER OF FIVE 63 
 
 I BULGER'S REPUTATION 80 
 
 \IX THE TULES 104 
 
 I A CONVERT OF THE MISSION .... 141 
 
 ^Tgg INDISCIIETIO> ov ELSBKTH . . . . 182 
 
 . THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ .... 216
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 to 
 
 A BIRD twittered! The morning sun 
 shining through the open window was ap 
 parently more potent than the cool moun 
 tain air, which had only caused the sleeper 
 to curl a little more tightly in his blankets. 
 Barker's eyes opened instantly upon the 
 light and the bird on the window ledge. 
 Like all healthy young animals he would 
 have tried to sleep again, but with his mo- 
 ^> mentary consciousness came the recollection 
 ^ that it was his turn to cook the breakfast 
 ^ that morning, and he regretfully rolled out 
 1 of his bunk to the floor. Without stopping 
 to dress he opened the door and stepped 
 outside, secure in the knowledge that he was 
 overlooked only by the Sierras, and plunged 
 his head and shoulders in the bucket of cold 
 water that stood by the door. Then he be 
 gan to clothe himself, partly in the cabin and
 
 2 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 partly in the open air, with a lapse between 
 the putting on of his trousers and coat which 
 he employed in bringing in wood. Raking 
 together the few embers on the adobe hearth, 
 not without a prudent regard to the rattle 
 snake which had once been detected in 
 haunting the warm ashes, he began to pre 
 pare breakfast. By this time the other 
 sleepers, his partners Stacy and Demorest, 
 young men of about his own age, were 
 awake, alert, and lazily critical of his pro 
 gress. 
 
 " I don't care about my quail on toast 
 being underdone for breakfast," said Stacy, 
 with a yawn ; " and you need n't serve with 
 red wine. I 'm not feeling very peckish 
 this morning." 
 
 "And I reckon you can knock off the 
 fried oysters after the Spanish mackerel for 
 me" said Demorest gravely. " The fact is, 
 that last bottle of Veuve Clicquot we had 
 for supper was n't as dry as I am this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Accustomed to these regular Barmecide 
 suggestions, Barker made no direct reply. 
 Presently, looking up from the fire, he said, 
 " There 's no more saleratus, so you must n't 
 blame me if the biscuit is extra heavy. I
 
 BAEKEKS LUCK. 3 
 
 told you we had none when you went to the 
 grocery yesterday." 
 
 " And I told you we had n't a red cent to 
 buy any with," said Stacy, who was also 
 treasurer. "Put these two negatives to 
 gether and you make the affirmative 
 saleratus. Mix freely and bake in a hot 
 oven." 
 
 Nevertheless, after a toilette as primitive 
 as Barker's they sat down to what he had 
 prepared, with the keen appetite begotten 
 of the mountain air and the regretful fasti 
 diousness born of the recollection of better 
 things. Jerked beef, frizzled with salt pork 
 in a frying-pan, boiled potatoes, biscuit, 
 and coffee composed the repast. The bis 
 cuits, however, proving remarkably heavy 
 after the first mouthful, were used as mis 
 siles, thrown through the open door at an 
 empty bottle, which had previously served 
 as a mark for revolver practice, and a few 
 moments later pipes were lit to counteract 
 the effects of the meal and take the taste 
 out of their mouths. Suddenly they heard 
 the sound of horses' hoo^s, saw the quick 
 passage of a rider in the open space before 
 the cabin, and felt the smart impact upon 
 the table of some small object thrown by
 
 4 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 him. It was the regular morning delivery 
 of the county newspaper ! 
 
 " He 's getting to be a mighty sure shot," 
 said Demorest approvingly, looking at his 
 upset can of coffee as he picked up the 
 paper, rolled into a cylindrical wad as tightly 
 as a cartridge, and began to straighten it 
 out. This was no easy matter, as the sheet 
 had evidently been rolled while yet damp 
 from the press ; but Demorest eventually 
 opened it and ensconced himself behind it. 
 
 " Nary news ? " asked Stacy. 
 
 "No. There never is any," said Demo 
 rest scornfully. " We ought to stop the 
 paper." 
 
 " You mean the paper man ought to. We 
 don't pay him," said Barker gently. 
 
 " Well, that 's the same thing, smarty. 
 No news, no pay. Hallo ! " he continued, 
 his eyes suddenly riveted on the paper. 
 Then, after the fashion of ordinary hu 
 manity, he stopped short and read the in 
 teresting item to himself. When he had 
 finished he brought his fist and the paper, 
 together, violently down upon the table. 
 " Now look at this ! Talk of luck, will you ? 
 Just think of it. Here are we hard-work 
 ing men with lots of sabe, too grubbin'
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 5 
 
 away on this hillside like niggers, glad to 
 get enough at the end of the day to pay for 
 our soggy biscuits and horse-bean coffee, 
 and just look what falls into the lap of some 
 lazy sneakin' greenhorn who never did a 
 stroke of work in his life ! Here are we. 
 with no foolishness, no airs nor graces, and 
 yet men who would do credit to twice that 
 amount of luck and seem born to it, too 
 and we 're set aside for some long, lank, 
 pen-wiping scrub who just knows enough to 
 sit down on his office stool and hold on to a 
 bit of paper." 
 
 " What 's up now ? " asked Stacy, with 
 the carelessness begotten of familiarity with 
 his partner's extravagance. 
 
 " Listen," said Demorest, reading. " An 
 other unprecedented rise has taken place in 
 the shares of the ' Yellow Hammer First 
 Extension Mine ' since the sinking of the 
 new shaft. It was quoted yesterday at ten 
 thousand dollars a foot. When it is remem 
 bered that scarcely two years ago the origi 
 nal shares, issued at fifty dollars per share, 
 had dropped to only fifty cents a share, it 
 will be seen that those who were able to 
 hold on have got a good thing." 
 
 "What mine did you say?" asked Bar-
 
 6 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 ker, looking up meditatively from the dishes 
 he was already washing. 
 
 " The Yellow Hammer First Extension," 
 returned Demorest shortly. 
 
 " I used to have some shares in that, and 
 I think I have them still," said Barker 
 musingly. 
 
 " Yes," said Demorest promptly ; " the 
 paper speaks of it here. ' We understand,' " 
 he continued, reading aloud, ' that our emi 
 nent fellow citizen, George Barker, other 
 wise known as " Get Left Barker " and 
 " Chucklehead," is one of these fortunate 
 individuals.' ' : 
 
 " No," said Barker, with a slight flush of 
 innocent pleasure, " it can't say that. How 
 could it know ? " 
 
 Stacy laughed, but Demorest coolly con 
 tinued : " You did n't hear all. Listen ! 
 ' We say was one of them ; but having al 
 ready sold his apparently useless certificates 
 to our popular druggist, Jones, for corn 
 plasters, at a reduced rate, he is unable to 
 realize.' " 
 
 "You may laugh, boys," said Barker, 
 with simple seriousness ; " but I really be 
 lieve I have got 'em yet. Just wait. I '11 
 see ! " He rose and began to drag out
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 1 
 
 a well-worn valise from under his bunk. 
 " You see," he continued, " they were given 
 to me by an old chap in return " 
 
 "For saving his life by delaying the 
 Stockton boat that afterwards blew up," 
 returned Demorest briefly. " We know it 
 all ! His hair was white, and his hand 
 trembled slightly as he laid these shares in 
 yours, saying, and you never forgot the 
 words, ' Take 'em, young man and ' ' 
 
 "For lending him two thousand dollars, 
 then," continued Barker with a simple ig 
 noring of the interruption, as he quietly 
 brought out the valise. 
 
 " Two thousand dollars ! " repeated 
 Stacy. " When did you have two thou 
 sand dollars ? " 
 
 " When I first left Sacramento three 
 years ago," said Barker, unstrapping the 
 valise. 
 
 " How long did you have it ? " said De 
 morest incredulously. 
 
 " At least two days, I think," returned 
 Barker quietly. " Then I met that man. 
 He was hard up, and I lent him my pile and 
 took those shares. He died afterwards." 
 
 "Of course he did," said Demorest se 
 verely. " They always do. Nothing kills a
 
 8 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 man more quickly than an action of that 
 kind." Nevertheless the two partners re 
 garded Barker rummaging among some loose 
 clothes and papers with a kind of paternal 
 toleration. " If you can't find them, bring 
 out your government bonds," suggested 
 Stacy. But the next moment, flushed and 
 triumphant, Barker rose from his knees, and 
 came towards them carrying some papers in 
 his hands. Demorest seized them from him, 
 opened them, spread them on the table, ex 
 amined hurriedly the date, signatures, and 
 transfers, glanced again quickly at the news 
 paper paragraph, looked wildly at Stacy 
 and then at Barker, and gasped, 
 
 " By the living hookey ! it is so / " 
 
 " B' gosh ! he has got 'em ! " echoed Stacy. 
 
 " Twenty shares," continued Demorest 
 breathlessly, " at ten thousand dollars a 
 share even if it 's only a foot is two 
 hundred thousand dollars ! Jerusalem ! " 
 
 " Tell me, fair sir," said Stacy, with 
 sparkling eyes, " hast still left in yonder 
 casket any rare jewels, rubies, sarcenet, or 
 links of fine gold? Peradventure a pearl 
 or two may have been overlooked ! " 
 
 "No that's all," returned Barker sim- 
 
 pty-
 
 BARKERS LUCK. 9 
 
 " You hear him ! Rothschild says ' that 's 
 all.' Prince Esterhazy says he has n't an 
 other red cent only two hundred thou 
 sand dollars." 
 
 " What ought I to do, boys ? " asked Bar 
 ker, timidly glancing from one to the other. 
 Yet he remembered with delight all that 
 day, and for many a year afterwards, that 
 he only saw in their faces unselfish joy and 
 affection at that supreme moment. 
 
 " Do ? " said Demorest promptly. " Stand 
 on your head and yell ! No ! stop ! Come 
 here ! " he seized both Barker and Stacy by 
 the hand, and ran out into the open air. 
 Here they danced violently with clasped 
 hands around a small buckeye, in perfect 
 silence, and then returned to the cabin, 
 grave but perspiring. 
 
 " Of course," said Barker, wiping his 
 forehead, "we'll just get some money on 
 these certificates and buy up that next claim 
 which belongs to old Carter where you 
 know we thought we saw the indication." 
 
 "We'll do nothing of the kind," said 
 Demorest decidedly. " We ain't in it. That 
 money is yours, old chap every cent of it 
 property acquired before marriage, you 
 know ; and the only thing we '11 do is to be
 
 10 BASKETS LUCK. 
 
 d d before we '11 see you drop a dime of 
 it into this God-forsaken hole. No ! " 
 
 " But we 're partners," gasped Barker. 
 
 " Not in this ! The utmost we can do for 
 you, opulent sir, though it ill becomes us 
 horny-handed sons of toil to rub shoulders 
 with Dives, is perchance to dine with you, 
 to take a pasty and a glass of Malvoisie, 
 at some restaurant in Sacramento when 
 you 've got things fixed, in honor of your 
 return to affluence. But more would ill 
 become us ! " 
 
 "But what are you going to do?" said 
 Barker, with a half-hysteric, half-frightened 
 smile. 
 
 " We have not yet looked through our 
 luggage," said Demorest with invincible 
 gravity, " and there 's a secret recess a 
 double fond to my portmanteau, known 
 only to a trusty page, which has not been 
 disturbed since I left my ancestral home in 
 Faginia. There may be a few First Deben 
 tures of Erie or what not still there." 
 
 " I felt some strange, disk-like protuber 
 ances in my dress suit the other day, but 
 belike they are but poker chips," said Stacy 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 An uneasy feeling crept over Barker.
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 11 
 
 The color which had left his fresh cheek 
 returned to it quickly, and he turned his 
 eyes away. Yet he had seen nothing in his 
 companions' eyes but affection with even 
 a certain kind of tender commiseration that 
 deepened his uneasiness. " I suppose," he 
 said desperately, after a pause, " I ought to 
 go over to Boomville and make some in 
 quiries." 
 
 " At the bank, old chap ; at the bank ! " 
 said Demorest emphatically. " Take my 
 advice and don't go anywhere else. Don't 
 breathe a word of your luck to anybody. 
 And don't, whatever you do, be tempted to 
 sell just now ; you don't know how high that 
 stock 's going to jump yet." 
 
 " I thought," stammered Barker, " that 
 you boys might like to go over with me." 
 
 "We can't afford to take another holi 
 day on grub wages, and we 're only two to 
 work to-day," said Demorest, with a slight 
 increase of color and the faintest tremor in 
 his voice. " And it won't do, old chap, for 
 us to be seen bumming round with you on 
 the heels of your good fortune. For every 
 body knows we 're poor, and sooner or later 
 everybody '11 know you were rich even when 
 you first came to us."
 
 12 BARKERS LUCK. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Barker indignantly. 
 
 " Gospel, my boy ! " said Demorest shortly. 
 
 " The frozen truth, old man ! " said Stacy. 
 
 Barker took up his hat with some stiff 
 ness and moved towards the door. Here he 
 stopped irresolutely, an irresolution that 
 seemed to communicate itself to his part 
 ners. There was a moment's awkward 
 silence. Then Demorest suddenly seized 
 him by the shoulders with a grip that was 
 half a caress, and walked him rapidly to the 
 door. " And now don't stand foolin' with 
 us, Barker boy ; but just trot off like a 
 little man, and get your grip on that for 
 tune ; and when you 've got your hooks in 
 it hang on like grim death. You '11 " - he 
 hesitated for an instant only, possibly to find 
 the laugh that should have accompanied his 
 speech " you 're sure to find us here when 
 you get back." 
 
 Hurt to the quick, but restraining his 
 feelings, Barker clapped his hat on his head 
 and walked quickly away. The two part 
 ners stood watching him in silence until his 
 figure was lost in the underbrush. Then 
 they spoke. 
 
 " Like him was n't it ? " said Demorest. 
 
 " Just him all over," said Stacy.
 
 BARKERS LUCK. 13 
 
 " Think of him having that stock stowed 
 away all these years and never even bother 
 ing his dear old head about it ! " 
 
 "And think of his wanting to put the 
 whole thing into this rotten hillside with 
 us!" 
 
 " And he 'd have done it, by gosh ! and 
 never thought of it again. That 's Barker." 
 
 " Dear old man ! " 
 
 " Good old chap ! " 
 
 " I 've been Wondering if one of us 
 ought n't to have gone with him ? He 's just 
 as likely to pour his money into the first 
 lap that opens for it," said Stacy. 
 
 " The more reason why we should n't pre 
 vent him, or seem to prevent him," said 
 Demorest almost fiercely. " There will be 
 knaves and fools enough who will try and 
 put the idea of our using him into his sim 
 ple heart without that. No ! Let him do 
 as he likes with it but let him be himself. 
 I 'd rather have him come back to us even 
 after he 's lost the money his old self 
 and empty-handed than try to change the 
 stuff God put into him and make him more 
 like others." 
 
 The tone and manner were so different 
 from Demorest's usual levity that Stacy was
 
 14 BAEKEE'S LUCK. 
 
 silent. After a pause he said : " Well ! we 
 shall miss him on the hillside won't we ? " 
 
 Demorest did not reply. Reaching out 
 his hand abstractedly, he wrenched off a 
 small slip from a sapling near him, and be 
 gan slowly to pull the leaves off, one by 
 one, until they were all gone. Then he 
 switched it in the air, struck his bootleg 
 smartly with it, said roughly : " Come, let 's 
 get to work ! " and strode away. 
 
 Meantime Barker on his way to Boomville 
 was no less singular in his manner. He 
 kept up his slightly affected attitude until 
 he had lost sight of the cabin. But. being 
 of a simple nature, his emotions were less 
 complex. If he had not seen the undoubted 
 look of affection in the eyes of his partners 
 he would have imagined that they were 
 jealous of his good fortune. Yet why had 
 they refused his offer to share it with him? 
 Why had they so strangely assumed that 
 their partnership with him had closed ? 
 Why had they declined to go with him? 
 Why had this money of which he had 
 thought so little, and for which he had cared 
 so little changed them towards him ? It 
 had not changed him he was the same ! 
 He remembered how .they had often talked
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 15 
 
 ^,nd laughed over a prospective " strike " in 
 lining and speculated what they would do 
 together with the money! And now that 
 " luck " had occurred to one of them, indi 
 vidually, the effect was only to alienate 
 them ! He could not make it out. He was 
 hurt, wounded yet oddly enough he was 
 conscious now of a certain power within 
 him to hurt and wound in retribution. He 
 was rich : he would let them see he could 
 do without them. He was quite free now 
 to think only of himself and Kitty. 
 
 For it must be recorded that, with all 
 this young gentleman's simplicity and un 
 selfishness, with all his loyal attitude to his 
 partners, his first thought at the moment 
 he grasped the fact of his wealth was of 
 a young lady. It was Kitty Carter, the. 
 daughter of the hotel keeper at Boomville, 
 who owned the claim that the partners had 
 mutually coveted. That a pretty girl's face 
 should flash upon him with his conviction 
 that he was now a rich man meant perhaps 
 no disloyalty to his partners, whom he would 
 still have helped. But it occurred to him 
 now, in his half hurt, half vengeful state, 
 that they had often joked him about Kitty, 
 and perhaps further confidence with them
 
 16 B ASKEW S LUCK. 
 
 was debarred. And it was only due to his 
 dignity that he should now see Kitty at 
 once. 
 
 This was easy enough, for, in the nai've 
 simplicity of Boomville, and the economic 
 arrangements of her father, she occasionally 
 waited upon the hotel table. Half the town 
 was always actively in love with her ; the 
 other half had been, and was silent, cynical, 
 but hopeless in defeat. For Kitty was one 
 of those singularly pretty girls occasionally 
 met with in Southwestern frontier civiliza 
 tion whose distinct and original refinement 
 of face and figure were so remarkable and 
 original as to cast a doubt on the sagacity 
 and prescience of one parent and the mo 
 rality of the other, yet no doubt with equal 
 injustice. But the fact remained that she 
 was slight, graceful, and self-contained, and 
 moved beside her stumpy, commonplace 
 father, and her faded, commonplace mother, 
 in the dining-room of the Boomville Hotel 
 like some distinguished alien. The three 
 partners, by virtue, perhaps, of their college 
 education and refined manners, had been 
 exceptionally noticed by Kitty. And for 
 some occult reason the more serious, per 
 haps, because it had no obvious or logical
 
 BARKER'S LUCE. 17 
 
 presumption to the world generally Bar 
 ker was particularly favored. 
 
 He quickened his pace, and as the flag 
 staff of the Boomville Hotel rose before him 
 in the little hollow, he seriously debated 
 whether he had not better go to J;he bank 
 
 7? 
 
 first, deposit his shares, and get a small ad 
 vance on them to buy a new necktie or a 
 "boiled shirt" in which to present himself 
 to Miss Kitty ; but, remembering that he had 
 partly given his word to Demorest that he 
 would keep his shares intact for the present, 
 he abandoned this project, probably from 
 the fact that his projected confidence with 
 Kitty was already a violation of Demorest's 
 injunctions of secrecy, and his conscience 
 was sufficiently burdened with that breach 
 of faith. 
 
 But when he reached the hotel, a strange 
 trepidation overcame him. The dining-room 
 was at its slack water, between the ebb of 
 breakfast and before the flow of the prepa 
 ration for the midday meal. He could not 
 have his interview with Kitty in that dreary 
 waste of reversed chairs and bare trestle- 
 like tables, and she was possibly engaged in 
 her household duties. But Miss Kitty had 
 already seen him cross the road, and had
 
 18 BARKER'S LUCE. 
 
 lounged into the dining-room with an art 
 fully simulated air of casually examining 
 it. At the unexpected vision of his hopes, 
 arrayed in the sweetest and freshest of rose 
 bud sprigged print, his heart faltered. Then, 
 partly with the desperation of a timid man, 
 and partly through the working of a half- 
 formed resolution, he met her bright smile 
 with a simple inquiry for her father. Miss 
 Kitty bit her pretty lip, smiled slightly, and 
 preceded him with great formality to the 
 office. Opening the door, without raising 
 her lashes to either her father or the visitor, 
 she said, with a mischievous accenting of 
 the professional manner, "Mr. Barker to 
 see you on business," and tripped sweetly 
 away. 
 
 And this slight incident precipitated the 
 crisis. For Barker instantly made up his 
 mind that he must purchase the next claim 
 for his partners of this man Carter, and that 
 he would be obliged to confide to him the 
 details of his good fortune, and, as a proof 
 of his sincerity and his ability to pay for it, 
 he did so bluntly. Carter was a shrewd 
 business man, and the well-known simplicity 
 of Barker was a proof of his truthfulness, to 
 say nothing of the shares that were shown
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 19 
 
 to him. His selling price for his claim had 
 been two hundred dollars, but here was a 
 rich customer who, from a mere foolish sen 
 timent, would be no doubt willing to pay 
 more. He hesitated with a bland but su 
 perior smile. " Ah, that was my price at 
 my last offer, Mr. Barker," he said suavely ; 
 "but, you see, things are going up since 
 then." 
 
 The keenest duplicity is apt to fail before 
 absolute simplicity. Barker, thoroughly be 
 lieving him, and already a little frightened 
 at his own presumption not for the amount 
 of the money involved, but from the possi 
 bility of his partners refusing his gift utterly 
 quickly took advantage of this locus pen- 
 itentice. "No matter, then," he said hur 
 riedly; "perhaps I had better consult my 
 partners first ; in fact," he added, with a 
 gratuitous truthfulness all his own, " I hardly 
 know whether they will take it of me, so I 
 think I '11 wait." 
 
 Carter was staggered ; this would clearly 
 not do ! He recovered himself with an in 
 sinuating smile. "You pulled me up too 
 short, Mr. Barker ; I 'm a business man, 
 but hang it all ! what 's that among friends ? 
 If you reckoned I gave my word at two
 
 20 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 hundred why, I 'm there ! Say no more 
 about it the claim 's yours. I '11 make 
 you out a bill of sale at once." 
 
 "But," hesitated Barker, "you see I 
 have n't got the money yet, and " 
 
 "Money! " echoed Carter bluntly, "what 's 
 that among friends ? Gimme your note at 
 thirty days that 's good enough for me. 
 An' we '11 settle the whole thing now, 
 nothing like finishing a job while you' re 
 about it." And before the bewildered and 
 doubtful visitor could protest, he had filled 
 up a promissory note for Barker's signature 
 and himself signed a bill of sale for the 
 property. " And I reckon, Mr. Barker, 
 you 'd like to take your partners by sur 
 prise about this little gift of yours," he 
 added smilingly. " Well, my messenger 
 is starting for the Gulch in five minutes; 
 he 's going by your cabin, and he can just 
 drop this bill o' sale, as a kind o' settled 
 fact, on 'em afore they can say anything, 
 see! There's nothing like actin' on the 
 spot in these sort of things. And don't 
 you hurry 'bout them either! You see, 
 you sorter owe us a friendly call havin' 
 always dropped inter the hotel only as a 
 customer so ye '11 stop here over luncheon,
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 21 
 
 and I reckon, as the old woman is busy, why 
 Kitty will try to make the time pass till 
 then by playin' for you on her new pian- 
 
 ner. 
 
 Delighted, yet bewildered by the unex 
 pected invitation and opportunity, Barker 
 mechanically signed the promissory note, 
 and as mechanically addressed the envelope 
 of the bill of sale to Demorest, which Carter 
 gave to the messenger. Then he followed 
 his host across the hall to the apartment 
 known as " Miss Kitty's parlor." He had 
 often heard of it as a sanctum impervious 
 to the ordinary guest. Whatever functions 
 the young girl assumed at the hotel and 
 among her father's boarders, it was vaguely 
 understood that she dropped them on cross 
 ing that sacred threshold, and became " Miss 
 Carter." The county judge had been enter 
 tained there, and the wife of the bank man 
 ager. Barker's admission there was conse 
 quently an unprecedented honor. 
 
 He cast his eyes timidly round the room, 
 redolent and suggestive in various charming 
 little ways of the young girl's presence. 
 There was the cottage piano which had been 
 brought up in sections on the backs of mules 
 from the foot of the mountain ; there was a
 
 22 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 crayon head of Minerva done by the fair 
 occupant at the age of twelve ; there was a 
 profile of herself done by a traveling artist ; 
 there were pretty little china ornaments and 
 many flowers, notably a faded but still 
 scented woodland shrub which Barker had 
 presented to her two weeks ago, and over 
 which Miss Kitty had discreetly thrown her 
 white handkerchief as he entered. A wave 
 of hope passed over him at the act, but it 
 was quickly spent as Mr. Carter's roughly 
 playful voice introduced him : 
 
 " Ye kin give Mr. Barker a tune or two to 
 pass time afore lunch, Kitty. You kin let 
 him see what you're doing in that line. 
 But you '11 have to sit up now, for this young 
 man's come inter some property, and will be 
 sasheying round in 'Frisco afore long with 
 a biled shirt and a stove-pipe, and be giviii' 
 the go-by to Boomville. Well ! you young 
 folks will excuse me for a while, as I reckon 
 I '11 just toddle over and get the recorder to 
 put that bill o' sale on record. Nothin' like 
 squaring things to onct, Mr. Barker." 
 
 As he slipped away, Barker felt his heart 
 sink. Carter had not only bluntly forestalled 
 him with the news, and taken away his ex 
 cuse for a confidential interview, but had
 
 23 
 
 put an ostentatious construction on his visit. 
 What could she think of him now ? He 
 stood ashamed and embarrassed before her. 
 
 But Miss Kitty, far from noticing his em 
 barrassment in a sudden concern regarding 
 the " horrid " untidiness of the room, which 
 made her cheeks quite pink in one spot, 
 and obliged her to take up and set down in 
 exactly the same place several articles, was 
 exceedingly delighted. In fact, she did not 
 remember ever having been so pleased be 
 fore in her life ! These things were always 
 so unexpected ! Just like the weather, for 
 instance. It was quite cool last night 
 and now it was just stifling. And so dusty ! 
 Had Mr. Barker noticed the heat coming 
 from the Gulch ? Or perhaps, being a rich 
 man, he with a dazzling smile was 
 above walking now. It was so kind of him 
 to come here first and tell her father. 
 
 " I really wanted to tell only you, Miss 
 Carter," stammered Barker. " You see " 
 lie hesitated. But Miss Kitty saw perfectly. 
 He wanted to tell her, and, seeing her, he 
 asked for her father ! Not that it made 
 the slightest difference to her, for her father 
 would have been sure to have told her. It 
 was also kind of her father to invite him to
 
 24 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 luncheon. Otherwise she might not have 
 seen him before he left Boomville. 
 
 But this was more than Barker could 
 stand. With the same desperate directness 
 and simplicity with which he had approached 
 her father, he now blurted out his whole 
 heart to her. He told her how he had loved 
 her hopelessly from the first time that they 
 had spoken together at the church picnic. 
 Did she remember it? How he had sat 
 and worshiped her, and nothing else, at 
 church ! How her voice in the church choir 
 had sounded like an angel's ; how his pov 
 erty and his uncertain future had kept him 
 from seeing her often, lest he should be 
 tempted to betray his hopeless passion. 
 How as soon as he realized that he had a 
 position, that his love for her need not make 
 her ridiculous to the world's eyes, he came 
 to tell her all. He did not even dare to 
 hope ! But she would hear him at least, 
 would she not ? 
 
 Indeed, there was no getting away from 
 his boyish, simple, outspoken declaration. 
 In vain Kitty smiled, frowned, glanced at 
 her pink cheeks in the glass, and stopped to 
 look out of the window. The room was 
 filled with his love it was encompassing
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 25 
 
 her and, despite his shy attitude, seemed 
 to be almost embracing her. But she 
 managed at last to turn upon him a face 
 that was now as white and grave as his own 
 was eager and glowing. 
 
 " Sit down," she said gently. 
 
 He did so obediently, but wonderingly. 
 She then opened the piano and took a seat 
 upon the music stool before it, placed some 
 loose sheets of music in the rack, and ran 
 her fingers lightly over the keys. Thus 
 intrenched, she let her hands fall idly in her 
 lap, and for the first time raised her eyes to 
 his. 
 
 " Now listen to me be good and don't 
 interrupt ! There ! not so near ; you can 
 hear what I have to say well enough where 
 you are. That will do." 
 
 Barker had halted with the chair he was 
 dragging towards her and sat down. 
 
 "Now," said Miss Kitty, withdrawing her 
 eyes and looking straight before her, " I be 
 lieve everything you say; perhaps I ought n't 
 to or at least say it but I do. There ! 
 But because I do believe you it seems to 
 me all wrong ! For the very reasons that 
 you give for not having spoken to me be 
 fore, if you really felt as you say you did,
 
 26 BARKER'S LUCE. 
 
 are the same reasons why you should not 
 speak to me now. You see, all this time 
 you have let nobody but yourself know how 
 you felt towards me. In everybody's eyes 
 you and your partners have been only the 
 three stuck-up, exclusive, college-bred men 
 who mined a poor claim in the Gulch, and 
 occasionally came here to this hotel as cus 
 tomers. In everybody's eyes / have been 
 only the rich hotel keeper's popular daugh 
 ter, who sometimes waited upon you but 
 nothing more. But at least we were then 
 pretty much alike, and as good as each other. 
 And now, as soon as you have become sud 
 denly rich, and, of course, the superior, you 
 rush down here to ask me to acknowledge it 
 by accepting you ! " 
 
 " You know I never meant that, Miss 
 Kitty," burst out Barker vehemently, but 
 his protest was drowned in a rapid roulade 
 from the young lady's fingers on the keys, 
 lie sank back in his chair. 
 
 " Of course you never meant it," she said 
 with an odd laugh ; but everybody will take 
 it in that way, and you cannot go round to 
 everybody in Boomville and make the pretty 
 declaration you have just made to me. 
 Everybody will say I accepted you for your
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 27 
 
 money ; everybody will say it was a put-up 
 job of my father's. Everybody will say 
 that you threw yourself away on me. And 
 I don't know but that they would be right. 
 Sit down, please ! or I shall play again." 
 
 " You see," she went on, without looking 
 at him ; " just now you like to remember 
 that you fell in love with me first as a pretty 
 waiter girl, but if I became your wife it 's 
 just what you would like to forget. And / 
 shouldn't, for I should always like to think 
 of the time when you came here, whenever 
 you could afford it, and sometimes when 
 you could n't, just to see me ; and how we 
 used to make excuses to speak with each 
 other over the dishes. You don't know what 
 these things mean to a woman who " she 
 hesitated a moment, and then added ab 
 ruptly, " but what does that matter ? You 
 would not care to be reminded of it. So," 
 she said, rising up with a grave smile and 
 grasping her hands tightly behind her, " it 's 
 a good deal better that you should begin to 
 forget it now. Be a good boy and take my 
 advice. Go to San Francisco. You will 
 meet some girl there in a way you will not 
 afterwards regret. You are young, and 
 your riches, to say nothing," she added in a
 
 28 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 faltering voice that was somewhat inconsis 
 tent with the mischievous smile that played 
 upon her lips, " of your kind and simple 
 heart, will secure that which the world would 
 call unselfish affection from one more equal 
 to you, but would always believe was only 
 bought if it came from me." 
 
 " I suppose you are right," he said simply. 
 
 She glanced quickly at him, and her eye 
 brows straightened. He had risen, his face 
 white and his gray eyes widely opened. " I 
 suppose you are right," he went on, "be 
 cause you are saying to me what my part 
 ners said to me this morning, when I offered 
 to share my wealth with them, God knows 
 as honestly as I offered to share my heart 
 with you. I suppose that you are both 
 right ; that there must be some curse of 
 pride or selfishness upon the money that I 
 have got ; but / have not felt it yet, and 
 the fault does not lie with me." 
 
 She gave her shoulders a slight shrug, 
 and turned impatiently towards the window. 
 When she turned back again he was gone. 
 The room around her was empty ; this room, 
 which a moment before had seemed to be 
 pulsating with his boyish passion, was now 
 empty, and empty of him. She bit her lips,
 
 BARKERS LUCK. 29 
 
 rose, and ran eagerly to the window. She 
 saw his straw hat and brown curls as he 
 crossed the road. She drew her handker 
 chief sharply away from the withered shrub 
 over which she had thrown it, and cast the 
 once treasured remains in the hearth. Then, 
 possibly because she had it ready in her 
 hand, she clapped the handkerchief to her 
 eyes, and, sinking sideways upon the chair 
 he had risen from, put her elbows on its 
 back, and buried her face in her hands. 
 
 It is the characteristic and perhaps cruelty 
 of a simple nature to make no allowance 
 for complex motives, or to even understand 
 them ! So it seemed to Barker that his 
 simplicity had been met with equal direct 
 ness. It was the possession of this wealth 
 that had in some way hopelessly changed 
 his relations with the world. He did not 
 love Kitty any the less ; he did not even 
 think she had wronged him ; they, his part 
 ners and his sweetheart, were cleverer than 
 he ; there must be some occult quality in 
 this wealth that he would understand when 
 he possessed it, and perhaps it might even 
 make him ashamed of his generosity ; not 
 in the way they had said, but in his tempt 
 ing them so audaciously to assume a wrong
 
 30 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 position. It behoved him to take possession 
 of it at once, and to take also upon himself 
 alone the knowledge, the trials, and responsi 
 bilities it would incur. His cheeks flushed 
 again as he thought he had tried to tempt 
 an innocent girl with it, and he was keenly 
 hurt that he had not seen in Kitty's eyes 
 the tenderness that had softened his part 
 ners' refusal. He resolved to wait no longer, 
 but sell his dreadful stock at once. He 
 walked directly to the bank. 
 
 The manager, a shrewd but kindly man, 
 to whom Barker was known already, re 
 ceived him graciously in recognition of his 
 well-known simple honesty, and respectfully 
 as a representative of the equally well-known 
 poor but " superior " partnership of the 
 Gulch. He listened with marked attention 
 to Barker's hesitating but brief story, only 
 remarking at its close: 
 
 " You mean, of course, the ' /Second Ex 
 tension ' when you say ' First ' ? " 
 
 " No," said Barker ; " I mean the ' First ' 
 and it said First in the Bloom ville pa 
 per." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I saw it it was a printer's 
 error. The stock of the ' First ' was called 
 in two years ago. No ! You mean the
 
 BARKER' 1 S LUCK. 31 
 
 ' Second,' for, of course, you 've followed 
 the quotations, and are likely to know what 
 stock you 're holding shares of. When you 
 go back, take a look at them, and you '11 see 
 I am right." 
 
 " But I brought them with me," said Bar 
 ker, with a slight flushing as he felt in his 
 pocket, " and I am quite sure they are the 
 ' First.' " He brought them out and laid 
 them on the desk before the manager. 
 
 The words " First Extension " were 
 plainly visible. The manager glanced cu 
 riously at Barker, and his brow darkened. 
 
 " Did anybody put this up on you ? " he 
 said sternly. " Did your partners send you 
 here with this stuff ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! " said Barker eagerly. " No 
 one ! It 's all my mistake. I see it now. 
 I trusted to the newspaper." 
 
 " And you mean to say you never exam 
 ined the stock or the quotations, nor fol 
 lowed it in any way, since you had it ? " 
 
 " Never ! " said Barker. " Never thought 
 about it at all till I saw the newspaper. So 
 it 's not worth anything ? " And, to the in 
 finite surprise of the manager, there was a 
 slight smile on his boyish face. 
 
 " I am afraid it is not worth the paper it 's 
 written on," said the manager gently.
 
 32 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 The smile on Barker's face increased to a 
 little laugh, in which his wondering compan 
 ion could not help joining. " Thank you," 
 said Barker suddenly, and rushed away. 
 
 " He beats everything ! " said the manager, 
 gazing after him. " D d if he did n't seem 
 even pleased" 
 
 He was pleased. The burden of wealth 
 had fallen from his shoulders ; the dreadful 
 incubus that had weighed him down and 
 parted his friends from him was gone ! And 
 he had not got rid of it by spending it fool 
 ishly. It had not ruined anybody yet ; it 
 had not altered anybody in his eyes. It 
 was gone : and he was a free and happy 
 man once more. He would go directly back 
 to his partners ; they w r ould laugh at him, 
 of course, but they could not look at him 
 now with the same sad, commiserating eyes. 
 Perhaps even Kitty but here a sudden 
 chill struck him. He had forgotten the bill 
 of sale ! He had forgotten the dreadful 
 promissory note given to her father in the 
 rash presumption of his wealth ! How could 
 it ever be paid? And more than that, it 
 had been given in a fraud. He had no 
 money when he gave it, and no prospect of 
 any but what he was to get from those
 
 BARKERS LUCK. 33 
 
 worthless shares. Would anybody believe 
 him that it was only a stupid blunder of his 
 own ? Yes, his partners might believe him ; 
 but, horrible thought, he had already impli 
 cated them in his fraud ! Even now, while 
 he was standing there hesitatingly in the 
 road, they were entering upon the new claim 
 he had not paid for could not pay for 
 and in the guise of a benefactor he was dis 
 honoring them. Yet it was Carter he must 
 meet first ; he must confess all to him. He 
 must go back to the hotel that hotel 
 where he had indignantly left her, and tell 
 the father he was a fraud. It was terrible 
 to think of ; perhaps it was part of that 
 money curse that he could not get rid of, 
 and was now realizing ; but it must be done. 
 He was simple, but his very simplicity had 
 that unhesitating directness of conclusion 
 which is the main factor of what men call 
 " pluck." 
 
 He turned back to the hotel and entered 
 the office. But Mr. Carter had not yet re 
 turned. What was to be done ? He could 
 not wait there ; there was no time to be lost ; 
 there was only one other person who knew 
 his expectations, and to whom he could con 
 fide his failure it was Kitty. It was to
 
 34 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 taste the dregs of his humiliation, but it 
 must be done. He ran up the staircase and 
 knocked timidly at the sitting-room door. 
 There was a momentary pause, and a weak 
 voice said " Come in." Barker opened the 
 door; saw the vision of a handkerchief 
 thrown away, of a pair of tearful eyes that 
 suddenly changed to stony indifference, and 
 a graceful but stiffening figure. But he was 
 past all insult now. 
 
 " I would not intrude," he said simply, 
 " but I came only to see your father. I have 
 made an awful blunder more than a blun 
 der, I think a fraud. Believing that I 
 was rich, I purchased your father's claim for 
 my partners, and gave him my promissory 
 note. I came here to give him back his 
 claim for that note can never be paid ! I 
 have just been to the bank ; I find I have 
 made a stupid mistake in the name of the 
 shares upon which I based my belief in my 
 wealth. The ones I own are worthless I 
 am as poor as ever I am even poorer, for 
 I owe your father money I can never pay ! " 
 
 To his amazement he saw a look of pain 
 and scorn come into her troubled eyes which 
 he had never seen before. " This is a feeble 
 trick," she said bitterly ; " it is unlike you 
 it is unworthy of you ! "
 
 BARKERS LUCK 35 
 
 " Good God ! You must believe me. Lis 
 ten ! It was all a mistake a printer's er 
 ror. 1 read in the paper that the stock for 
 the First Extension mine had gone up, when 
 it should have been the Second. I had some 
 old stock of the First, which I had kept for 
 years, and only thought of when I read the 
 announcement in the paper this morning. 
 I swear to you " 
 
 But it was unnecessary. There was no 
 doubting the truth of that voice that man 
 ner. The scorn fled from Miss Kitty's eyes 
 to give place to a stare, and then suddenly 
 changed to two bubbling blue wells of laugh 
 ter. She went to the window and laughed. 
 She sat down to the piano and laughed. 
 She caught up the handkerchief, and hiding 
 half her rosy face in it, laughed. She finally 
 collapsed into an easy -chair, and, bury 
 ing her brown head in its cushions, laughed 
 long and confidentially until she brought up 
 suddenly against a sob. And then was still. 
 
 Barker was dreadfully alarmed. He had 
 heard of hysterics before. He felt he ought 
 to do something. He moved towards her 
 timidly, and gently drew away her handker 
 chief. Alas ! the blue wells were running 
 over now. He took her cold hands in his ;
 
 36 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 he knelt beside her and passed his arm 
 around her waist. He drew her head upon 
 his shoulders. He was not sure that any of 
 these things were effective until she suddenly 
 lifted her eyes to his with the last ray of 
 mirth in them vanishing in a big tear-drop, 
 put her arms round his neck, and sobbed : 
 
 " Oh, George ! You blessed innocent ! " 
 
 An eloquent silence was broken by a re 
 morseful start from Barker. 
 
 " But I must go and warn my poor part 
 ners, dearest ; there yet may be time ; per 
 haps they have not yet taken possession of 
 your father's claim." 
 
 " Yes, George dear," said the young girl, 
 with sparkling eyes ; " and tell them to do 
 so at once ! " 
 
 " What ? " gasped Barker. 
 
 " At once do you hear ? or it may be 
 too late ! Go quick." 
 
 " But your father Oh, I see, dearest, 
 you will tell him all yourself, and spare 
 me." 
 
 " I shall do nothing so foolish, Georgey. 
 Nor shall you ! Don't you see the note is n't 
 due for a month. Stop ! Have you told 
 anybody but Paw and me ? " 
 
 " Only the bank manager."
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. ' 37 
 
 She ran out of the room and returned in 
 a minute tying the most enchanting of hats 
 by a ribbon under her oval chin. " I '11 run 
 over and fix him," she said. 
 
 " Fix him ? " returned Barker, aghast. 
 
 " Yes, I '11 say your wicked partners have 
 been playing a practical joke on you, and 
 he must n't give you away. He '11 do any 
 thing for me." 
 
 " But my partners did n't ! On the con 
 trary " 
 
 " Don't tell me, George," said Miss Kitty 
 severely. " They ought never to have let 
 you come here with that stuff. But come ! 
 You must go at once. You must not meet 
 Paw ; you '11 blurt out everything to him ; 
 I know you ! I '11 tell him you could not 
 stay to luncheon. Quick, now ; go. What ? 
 Well there!" 
 
 Whatever it represented, the exclamation 
 was apparently so protracted that Miss Kitty 
 was obliged to push her lover to the front 
 landing before she could disappear by the 
 back stairs. But, once in the street, Barker 
 no longer lingered. It was a good three 
 miles back -to the Gulch; he might still 
 reach it by the time his partners were tak 
 ing their noonday rest, and he resolved that,
 
 38 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 although the messenger had preceded him, 
 they would not enter upon the new claim 
 until the afternoon. For Barker, in spite 
 of his mistress's injunction, had no idea of 
 taking what he could n't pay for ; he would 
 keep the claim intact until something could 
 be settled. For the rest, he walked on air ! 
 Kitty loved him ! The accursed wealth no 
 longer stood between them. They were 
 both poor now everything was possible. 
 
 The sun was beginning to send dwarf 
 shadows towards the east when he reached 
 the Gulch. Here a new trepidation seized 
 him. How would his partners receive the 
 news of his utter failure ? He was happy, 
 for he had gained Kitty through it. But 
 they ? For a moment it seemed to him that 
 he had purchased his happiness through 
 their loss. He stopped, took off his hat, 
 and ran his fingers remorsefully through his 
 damp curls. 
 
 Another thing troubled him. He had 
 reached the crest of the Gulch, where their 
 old working ground was spread before him 
 like a map. They were not there ; neither 
 were they lying under the four pines on the 
 ridge where they were wont to rest at mid 
 day. He turned with some alarm to the
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 39 
 
 new claim adjoining theirs, but there was no 
 sign of them there either. A sudden fear 
 that they had, after parting from him, given 
 up the claim in a fit of disgust and depres 
 sion, and departed, now overcame him. He 
 clapped his hand on his head and ran in the 
 direction of the cabin. 
 
 He had nearly reached it when the rough 
 challenge of " Who 's there ? " from the 
 bushes halted him, and Demorest suddenly 
 swung into the trail. But the singular look 
 of sternness and impatience which he was 
 wearing vanished as he saw Barker, and 
 with a loud shout of "All right, it's only 
 Barker ! Hooray ! " he ran towards him. 
 In an instant he was joined by Stacy from 
 the cabin, and the two men, catching hold 
 of their returning partner, waltzed him joy 
 fully and breathlessly into the cabin. But 
 the quick-eyed Demorest suddenly let go his 
 hold and stared at Barker's face. " Why, 
 Barker, old boy, what 's up ? " 
 
 " Everything 's up," gasped the breathless 
 Barker. " It 's all up about these stocks. 
 It 's all a mistake ; all an infernal lie of that 
 newspaper. I never had the right kind 
 of shares. The ones I have are worthless 
 rags ; " and the next instant he had blurted
 
 40 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 out his whole interview with the bank man 
 ager. 
 
 The two partners looked at each other, 
 and then, to Barker's infinite perplexity, 
 the same extraordinary convulsion that had 
 seized Miss Kitty fell upon them. They 
 laughed, holding on each other's shoulders ; 
 they laughed, clinging to Barker's strug 
 gling figure ; they went out and laughed 
 with their backs against a tree. They 
 laughed separately and in different corners. 
 And then they came up to Barker with tears 
 in their eyes, dropped their heads on his 
 shoulder, and murmured exhaustedly : 
 
 " You blessed ass ! " 
 
 " But," said Stacy suddenly, " how did you 
 manage to buy the claim ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that 's the most awful thing, boys. 
 I 've never paid for it" groaned Barker. 
 
 " But Carter sent us the bill of sale," 
 persisted Demorest, "or we should n't have 
 taken it." 
 
 " I gave my promissory note at thirty 
 days," said Barker desperately, " and 
 where 's the money to come from now? 
 But," he added wildly, as the men glanced 
 at each other " you said ' taken it.' Good 
 heavens ! you don't mean to say that I 'in
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 41 
 
 too late that you 've you 've touched 
 it?" 
 
 " I reckon that 's pretty much what we 
 have been doing," drawled Demorest. 
 
 "It looks uncommonly like it," drawled 
 Stacy. 
 
 Barker glanced blankly from the one to 
 the other. " Shall we pass our young friend 
 in to see the show?" said Demorest to 
 Stacy. 
 
 " Yes, if he '11 be perfectly quiet and not 
 breathe on the glasses," returned Stacy. 
 
 They each gravely took one of Barker's 
 hands and led him to the corner of the 
 cabin. There, on an old flour barrel, stood 
 a large tin prospecting pan, in which the 
 partners also occasionally used to knead 
 their bread. A dirty towel covered it. Dem 
 orest whisked it dexterously aside, and 
 disclosed three large fragments of decom 
 posed gold and quartz. Barker started 
 back. 
 
 " Heft it ! " said Demorest grimly. 
 
 Barker could scarcely lift the pan ! 
 
 " Four thousand dollars' weight if a 
 penny ! " said Stacy, in short staccato sen 
 tences. " In a pocket ! Brought it out the 
 second stroke of the pick ! We 'd been aw-
 
 42 BARKER'S LUCK. 
 
 fully blue after you left. Awfully blue, too, 
 when that bill of sale came, for we thought 
 you'd been wasting your money on us. 
 Reckoned we ought n't to take it, but send 
 it straight back to you. Messenger gone ! 
 Then Demorest reckoned as it was done it 
 could n't be undone, and we ought to make 
 just one ' prospect ' on the claim, and strike 
 a single stroke for you. And there it is. 
 And there 's more on the hillside." 
 
 " But it is n't mine ! It is n't yours ! 
 It's Carter's. I never had the money to 
 pay for it and I have n't got it now." 
 
 " But you gave the note and it is not 
 due for thirty days." 
 
 A recollection flashed upon Barker. 
 "Yes," he said with thoughtful simplicity, 
 " that 's what Kitty said." 
 
 " Oh, Kitty said so," said both partners, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Yes," stammered Barker, turning away 
 with a heightened color, " and, as I did n't 
 stay there to luncheon, I think I 'd better 
 be getting it ready." He picked up the 
 coffee-pot and turned to the hearth as his 
 two partners stepped beyond the door. 
 
 " Was n't it exactly like him ? " said Dem 
 orest.
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 43 
 
 " Him all over," said Stacy. 
 
 " And his worry over that note ? " said 
 Demorest. 
 
 " And ' what Kitty said,' " said Stacy. 
 
 " Look here ! I reckon that was n't all 
 that Kitty said." 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 "What luck!"
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 I NEVER knew why in the Western States 
 of America a yellow dog should be prover 
 bially considered the acme of canine degra 
 dation and incompetency, nor why the pos 
 session of one should seriously affect the 
 social standing of its possessor. But the 
 fact being established, I think we accepted 
 it at Rattlers Ridge without question. The 
 matter of ownership was more difficult to 
 settle ; and although the dog I have in my 
 mind at the present writing attached him 
 self impartially and equally to every one in 
 camp, no one ventured to exclusively claim 
 him ; while, after the perpetration of any 
 canine atrocity, everybody repudiated him 
 with indecent haste. 
 
 " Well, I can swear he has n't been near 
 our shanty for weeks," or the retort, " He 
 was last seen comin' out of your cabin," ex 
 pressed the eagerness with which Rattlers 
 Ridge washed its hands of any responsi 
 bility. Yet he was by no means a common
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 45 
 
 dog, nor even an unhandsome dog ; and it 
 was a singular fact that his severest critics 
 vied with each other in narrating instances 
 of his sagacity, insight, and agility which 
 they themselves had witnessed. 
 
 He had been seen crossing the " flume " 
 that spanned Grizzly Canon, at a height of 
 nine hundred feet, on a plank six inches 
 wide. He had tumbled down the " shoot " to 
 the South Fork, a thousand feet below, and 
 was found sitting on the river bank " with 
 out a scratch, 'cept that he was lazily givin' 
 himself with his off hind paw." He had 
 been forgotten in a snowdrift on a Sierran 
 shelf, and had come home in the early spring 
 with the conceited complacency of an Alpine 
 traveler and a plumpness alleged to have 
 been the result of an exclusive diet of buried 
 mail bags and their contents. He was gen 
 erally believed to read the advance election 
 posters, and disappear a day or two before 
 the candidates and the brass band which 
 he hated came to the Ridge. He was 
 suspected of having overlooked Colonel 
 Johnson's hand at poker, and of having 
 conveyed to the Colonel's adversary, by a 
 succession of barks, the danger of betting 
 against four kings.
 
 46 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 While these statements were supplied by 
 wholly unsupported witnesses, it was a very 
 human weakness of Rattlers Ridge that the 
 responsibility of corroboration was passed to 
 the dog himself, and he was looked upon as 
 a consummate liar. 
 
 " Snoopin' round yere, and cattin? yourself 
 a poker sharp, are ye ! Scoot, you yaller 
 pizin ! " was a common adjuration whenever 
 the unfortunate animal intruded upon a 
 card party. " Ef thar was a spark, an atom 
 of truth in that dog, I 'd believe my own 
 eyes that I saw him sittin' up and trying 
 to magnetize a jay bird off a tree. But wot 
 are ye goin' to do with a yaller equivocator 
 like that?" 
 
 I have said that he was yellow or, to 
 use the ordinary expression, " yaller." In 
 deed, I am inclined to believe that much of 
 the ignominy attached to the epithet lay in 
 this favorite pronunciation. Men who ha 
 bitually spoke of a " yelloio bird," a " yellow 
 hammer," a " yellow leaf," always alluded to 
 him as a " yaller dog." 
 
 He certainly was yellow. After a bath 
 usually compulsory he presented a decided 
 gamboge streak down his back, from the top 
 of his forehead to the stump of his tail, fading
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 47 
 
 in his sides and flank to a delicate straw 
 color. His breast, legs, and feet when 
 not reddened by " slumgullion," in which he 
 was fond of wading were white. A few 
 attempts at ornamental decoration from the 
 India-ink pot of the storekeeper failed, 
 partly through the yellow's dog's excessive 
 agility, which would never give the paint 
 time to dry on him, and partly through his 
 success in transferring his markings to the 
 trousers and blankets of the camp. 
 
 The size and shape of his tail which had 
 been cut off before his introduction to Rat 
 tlers Ridge were favorite sources of specu 
 lation to the miners, both as determining his 
 breed and his moral responsibility in coming 
 into camp in that defective condition. There 
 was a general opinion that he could n't have 
 looked worse with a tail, and its removal 
 was therefore a gratuitous effrontery. 
 
 His best feature was his eyes, which were 
 a lustrous Vandyke brown, and sparkling 
 with intelligence ; but here again he suffered 
 from evolution through environment, and 
 their original trustful openness was marred 
 by the experience of watching for flying 
 stones, sods, and passing kicks from the 
 rear, so that the pupils were continually re 
 verting to the outer angle of the eyelid.
 
 48 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 Nevertheless, none of these characteristics 
 decided the vexed question of his breed. 
 His speed and scent pointed to a " hound," 
 and it is related that on one occasion he 
 was laid on the trail of a wildcat with such 
 success that he followed it apparently out of 
 the State, returning at the end of two weeks, 
 footsore, but blandly contented. 
 
 Attaching himself to a prospecting party, 
 he was sent under the same belief " into the 
 brush" to drive off a bear, who was supposed 
 to be haunting the camp fire. He returned 
 in a few minutes with the bear, driving it 
 into the unarmed circle and scattering the 
 whole party. After this the theory of his 
 being a hunting dog was abandoned. Yet it 
 was said on the usual uncorroborated evi 
 dence . that he had " put up " a quail ; and 
 his qualities as a retriever were for a long 
 time accepted, until, during a shooting ex 
 pedition for wild ducks, it was discovered 
 that the one he had brought back had never 
 been shot, and the party were obliged to 
 compound damages with an adjacent set 
 tler. 
 
 His fondness for paddling in the ditches 
 and " slumgullion " at one time suggested a 
 water spaniel. He could swim, and would
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 49 
 
 occasionally bring out of the river sticks and 
 pieces of bark that had been thrown in; 
 but as he always had to be thrown in with 
 them, and was a good-sized dog, his aquatic 
 reputation faded also. He remained simply 
 "a yaller dog." What more could be said ? 
 His actual name was " Bones " given to 
 him, no doubt, through the provincial cus 
 tom of confounding the occupation of the 
 individual with his quality, for which it was 
 pointed out precedent could be found in some 
 old English family names. 
 
 But if Bones generally exhibited no pre 
 ference for any particular individual in 
 camp, he always made an exception in favor 
 of drunkards. Even an ordinary roystering 
 bacchanalian party brought him out from 
 under a tree or a shed in the keenest satis 
 faction. He would accompany them through 
 the long straggling street of the settlement, 
 barking his delight at every step or rnis-step 
 of the revelers, and exhibiting none of that 
 mistrust of eye which marked his attendance 
 upon the sane and the respectable. He ac 
 cepted even their uncouth play without a 
 snarl or a yelp, hypocritically pretending 
 even to like it; and I conscientiously be 
 lieve would have allowed a tin can to be
 
 50 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 attached to his tail if the hand that tied it 
 on were only unsteady, and the voice that 
 bade him "lie still" were husky with liquor. 
 He would " see " the party cheerfully into a 
 saloon, wait outside the door his tongue 
 fairly lolling from his mouth in enjoyment 
 until they reappeared, permit them even 
 to tumble over him with pleasure, and then 
 gambol away before them, heedless of awk 
 wardly projected stones and epithets. He 
 would afterwards accompany them separately 
 home, or lie with them at cross roads until 
 they were assisted to their cabins. Then he 
 would trot rakishly to his own haunt by the 
 saloon stove, with the slightly conscious air 
 of having been a bad dog, yet of having had 
 a good time. 
 
 We never could satisfy ourselves whether 
 his enjoyment arose from some merely self 
 ish conviction that he was more secwre with 
 the physically and mentally incompetent, 
 from some active sympathy with active 
 wickedness, or from a grim sense of his 
 own mental superiority at such moments. 
 But the general belief leant towards his 
 kindred sympathy as a " yaller dog " with 
 all that was disreputable. And this was 
 supported by another very singular canine
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 51 
 
 manifestation the " sincere flattery " of 
 simulation or imitation. 
 
 " Uncle Billy " Riley for a short time en 
 joyed the position of being the camp drunk 
 ard, and at once became an object of Bones' 
 greatest solicitude. He not only accom 
 panied him everywhere, curled at his feet or 
 head according to Uncle Billy's attitude at 
 the moment, but, it was noticed, began pres 
 ently to undergo a singular alteration in his 
 own habits and appearance. From being 
 an active, tireless scout and forager, a bold 
 and unovertakable marauder, he became lazy 
 and apathetic ; allowed gophers to burrow 
 under him without endeavoring to under 
 mine the settlement in his frantic endeavors 
 to dig them out, permitted squirrels to flash 
 their tails at him a hundred yards away, for 
 got his usual caches, and left his favorite 
 bones unburied and bleaching in the sun. 
 His eyes grew dull, his coat lustreless, in 
 proportion as his companion became bleai'- 
 eyed and ragged ; in running, his usual 
 arrow-like directness began to deviate, and 
 it was not unusual to meet the pair to 
 gether, zig-zagging up the hill. Indeed, 
 Uncle Billy's condition could be predeter 
 mined by Bones' appearance at times when
 
 52 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 his temporary master was invisible. " The 
 old man must have an awful jag on to-day," 
 was casually remarked when an extra fluffi- 
 ness and imbecility was noticeable in the 
 passing Bones. At first it was believed that 
 he drank also, but when careful investiga 
 tion proved this hypothesis untenable, he was 
 freely called a "derned time-servin', yaller 
 hypocrite." Not a few advanced the opin 
 ion that if Bones did not actually lead Uncle 
 Billy astray, he at least " slavered him over 
 and coddled him until the old man got con 
 ceited in his wickedness." This undoubtedly 
 led to a compulsory divorce between them, 
 and Uncle Billy was happily despatched to 
 a neighboring town and a doctor. 
 
 Bones seemed to miss him greatly, ran 
 away for two days, and was supposed to 
 have visited him, to have been shocked at 
 his convalescence, and to have been "cut" 
 by Uncle Billy in his reformed character; 
 and he returned to his old active life ajrain, 
 
 o * 
 
 and buried his past with his forgotten bones. 
 It was said that he was afterwards detected 
 in trying to lead an intoxicated tramp into 
 camp after the methods employed by a blind 
 man's dog, but was discovered in time by 
 the of course uncorroborated narrator.
 
 A YELLOW LOG. 53 
 
 I should be tempted to leave him thus in 
 his original and picturesque sin, but the 
 same veracity which compelled me to trans 
 cribe his faults and iniquities obliges me to 
 describe his ultimate and somewhat monoto 
 nous reformation, which came from no fault 
 of his own. 
 
 It was a joyous day at Rattlers Ridge 
 that was equally the advent of his change 
 of heart and the first stage coach that had 
 been induced to diverge from the high road 
 and stop regularly at our settlement. Flags 
 were flying from the post office and Polka 
 saloon and Bones was flying before the 
 brass band that he detested, when the sweet 
 est girl in the county Pinkey Preston 
 daughter of the county judge and hopelessly 
 beloved by all Rattlers Ridge, stepped from 
 the coach which she had glorified by occupy 
 ing as an invited guest. 
 
 "What makes him run away?" she asked 
 quickly, opening her lovely eyes in a possi 
 ble innocent wonder that anything could be 
 found to run away from her. 
 
 "He don't like the brass band," we ex 
 plained eagerly. 
 
 "How funny," murmured the girl; "is it 
 as out of tune as all that?"
 
 54 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 This irresistible witticism alone would 
 have been enough to satisfy us we did 
 nothing but repeat it to each other all the 
 next day but we were positively trans 
 ported when we saw her suddenly gather 
 her dainty skirts in one hand and trip off 
 through the red dust towards Bones, who, 
 with his eyes over his yellow shoulder, had 
 halted in the road, and half turned in min 
 gled disgust and rage at the spectacle of the 
 descending trombone. We held our breath 
 as she approached him. Would Bones 
 evade her as he did us at such moments, or 
 would he save our reputation, and consent, 
 for the moment, to accept her as a new kind 
 of inebriate? She came nearer; he saw 
 her; he began to slowly quiver with excite 
 ment his stump of a tail vibrating with 
 such rapidity that the loss of the missing 
 portion was scarcely noticeable. Suddenly 
 she stopped before him, took his yellow head 
 between her little hands, lifted it, and looked 
 down in his handsome brown eyes with her 
 two lovely blue ones. What passed between 
 them in that magnetic glance no one ever 
 knew. She returned with him ; said to him 
 casually : " We 're not afraid of brass bands, 
 are we? " to which he apparently acquiesced,
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 55 
 
 at least stifling his disgust of them, while he 
 was near her which was nearly all the time. 
 
 During the speech-making her gloved 
 hand and his yellow head were always near 
 together, and at the crowning ceremony 
 her public checking of Yuba Bill's "way 
 bill," on behalf of the township, with a gold 
 pencil, presented to her by the Stage Com 
 pany Bones' joy, far from knowing no 
 bounds, seemed to know nothing but them, 
 and he witnessed it apparently in the air. 
 No one dared to interfere. For the first 
 time a local pride in Bones sprang up in 
 our hearts and we lied to each other in 
 his praises openly and shamelessly. 
 
 Then the time came for parting. We 
 were standing by the door of the coach, hats 
 in hand, as Miss Pinkey was about to step 
 into it; Bones was waiting by her side, con 
 fidently looking into the interior, and appar 
 ently selecting his own seat on the lap of 
 Judge Preston in the corner, when Miss 
 Pinkey held up the sweetest of admonitory 
 fingers. Then, taking his head between 
 her two hands, she again looked into his 
 brimming eyes, and said, simply, " Good 
 clog," with the gentlest of emphasis on the 
 adjective, and popped into the coach.
 
 56 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 The six bay horses started as one, the 
 gorgeous green and gold vehicle bounded 
 forward, the red dust rose behind, and the 
 yellow dog danced in and out of it to the 
 very outskirts of the settlement. And then 
 he soberly returned. 
 
 A day or two later he was missed but 
 the fact was afterwards known that he was 
 at Spring Valley, the county town where 
 Miss Preston lived and he was forgiven. 
 A week afterwards he was missed again, 
 but this time for a longer period, and then 
 a pathetic letter arrived from Sacramento 
 for the storekeeper's wife. 
 
 "Would you mind," wrote Miss Pinky 
 Preston, " asking some of your boys to come 
 over here to Sacramento and bring back 
 Bones? I don't mind having the dear dog 
 walk out with me at Spring Valley, where 
 every one knows me ; but here he does make 
 one so noticeable, on account of his color. 
 I 've got scarcely a frock that he agrees 
 with. He don't go with my pink muslin, 
 and that lovely buff tint he makes three 
 shades lighter. You know yellow is so try 
 ing." 
 
 A consultation was quickly held by the 
 whole settlement, and a deputation sent to
 
 \ 
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 57 
 
 Sacramento to relieve the unfortunate girl. 
 We were all quite indignant with Bones 
 but, oddly enough, I think it was greatly 
 tempered with our new pride in him. 
 While he was with us alone, his peculiarities 
 had been scarcely appreciated, but the re 
 current phrase, "that yellow dog that they 
 keep at the Rattlers," gave us a mysterious 
 importance along the country side, as if we 
 had secured a "mascot" in some zoological 
 curiosity. 
 
 This was further indicated by a singular 
 occurrence. A new church had been built 
 at the cross roads, and an eminent divine 
 had come from San Francisco to preach the 
 opening sermon. After a careful examina 
 tion of the camp's wardrobe, and some feli 
 citous exchange of apparel, a few of us were 
 deputed to represent "Rattlers" at the Sun 
 day service. In our white ducks, straw 
 hats, and flannel blouses, we were suffi 
 ciently picturesque and distinctive as " hon 
 est miners " to be shown off in one of the 
 front pews. 
 
 Seated near the prettiest girls, who offered 
 us their hymn-books in the cleanly odor 
 of fresh pine shavings, and ironed muslin, 
 and blown over by the spices of our own
 
 58 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 woods through the open windows, a deep 
 sense of the abiding peace of Christian com 
 munion settled upon us. At this supreme 
 moment some one murmured in an awe- 
 stricken whisper : 
 
 " Will you look at Bones? " 
 
 We looked. Bones had entered the 
 church and gone up in the gallery through 
 a pardonable ignorance and modesty; but, 
 perceiving his mistake, was now calmly 
 walking along the gallery rail before the 
 astounded worshipers. Reaching the end, 
 he paused for a moment, and carelessly 
 looked down. It was about fifteen feet to 
 the floor below the simplest jump in the 
 world for the mountain-bred Bones. Dain 
 tily, gingerly, lazily, and yet with a con 
 ceited airiness of manner, as if, humanly 
 speaking, he had one leg in his pocket and 
 were doing it on three, he cleared the dis 
 tance, dropping just in front of the chancel, 
 without a sound, turned himself around 
 three times, and then lay comfortably down. 
 
 Three deacons were instantly in the aisle 
 coming up before the eminent divine, who, 
 we fancied, wore a restrained smile. We 
 heard the hurried whispers: "Belongs to 
 them." "Quite a local institution here,
 
 A YELLOW DOG. 59 
 
 you know." "Don't like to offend sensi 
 bilities;" and the minister's prompt "By 
 no means," as he went on with his service. 
 
 A short month ago we would have repu 
 diated Bones ; to-day we sat there in slightly 
 supercilious attitudes, as if to indicate that 
 any affront offered to Bones would be an 
 insult to ourselves, and followed by our in 
 stantaneous withdrawal in a body. 
 
 All went well, however, until the minis 
 ter, lifting the large Bible from the com 
 munion table and holding it in both hands 
 before him, walked towards a reading-stand 
 by the altar rails. Bones uttered a distinct 
 growl. The minister stopped. 
 
 We, and we alone, comprehended in a 
 flash the whole situation. The Bible was 
 nearly the size and shape of one of those 
 soft clods of sod which we were in the play 
 ful habit of launching at Bones when he lay 
 half asleep in the sun, in order to see him 
 cleverly evade it. 
 
 We held our breath. What was to be 
 done ? But the opportunity belonged to our 
 leader, Jeff Briggs a confoundedly good- 
 looking fellow, with the golden mustache 
 of a northern viking and the curls of an 
 Apollo. Secure in his beauty and bland in
 
 60 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 his self-conceit, he rose from the pew, and 
 stepped before the chancel rails. 
 
 "I would wait a moment, if I were you, 
 sir," he said, respectfully, "and you will 
 see that he will go out quietly." 
 
 "What is wrong?" whispered the minis 
 ter in some concern. 
 
 "He thinks you are going to heave that 
 book at him, sir, without giving him a fair 
 show, as we do." 
 
 The minister looked perplexed, but re 
 mained motionless, with the book in his 
 hands. Bones arose, walked half way down 
 the aisle, and vanished like a yellow flash ! 
 
 With this justification of his reputation, 
 Bones disappeared for a week. At the end 
 of that time we received a polite note from 
 Judge Preston, saying that the clog had 
 become quite domiciled in their house, and 
 begged that the camp, without yielding up 
 their valuable property in him, would allow 
 him to remain at Spring Valley for an in 
 definite time; that both the judge and his 
 daughter with whom Bones was already 
 an old friend would be glad if the mem 
 bers of the camp would visit their old favor 
 ite whenever they desired, to assure them 
 selves that he was well cared for.
 
 A YELLOW HOG. 61 
 
 I am afraid that the bait thus ingenuously 
 thrown out had a good deal to do with our 
 ultimate yielding. However, the reports of 
 those who visited Bones were wonderful and 
 marvelous. He was residing there in state, 
 lying on rugs in the drawing-room, coiled 
 up under the judicial desk in the judge's 
 study, sleeping regularly on the mat outside 
 Miss Pinkey's bedroom door, or lazily snap 
 ping at flies on the judge's lawn. 
 
 "He 's as yaller as ever," said one of our 
 informants, "but it don't somehow seem to 
 be the same back that we used to break 
 clods over in the old time, just to see him 
 scoot out of the dust." 
 
 And now I must record a fact which I 
 am aware all lovers of dogs will indignantly 
 deny, and which will be furiously bayed at 
 by every faithful hound since the days of 
 Ulysses. Bones not only forgot, but abso 
 lutely cut us ! Those who called upon the 
 judge in "store clothes" he would perhaps 
 casually notice, but he would sniff at them 
 as if detecting and resenting them under 
 their superficial exterior. The rest he sim 
 ply paid no attention to. The more familiar 
 term of "Bonesy" formerly applied to 
 him, as in our rare moments of endearment
 
 62 A YELLOW DOG. 
 
 produced no response. This pained, I 
 think, some of the more youthful of us; 
 but, through some strange human weakness, 
 it also increased the camp's respect for him. 
 Nevertheless, we spoke of him familiarly to 
 strangers at the very moment he ignored 
 us. I am afraid that we also took some 
 pains to point out that he was getting fat 
 and unwieldy, and losing his elasticity, im 
 plying covertly that his choice was a mis 
 take and his life a failure. 
 
 A year after he died, in the odor of sane- 
 tity and respectability, being found one 
 morning coiled up and stiff on the mat out 
 side Miss Pinkey's door. When the news 
 was conveyed to us, we asked permission, 
 the camp being in a prosperous condition, 
 to erect a stone over his grave. But when 
 it came to the inscription we could only 
 think of the two words murmured to him 
 by Miss Pinkey, which we always believe 
 effected his conversion : 
 
 "GWZDog!"
 
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 SHE was a mother and a rather exem 
 plary one of five children, although her 
 own age was barely nine. Two of these 
 children were twins, and she generally al 
 luded to them as "Mr. Amplach's children," 
 referring to an exceedingly respectable gen 
 tleman in the next settlement, who, I have 
 reason to believe, had never set eyes on her 
 or them. The twins were quite naturally 
 alike having been in a previous state of 
 existence two ninepins and were still 
 somewhat vague and inchoate below their 
 low shoulders in their long clothes, but were 
 also firm and globular about the head, and 
 there were not wanting those who professed 
 to see in this an unmistakable resemblance 
 to their reputed father. The other children 
 were dolls of different ages, sex, and condi 
 tion, but the twins may be said to have been 
 distinctly her own conception. Yet such 
 was her admirable and impartial maternity 
 that she never made any difference between
 
 64 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 them. "The Amplach's children" was a 
 description rather than a distinction. 
 
 She was herself the motherless child of 
 Robert Foulkes, a hard-working but some 
 what improvident teamster on the Express 
 Route between Big Bend and Reno. His 
 daily avocation, when she was not actually 
 with him in the wagon, led to an occasional 
 dispersion of herself and her progeny along 
 the road and at wayside stations between 
 those places. But the family was generally 
 collected together by rough but kindly 
 hands already familiar with the handling of 
 her children. I have a very vivid recollec 
 tion of Jim Carter trampling into a saloon, 
 after a five-mile walk through a snowdrift, 
 with an Amplach twin in his pocket. 
 "Suthin' ought to be done," he growled, 
 "to make Meary a little more careful o' 
 them Amplach children; I picked up one 
 outer the snow a mile beyond Big Bend." 
 "God bless my soul! " said a casual passen 
 ger, looking up hastily; "I didn't know 
 Mr. Amplach was married." Jim winked 
 diabolically at us over his glass. "No more 
 did I," he responded gloomily, "but you 
 can't tell anything about the ways o' them 
 respectable, psalm - singing jay birds."
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 65 
 
 Having thus disposed of Amplach's charac 
 ter, later on, when he was alone with Mary, 
 or "Meary," as she chose to pronounce it, 
 the rascal worked upon her feelings with an 
 account of the infant Amplach's sufferings 
 in the snowdrift and its agonized whisper 
 ings for "Meary! Meary! " until real tears 
 stood in Mary's blue eyes. "Let this be a 
 lesson to you," he concluded, drawing the 
 ninepin dexterously from his pocket, "for 
 it took nigh a quart of the best forty-rod 
 whiskey to bring that child to." Not only 
 did Mary firmly believe him, but for weeks 
 afterwards "Julian Amplach" this un 
 happy twin was kept in a somnolent atti 
 tude in the cart, and was believed to have 
 contracted dissipated habits from the effects 
 of his heroic treatment. 
 
 Her numerous family was achieved in 
 only two years, and succeeded her first 
 child, which was brought from Sacramento 
 at considerable expense by -a Mr. William 
 Dodd, also a teamster, on her seventh birth 
 day. This, by one of those rare inventions 
 known only to a child's vocabulary, she at 
 once called "Misery" probably a combi 
 nation of "Missy," as she herself was for 
 merly termed by strangers, and "Missouri,"
 
 66 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 her native State. It was an excessively 
 large doll at first Mr. Dodd wishing to 
 get the worth of his money but time, and 
 perhaps an excess of maternal care, reme 
 died the defect, and it lost flesh and certain 
 unemployed parts of its limbs very rapidly. 
 It was further reduced in bulk by falling 
 under the wagon and having the whole train 
 pass over it, but singularly enough its great 
 est attenuation was in the head and shoul 
 ders the complexion peeling off as a solid 
 layer, followed by the disappearance of dis 
 tinct strata of its extraordinary composition. 
 This continued until the head and shoulders 
 were much too small for even its reduced 
 frame, and all the devices of childish milli 
 nery a shawl secured with tacks and well 
 hammered in, and a hat which tilted back 
 wards and forwards and never appeared at 
 the same angle failed to restore symme 
 try. Until one dreadful morning, after an 
 imprudent bath, the whole upper structure 
 disappeared, leaving two hideous iron prongs 
 standing erect from the spinal column. 
 Even an imaginative child like Mary could 
 not accept this sort of thing as a head. 
 Later in the day Jack Eoper, the black 
 smith at the "Crossing," was concerned at
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 67 
 
 the plaintive appearance, before his forge, 
 of a little girl, clad in a bright blue pina 
 fore of the same color as her eyes, carrying 
 her monstrous offspring in her arms. Jack 
 recognized her and instantly divined the 
 situation. "You haven't," he suggested 
 kindly, "got another head at home suthin' 
 left over?" Mary shook her head sadly; 
 even her prolific maternity was not equal to 
 the creation of children in detail. "Nor 
 anythin' like a head?" he persisted sympa 
 thetically. Mary's loving eyes filled with 
 tears. "No, nuffen!" "You couldn't," 
 he continued thoughtfully, "use her the 
 other side up ? we might get a fine pair 
 o' legs outer them irons," he added, touch 
 ing the two prongs with artistic suggestion. 
 "Now look here " he was about to tilt the 
 doll over when a small cry of feminine dis 
 tress and a swift movement of a matronly 
 little arm arrested the evident indiscretion. 
 "I see," he said gravely. "Well, you 
 come here to-morrow, and we '11 fix up 
 suthin' to work her." Jack was thoughtful 
 the rest of the day, more than usually im 
 patient with certain stubborn mules to be 
 shod, and even knocked off work an hour 
 earlier to walk to Big Bend and a rival
 
 68 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 shop. But the next morning when the 
 trustful and anxious mother appeared at the 
 forge she uttered a scream of delight. Jack 
 had neatly joined a hollow iron globe, taken 
 from the newel post of some old iron stair 
 case railing, to the two prongs, and covered 
 it with a coat of red fire-proof paint. It 
 was true that its complexion was rather 
 high, that it was inclined to be top-heavy, 
 and that in the long run the other dolls suf 
 fered considerably by enforced association 
 with this unyielding and implacable head 
 and shoulders, but this did not diminish 
 Mary's joy over her restored first-born. 
 Even its utter absence of features was no 
 defect in a family where features were as 
 evanescent as in hers, and the most ordinary 
 student of evolution could see that the 
 "Amplach" ninepins were in legitimate 
 succession to the globular-headed "Misery." 
 For a time I think that Mary even preferred 
 her to the others. Howbeit it was a pretty 
 sight to see her on a summer afternoon sit 
 ting upon a wayside stump, her other chil 
 dren dutifully ranged around her, and the 
 hard, unfeeling head of Misery pressed deep 
 down into her loving little heart, as she 
 swayed from side to side, crooning her plain-
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 69 
 
 tive lullaby. Small wonder that the bees 
 took up the song and droned a slumbrous 
 accompaniment, or that high above her head 
 the enormous pines, stirred through their 
 depths by the soft Sierran air or Heaven 
 knows what let slip flickering lights and 
 shadows to play over that cast-iron face, 
 until the child, looking down upon it with 
 the quick, transforming power of love, 
 thought that it smiled? 
 
 The two remaining members of the family 
 were less distinctive. "Gloriana" pro 
 nounced as two words: "Glory Anna" 
 being the work of her father, who also 
 named it, was simply a cylindrical roll of 
 canvas wagon-covering, girt so as to define 
 a neck and waist, with a rudely inked face 
 altogether a weak, pitiable, man - like 
 invention; and "Johnny Dear," alleged to 
 be the representative of John Doremus, a 
 young storekeeper who occasionally supplied 
 Mary with gratuitous sweets. Mary never 
 admitted this, and, as we were all gentle 
 men along that road, we were blind to the 
 suggestion. "Johnny Dear" was originally 
 a small plaster phrenological cast of a head 
 and bust, begged from some shop window 
 in the county town, with a body clearly
 
 70 A MOTHEE OF FIVE. 
 
 constructed by Mary herself. It was an 
 ominous fact that it was always dressed as 
 a 6oy, and was distinctly the most human- 
 looking of all her progeny. Indeed, in 
 spite of the faculties that were legibly 
 printed all over its smooth, white, hairless 
 head, it was appallingly life-like. Left 
 sometimes by Mary astride of the branch of 
 a wayside tree, horsemen had been known 
 to dismount hurriedly and examine it, re 
 turning with a mystified smile, and it was 
 on record that Yuba Bill had once pulled 
 up the Pioneer Coach at the request of curi 
 ous and imploring passengers, and then 
 grimly installed "Johnny Dear" beside him 
 on the box seat, publicly delivering him to 
 Mary at Big Bend, to her wide-eyed confu 
 sion and the first blush we had ever seen on 
 her round, chubby, sunburnt cheeks. It 
 may seem strange that, with her great popu 
 larity and her well-known maternal instincts, 
 she had not been kept fully supplied with 
 proper and more conventional dolls ; but it 
 was soon recognized that she did not care 
 for them left their waxen faces, rolling 
 eyes, and abundant hair in ditches, or 
 stripped them te help clothe the more ex 
 travagant creatures of her fancy. So it
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 71 
 
 came that "Johnny Dear's" strictly classi 
 cal profile looked out from under a girl's 
 fashionable straw sailor hat, to the utter 
 obliteration of his prominent intellectual 
 faculties; the Amplach twins wore bonnets 
 on their iiinepin heads, and even an attempt 
 was made to fit a flaxen scalp on the iron- 
 headed Misery. But her dolls were always 
 a creation of her own her affection for 
 them increasing with the demand upon her 
 imagination. This may seem somewhat 
 inconsistent with her habit of occasionally 
 abandoning them in the woods or in the 
 ditches. But she had an unbounded confi 
 dence in the kindly maternity of Nature, 
 and trusted her children to the breast of the 
 Great Mother as freely as she did herself 
 in her own motherlessness. And this con 
 fidence was rarely betrayed. Rats, mice, 
 snails, wild cats, panther and bear never 
 touched her lost waifs. Even the elements 
 were kindly; an Amplach twin buried un 
 der a snowdrift in high altitudes reappeared 
 smilingly in the spring in all its wooden and 
 painted integrity. We were all Pantheists 
 then and believed this implicitly. It was 
 only when exposed to the^ milder forces of 
 civilization that Mary had anything to fear.
 
 72 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 Yet even then, when Patsey O'Connor's 
 domestic goat had once tried to "sample" 
 the lost Misery, he had retreated with the 
 loss of three front teeth, and Thompson's 
 mule came out of an encounter with that 
 iron-headed prodigy with a sprained hind 
 leg and a cut and swollen pastern. 
 
 But these were the simple Arcadian days 
 of the road between Big Bend and Reno, 
 and progress and prosperity, alas! brought 
 changes in their wake. It was already 
 whispered that Mary ought to be going to 
 school, and Mr. Amplach still happily 
 oblivious of the liberties taken with his 
 name as trustee of the public school at 
 Duckville, had intimated that Mary's Bo 
 hemian wanderings were a scandal to the 
 county. She was growing up in ignorance, 
 a dreadful ignorance of everything but the 
 chivalry, the deep tenderness, the delicacy 
 and unselfishness of the rude men around 
 her, and obliviousness of faith in anything 
 but the immeasurable bounty of Nature 
 towards her and her children. Of course 
 there was a fierce discussion between "the 
 boys " of the road and the few married fami 
 lies of the settlement on this point, but, of 
 course, progress and " snivelization " as
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 73 
 
 the boys chose to call it triumphed. The 
 projection of a railroad settled it; Robert 
 Foulkes, promoted to a foremanship of a 
 division of the line, was made to understand 
 that his daughter must be educated. But 
 the terrible question of Mary's family re 
 mained. No school would open its doors to 
 that heterogeneous collection, and Mary's 
 little heart would have broken over the rude 
 dispersal or heroic burning of her children. 
 The ingenuity of Jack Roper suggested a 
 compromise. She was allowed to select one 
 to take to school with her; the others were 
 adopted by certain of her friends, and she 
 was to be permitted to visit them every 
 Saturday afternoon. The selection was a 
 cruel trial, so cruel that, knowing her un 
 doubted preference for her first-born, Mis 
 ery, we would not have interfered for worlds, 
 but in her unexpected choice of "Johnny 
 Dear " the most unworldly of us knew that 
 it was the first glimmering of feminine tactf 
 her first submission to the world of pro 
 priety that she was now entering. "Johnny 
 Dear " was undoubtedly the most presenta 
 ble; even more, there was an educational 
 suggestion in its prominent, mapped out 
 phrenological organs. The adopted fathers
 
 74 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 were loyal to their trust. Indeed, for years 
 afterwards the blacksmith kept the iron- 
 headed Misery 011 a rude shelf, like a shrine, 
 near his bunk; nobody but himself and 
 Meary ever knew the secret, stolen, and 
 thrilling interviews that took place during 
 the first days of their separation. Certain 
 facts, however, transpired concerning Mary's 
 equal faithfulness to another of her children. 
 It is said that one Saturday afternoon, when 
 the road manager of the new line was seated 
 in his office at Reno in private business dis 
 cussion with two directors, a gentle tap was 
 heard at the door. It was opened to an 
 eager little face, a pair of blue eyes, and a 
 blue pinafore. To the astonishment of the 
 directors, a change came over the face of 
 the manager. Taking the child gently by 
 the hand, he walked to his desk, on which 
 the papers of the new line were scattered, 
 and drew open a drawer from which he took 
 a large ninepin extraordinarily dressed as 
 doll. The astonishment of the two gentle 
 men was increased at the following quaint 
 colloquy between the manager and the child. 
 "She 's doing remarkably well in spite of 
 the trying weather, but I have had to keep 
 her very quiet," said the manager, regard 
 ing the ninepin critically.
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 75 
 
 "Ess," said Mary quickly. "It's just 
 the same with Johnny Dear; his cough is 
 f 'ightful at nights. But Misery 's all right. 
 I 've just been to see her." 
 
 "There 's a good deal of scarlet fever 
 around," continued the manager with quiet 
 concern, "and we can't be too careful. 
 But I shall take her for a little run down 
 the line to-morrow." 
 
 The eyes of Mary sparkled and overflowed 
 like blue water. Then there was a kiss, a 
 little laugh, a shy glance at the two curious 
 strangers, the blue pinafore fluttered away, 
 and the colloquy ended. She was equally 
 attentive in her care of the others, but the 
 rag baby "Gloriana," who had found a 
 home in Jim Carter's cabin at the Ridge, 
 living too far for daily visits, was brought 
 down regularly on Saturday afternoon to 
 Mary's house by Jim, tucked in asleep in 
 his saddle bags or riding gallantly before 
 him on the horn of his saddle. On Sunday 
 there was a dress parade of all the dolls, 
 which kept Mary in heart for- the next 
 week's desolation. 
 
 But there came one Saturday and Sunday 
 when Mary did not appear, and it was 
 known along the road that she had been
 
 76 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 called to San Francisco to meet an aunt who 
 had just arrived from "the States." It was 
 a vacant Sunday to "the boys," a very hol 
 low, unsanctified Sunday, somehow, without 
 that little figure. But the next Sunday, 
 and the next, were still worse, and then it 
 was known that the dreadful aunt was mak 
 ing much of Mary, and was sending her to 
 a grand school a convent at Santa Clara 
 where it was rumored girls were turned 
 out so accomplished that their own parents 
 did not know them. But ive knew that was 
 impossible to our Mary ; and a letter which 
 came from her at the end of the month, and 
 before the convent had closed upon the blue 
 pinafore, satisfied us, and was balm to our 
 anxious hearts. It was characteristic of 
 Mary; it was addressed to nobody in par 
 ticular, and would but for the prudence 
 of the aunt have been entrusted to the 
 Post Office open and undirected. It was 
 a single sheet, handed to us without a word 
 by her father; but, as we passed it from 
 hand to hand, we understood it as if we had 
 heard our lost playfellow's voice. 
 
 "Ther 's more houses in 'Frisco than you 
 kin shake a stick at and wimmens till you 
 kant rest, but mules and jakasses ain't got
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 11 
 
 no sho, nor blacksmiffs shops, wich is not 
 to be seen no wear. Rapits and Skwirls 
 also bares and panfers is on-noun and un- 
 forgotten on account of the streets and Sun 
 day skoles. Jim Roper you orter be very 
 good to Mizzery on a kount of my not bein' 
 here, and not harten your hart to her bekos 
 she is top heavy which is ontroo and sim 
 ply an imptient lie like you allus make. 
 I have a kinary bird wot sings deliteful 
 but is n't a yellerhamer sutch as I know, as 
 you 'd think. Dear Mister Montgommery, 
 don't keep Gulan Amplak to mutch shet up 
 in office drors; it isn't good for his lungs 
 and chest. And don't you ink his head 
 nother ! youre as bad as the rest. Johnny 
 Dear, you must be very kind to your at- 
 topted father, and you, Glory Anna, must 
 lov your kind Jimmy Carter verry mutch 
 for taking you hossback so off en. I has 
 been buggy ridin' with an orficer who has 
 killed injuns real! I am comin' back soon 
 with grate affeckshun, so luke out and 
 mind." 
 
 But it was three years before she returned, 
 and this was her last and only letter. The 
 "adopted fathers " of her children were faith 
 ful, however, and when the new line was
 
 78 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 opened, and it was understood that she was 
 to be present with her father at the cere 
 mony, they came, with a common under 
 standing, to the station to meet their old 
 
 O 7 
 
 playmate. They were ranged along the plat 
 form poor Jack Roper a little overweighted 
 with a bundle he was carrying on his left 
 arm. And then a young girl in the fresh 
 ness of her teens and the spotless purity of 
 a muslin frock, that although brief in skirt 
 was perfect in fit, faultlessly booted and 
 gloved, tripped from the train, and offered 
 a delicate hand in turn to each of her old 
 friends. Nothing could be prettier than 
 the smile on the cheeks that were no longer 
 sunburnt; nothing could be clearer than the 
 blue eyes lifted frankly to theirs. And yet, 
 as she gracefully turned away with her 
 father, the faces of the four adopted parents 
 were found to be as red and embarrassed as 
 her own on the day that Yuba Bill drove 
 up publicly with "Johnny Dear" on the 
 box seat. 
 
 "You were n't such a fool," said Jack 
 Montgomery to Roper, "as to bring 'Mis 
 ery ' here with you ? " 
 
 "I was," said Roper with a constrained 
 laugh, "and you? " He had just caught
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE. 79 
 
 sight of the head of a ninepin peeping from 
 the manager's pocket. The man laughed, 
 and then the four turned silently away. 
 
 "Mary" had indeed come back to them; 
 but not "The Mother of Five! "
 
 BULGER'S EEPUTATION. 
 
 WE all remembered very distinctly Bul 
 ger's advent in Rattlesnake Camp* It was 
 during the rainy season a season singu- 
 larly^inducive to settled reflective inrpres- 
 sions as we sat and smoked around the stove 
 in Mosby's grocery. Like older and more 
 civilized communities, we had our periodic 
 waves of sentiment and opinion, with the 
 exception that they were more evanescent ^r 
 with us, and, as we had just passed through 
 a fortnight of dissipation and extravagance, 
 owing to a visit from some gamblers and 
 speculators, we were now undergoing a 
 Lseyere m^ral^reyulsion, partly induced by 
 reduced finances and partly by the arrival 
 of two families with grown-up daughters on 
 the hill. It was raining, with occasional 
 warm breaths, through the open window, of 
 the southwest trades, redolent of the satu 
 rated spices of the woods and springing 
 grasses, which perhaps were slightly incon 
 sistent with the hot stove around which we
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 81 
 
 had congregated. But the stove was only 
 an excuse for our listless, j*regariaus gather- 
 ing ; warmth and idleness went well together, 
 and it was currently accepted that we had 
 caught from the particular reptile which 
 gave its name to our camp much of its pa 
 thetic, life-long search for warmth, and its 
 habit of indolently basking in it. 
 
 A few of us still went through the affec 
 tation of attempting to dry our damp clothes 
 by the stove, and sizzling our wet boots 
 against it ; but as the same individuals calmly 
 permitted the rain to drive in upon them 
 through the open window without moving, 
 and seemed to take infinite delight in the 
 amount of steam they generated, even that 
 pretense dropped. Crotalus himself, with 
 his tail in a muddy ditch, and the sun strik 
 ing cold fire from his slit eyes as he basked 
 his head on a warm stone beside it, could 
 not have typified us better. 
 
 Percy Briggs took his pipe from his 
 mouth at last and said, with reflective sever 
 ity :- 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, if we can't get the 
 wagon road over here, and if we 're going 
 to be left out by the stage-coach company, 
 we can at least straighten up the camp, and
 
 82 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 not have it look like a cross between a tene 
 ment alley and a broken-down circus. I 
 declare, I was just sick when these two 
 Baker girls started to make a short cut 
 through the camp. Darned if they didn't 
 turn round and take to the woods and the 
 rattlers again afore they got half-way. 
 And that benighted idiot, Torn Rollins, 
 standin' there in the ditch, spattered all 
 over with slumgullion 'til he looked like a 
 spotted tarrypin, wavin' his fins and sashay 
 ing backwards and forrards and say in', 
 ' This way, ladies ; this way ! ' 
 
 "/ didn't," returned Tom Rollins, quite 
 casually, without looking up from his steam 
 ing boots; "/ didn't start in night afore 
 last to dance 'The Green Corn Dance' 
 outer ' Hiawatha, ' with feathers in my hair 
 and a red blanket on my shoulders, round 
 that family's new potato patch, in order 
 that it might ' increase and multiply.' I 
 did n't sing ' Sabbath Morning Bells ' with 
 an anvil accompaniment until twelve o'clock 
 at night over at the Crossing, so that they 
 might dream of theL- Happy Childhood's 
 Home. It seems to me that it was n't me 
 did it. I might be mistaken it was late 
 but I have the impression that it wasn't 
 me."
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 83 
 
 From the silence that followed, this would 
 seem to have been clearly a recent perfor 
 mance of the previous speaker, who, how 
 ever, responded quite cheerfully : 
 
 "An evenin' o' simple, childish gayety 
 don't count. We 've got to start in again 
 fair. What we want here is to clear up 
 and encourage decent immigration, and get 
 rid o' gamblers and blatherskites that are 
 makin' this yer camp their happy hunting- 
 ground. We don't want any more permis- 
 kus shootin'. We don't want any more 
 paintin' the town red. We don't want any 
 more swaggerin' galoots ridin' up to this 
 grocery and emptyin' their six-shooters in 
 the air afore they 'light. We want to put 
 a stop to it peacefully and without a row 
 and we kin. We ain't got no bullies of 
 our own to fight back, and they know it, so 
 they know they won't get no credit bully in' 
 us; they '11 leave, if we 're on^ firm. It 's 
 all along of our cussed fool good-nature; 
 they see it amuses us, and they '11 keep it 
 up as long as the whiskey 's free. What we 
 want to do is, when the next man comes 
 waltzin' along " 
 
 A distant clatter from the rocky hillside 
 here mingled with the puff of damp air 
 through the window.
 
 84 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 "Looks as ef we might hev a show even 
 now," said Tom Rollins, removing his feet 
 from the stove as we all instinctively faced 
 towards the window. 
 
 "I reckon you 're in with us in this, 
 Mosby?" said Briggs, turning towards the 
 proprietor of the grocery, who had. been 
 leaning listlessly against the wall behind 
 his bar. 
 
 "Arter the man 's had a fair show," said 
 Mosby, cautiously. He c deprecated the pre- 
 vailing condition of things, but~it was still 
 an open question whether the families would 
 prove as valuable customers as his present 
 clients. "Everything in moderation, gen 
 tlemen." 
 
 The sound of galloping hoofs came nearer, 
 now swishing in the soft mud of the high 
 way, until the unseen rider pulled up before 
 the door. There was no shouting, however, 
 nor did he announce himself with the usual 
 saJyjQ of fire-arms. But when, after a sin 
 gularly heavy tread and the jingle of spurs 
 on the platform, the door flew open to the 
 new-comer, he seemed a realization of our 
 worst expectations. Tall, broad, and mus 
 cular, he carried in one hand a shot-gun, 
 while from his hip dangled a heavy navy
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 85 
 
 revolver. His long hair, unkempt but 
 oiled, swept a greasy circle around his 
 shoulders; his enormous moustache, drip 
 ping with wet, completely concealed his 
 mouth. His costume of fringed buckskin 
 was wild and outre even for our frontier 
 camp. But what was more confirmative of 
 our suspicions was that he was evidently in 
 ^he habit of making an impression, and after 
 a distinct pause at the doorway, with only 
 a side glance at us, he strode towards the 
 bar. 
 
 "As there don't seem to be no hotel here 
 abouts, I reckon I kin put up my mustang 
 here and have a shakedown somewhere be 
 hind that counter," he said. His voice 
 seemed to have added to its natural depth 
 the hoarseness of frequent over-straining. 
 
 "Ye ain't got no bunk to spare, you 
 boys, hev ye? " asked Mosby, evasively, 
 glancing at Percy Briggs, without looking 
 at the stranger. We all looked at Briggs 
 also ; it was his affair after all he had 
 originated this opposition. To our surprise 
 he said nothing. 
 
 The stranger leaned heavily on the coun 
 ter. 
 
 "I was speaking to you," he said, with
 
 86 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 his eyes on Mosby, and slightly accenting 
 the pronoun with a tap of his revolver-butt 
 on the bar. "Ye don't seem to catch on." 
 
 Mosby smiled feebly, and again cast an 
 imploring glance at Briggs. To our greater 
 astonishment, Briggs said, quietly: "Why 
 don't you answer the stranger, Mosby?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Mosby, suavely, to the 
 newcomer, while an angry flush crossed his 
 cheek as he recognized the position in which 
 Briggs had placed him. " Of course, you 're 
 welcome to what doings / hev here, but I 
 reckoned these gentlemen over there," with 
 a vicious glance at Briggs, "might fix ye 
 up suthin' better; they're so pow'ful kind 
 to your sort." 
 
 The stranger threw down a gold piece on 
 the counter and said: "Fork out your 
 whiskey, then," waited until his glass was 
 filled, took it in his hand, and then, draw 
 ing an empty chair to the stove, sat down 
 beside Briggs. "Seein' as you're that 
 kind," he said, placing his heavy hand on 
 Briggs's knee, "mebbe ye kin tell me ef 
 thar 's a shanty or a cabin at Rattlesnake 
 that I kin get fojr ajcouple o' weeks. I saw 
 an empty oiier^aTthe head o' the hill. You 
 see, gemielmen," he added confidentially as
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 87 
 
 he swept the drops of whiskey from his long 
 moustache with his fingers and glanced 
 around our group, "I 've got some business 
 over at Bigwood," our nearest town, "but 
 ez a place to stay at it ain't my style." 
 
 "What's the matter with Bigwood?" 
 said Briggs, abruptly. 
 
 "It's too howlin', too festive, too rough; 
 thar 's too much yellin' and shootin' goin' 
 day and night. Thar 's too many card 
 sharps and gay gamboliers cavortin' about 
 the town to please me. Too much permis- 
 kus soakin' at the bar and free jim-jams. 
 What I want is a quiet place what a man 
 kin give his mind and elbow a rest from 
 betwixt grippin' his shootin '-irons and 
 crookin' in his whiskey. A sort o' slow, 
 quiet, easy place like this." 
 
 We all stared at him, Percy Briggs as 
 fixedly as any. But there was not the 
 slightest trace of irony, sarcasm, or peculiar 
 significance in his manner. He went on 
 slowly : 
 
 "When I struck this yer camp a minit 
 asro : when I seed that thar ditch meander in' 
 
 O * 
 
 peaceful like through the street, without a 
 hotel or free saloon or express office on 
 either side; with the smoke just a curlin'
 
 88 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 over the clrimbley of that log shanty, and 
 the bresh just set fire to and a smoulderin' 
 in that potato patch with a kind o' old-time 
 stingin' in your eyes and nose, and a few 
 women's duds just a flutterin' on a line by 
 the fence, I says to myself : ' Bulger this 
 is peace ! This is wot you 're lookin' for, 
 Bulger this is wot you're wantin' this 
 is wot you ^11 hev ! ' 
 
 "You say you've business over at Big- 
 wood. What business?" said Briggs. 
 
 "It 's a peculiar business, young fellow," 
 returned the stranger, gravely. "Thar's 
 different men ez has different opinions about 
 it. Some allows it 's an easy business, some 
 allows it 's a rough business; some says it 's 
 a sad business, others says it 's gay and fes 
 tive. Some wonders ez how I 've got into 
 it, and others wonder how I '11 ever get out 
 of it. It 's a payin' business it 's a peace 
 ful sort o' business when left to itself. It 's 
 a peculiar business a business that sort o' 
 b'longs to me, though I ain't got no patent 
 from Washington for it. It 's my oivn busi 
 ness." He paused, rose, and saying, "Let's 
 meander over and take a look at that empty 
 cabin, and ef she suits me, why, I '11 plank 
 down a slug for her on the spot, and move
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 89 
 
 in to-morrow," walked towards the door. 
 "I'll pick up suthin' in the way o' boxes 
 and blankets from the grocery," he added, 
 looking at Mosby, "and ef thar 's a corner 
 whar I kin stand my gun and a nail to hang 
 up my revolver why, I 'm all thar! " 
 
 By this time we were no longer aston 
 ished when Briggs rose also, and not only 
 accompanied the sinister-looking stranger 
 to the empty cabin, but assisted him in ne 
 gotiating with its owner for a fortnight's 
 occupancy. Nevertheless, we eagerly as 
 sailed Briggs on his return for some expla 
 nation of this singular change in his attitude 
 towards the stranger. He coolly reminded 
 us, however, that while his intention of ex 
 cluding ruffianly adventurers from the camp 
 remained the same, he had no right to go 
 back on the stranger's sentiments, which 
 were evidently in accord with our own, and 
 although Mr. Bulger's appearance was in 
 consistent with them, that was only an addi 
 tional reason why we should substitute a 
 mild firmness for that violence which we all 
 deprecated, but which might attend his 
 abrupt dismissal. We were all satisfied 
 except Mosby, who had not yet recovered 
 from Briggs 's change of front, which he
 
 90 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 was pleased to call " craw-fishing. ' ' " Seemed 
 to me his account of his business was extra 
 ordinary satisfactory! Sorter rilled the bill 
 all round no mistake thar," he sug 
 gested, with a malicious irony. "I like a 
 man that 's outspoken." 
 
 "I understood him very well," said 
 Briggs, quietly. 
 
 "In course you did. Only when you 've 
 settled in your mind whether he was describ 
 ing horse-stealing or tract - distributing, 
 mebbe you '11 let me know." 
 
 It would seem, however, that Briggs did 
 not interrogate the stranger again regarding 
 it, nor did we, who were quite content to 
 leave matters in Briggs 's hands. Enough 
 that Mr. Bulger moved into the empty cabin 
 the next day, and, with the aid of a few old 
 boxes from the grocery, which he quickly 
 extemporized into tables and chairs, and the 
 purchase of some necessary cooking-utensils, 
 soon made himself at home. The rest of 
 the camp, now thoroughly aroused, made a 
 point of leaving their work in the ditches, 
 whenever they could, to stroll carelessly 
 around Bulger's tenement in the vague hope 
 of satisfying a curiosity that had become 
 tormenting. But they could not find that
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 91 
 
 he was doing anything of a suspicious char 
 acter except, perhaps, from the fact that 
 it was not outwardly suspicious, which I 
 grieve to say did not lull them to security. 
 He seemed to be either fixing up his cabin 
 or smoking in his doorway. On the second 
 day he checked this itinerant curiosity by 
 taking the initiative himself, and quietly 
 walking from claim to claim and from cabin 
 to cabin with a pacific but by no means a 
 satisfying interest. The shadow of his tall 
 figure carrying his inseparable gun, which 
 had not yet apparently "stood in the cor 
 ner," falling upon an excavated bank beside 
 the delving miners, gave them a sense of 
 uneasiness they could not explain; a few 
 characteristic yells of boisterous hilarity 
 from their noontide gathering under a cotton - 
 wood somehow ceased when Mr. Bulger 
 was seen gravely approaching, and his cas 
 ual stopping before a poker party in the 
 gulch actually caused one of the most reck 
 less gamblers to weakly recede from "a 
 bluff " and allow his adversary to sweep the 
 board. After this it was felt that matters 
 were becoming serious. There was no sub 
 sequent patroling of the camp before the 
 stranger's cabin. Their curiosity was sin-
 
 92 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 gularly abated. A general feeling of repul 
 sion, kept within bounds partly by the 
 absence of any overt act from Bulger, and 
 partly by an inconsistent over-consciousness 
 of his shot -gun, took its place. But an un 
 expected occurrence revived it. 
 
 One evening, as the usual social circle 
 were drawn around Mosby's stove, the lazy 
 silence was broken by the familiar sounds 
 of pistol-shots and a series of more familiar 
 shrieks and yells from the rocky hill road. 
 The circle quickly recognized the voices of 
 their old friends the roysterers and gamblers 
 from Sawyer's Dam; they as quickly recog 
 nized the returning shouts here and there 
 from a few companions who were welcoming 
 them. I grieve to say that in spite of their 
 previous attitude of reformation a smile of 
 gratified expectancy lit up the faces of the 
 younger members, and even the older ones 
 glanced dubiously at Briggs. Mosby made 
 no attempt to conceal a sigh of relief as he 
 carefully laid out an extra supply of glasses 
 in his bar. Suddenly the oncoming yells 
 ceased, the wild gallop of hoofs slackened 
 into a trot, and finally halted, and even the 
 responsive shouts of the camp stopped also. 
 We all looked vacantly at each other ; Mosby
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 93 
 
 leaped over his counter and went to the 
 door; Briggs followed with the rest of us. 
 The night was dark, and it was a few min 
 utes before we could distinguish a strag 
 gling, vague, but silent procession moving 
 through the moist, heavy air on the hill. 
 But, to our surprise, it was moving away 
 from us absolutely leaving the camp! 
 We were still staring in expectancy when 
 out of the darkness slowly emerged a figure 
 which we recognized at once as Captain 
 Jim, one of the most reckless members of 
 our camp. Pushing us back into the gro 
 cery he entered without a word, closed the 
 door behind him, and threw himself vacantly 
 into a chair. We at once pressed around 
 him. He looked up at us dazedly, drew a 
 long breath, and said slowly : 
 
 "It's no use, gentlemen! Suthin 's got 
 to be done with that Bulger; and mighty 
 quick." 
 
 "What 's the matter? " we asked eagerly. 
 
 "Matter! " he repeated, passing his hand 
 across his forehead. " Matter ! Look yere ! 
 Ye all of you heard them boys from Saw 
 yer's Dam coming over the hill? Ye heard 
 their music mebbe ye heard us join in 
 the chorus? Well, on they came waltzing
 
 94 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 down the hill, like old times, and we waitin' 
 for 'em. Then, jest as they passed the old 
 cabin, who do you think they ran right into 
 
 shooting-iron, long hair and mustache, 
 
 and all that standing there plump in the 
 road? why, Bulger ! " 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well! Whatever it was don't ask 
 me but, dern my skin, ef after a word or 
 two from him them boys just stopped 
 yellin', turned round like lambs, and rode 
 away, peaceful-like, along with him. We 
 ran after them a spell, still yellin', when 
 that thar Bulger faced around, said to us 
 that he 'd ' come down here for quiet,' and 
 ef he couldn't hev it he'd have to leave 
 with those gentlemen who wanted it too ! 
 And I 'm gosh darned ef those gentlemen 
 you know 'em all Patsey Carpenter, 
 Snap-shot Harry, and the others ever 
 said a darned word, but kinder nodded ' So 
 long ' and went away! " 
 
 Our astonishment and mystification were 
 complete ; and I regret to say, the indigna 
 tion of Captain Jim and Mosby equally so. 
 "If we're going to be bossed by the first 
 new-comer," said the former, gloomily, "I 
 reckon we might as well take our chances
 
 BULGES' S REPUTATION. 95 
 
 with the Sawyer's Dam boys, whom we 
 know." 
 
 "Ef we are going to hev the legitimate 
 trade of Rattlesnake interfered with by the 
 cranks of some hidin' horse -thief or retired 
 road agent," said Mosby, "we might as well 
 invite the hull of Joaquin Murietta's gang 
 here at once ! But I suppose this is part o' 
 Bulger's particular ' business,' " he added, 
 with a withering glance at Briggs. 
 
 "I understand it all," said Briggs, qui 
 etly. "You know I told you that bullies 
 couldn't live in the same camp together. 
 That's human nature and that's how 
 plain men like you and me manage to scud 
 along without getting plugged. You see, 
 Bulger was n't going to hev any of his own 
 kind jumpin' his claim here. And I reckon 
 he was pow'ful enough to back down Saw 
 yer's Dam. Anyhow, the bluff told and 
 here we are in peace and quietness." 
 
 "Until he lets us know what is his little 
 game," sneered Mosby. 
 
 Nevertheless, such is the force of myste 
 rious power that, although it was exercised 
 against what we firmly believed was the in 
 dependence of the camp, it extorted a certain 
 respect from us. A few thought it was not
 
 96 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 a bad thing to have a professional bully, 
 and even took care to relate the discomfiture 
 of the wicked youth of Sawyer's Dam for 
 the benefit of a certain adjacent and power 
 ful camp who had looked down upon us. 
 He, himself, returning the same evening 
 from his self-imposed escort, vouchsafed no 
 other reason than the one he had already 
 given. Preposterous as it seemed, we were 
 obliged to accept it, and the still more pre 
 posterous inference that he had sought Rat 
 tlesnake Camp solely for the purpose of 
 acquiring and securing its peace and quiet 
 ness. Certainly he had no other occupa 
 tion ; the little work he did upon the tailings 
 of the abandoned claim which went with his 
 little cabin was scarcely a pretense. He 
 rode over on certain days to Bigwood on 
 account of his business, but no one had ever 
 seen him there, nor could the description of 
 his manner and appearance evoke any in 
 formation from the Bigwoodians. It re 
 mained a mystery. 
 
 It had also been feared that the advent of 
 Bulger would intensify that fear and dislike 
 of riotous Rattlesnake which the two fami 
 lies had shown, and which was the origin of 
 Briggs's futile attempt at reformation. But
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 97 
 
 it was discovered that since his arrival the 
 young girls had shown less timidity in enter 
 ing the camp, and had even exchanged some 
 polite conversation and good-humoured badi 
 nage with its younger and more impressible 
 members. Perhaps this tended to make 
 these youths more observant, for a few days 
 later, when the vexed question of Bulger's 
 business was again under discussion, one of 
 them remarked, gloomily : 
 
 "I reckon there ain't no doubt what he 's 
 here for ! " 
 
 The youthful prophet was instantly sat 
 upon after the fashion of all elderly critics 
 since Job's. Nevertheless, after a pause he 
 was permitted to explain. 
 
 "Only this morning, when Lance Fores 
 ter and me were chirping with them gals 
 out on the hill, who should we see hanging 
 around in the bush but that cussed Bulger ! 
 We allowed at first that it might be only a 
 new style of his interferin', so we took no 
 notice, except to pass a few remarks about 
 listeners and that sort o' thing, and perhaps 
 to bedevil the girls a little more than we 'd 
 hev done if we 'd been alone. Well, they 
 laughed, and we laughed and that was 
 the end of it. But this afternoon, as Lance
 
 98 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 
 
 and me were meandering down by their 
 cabin, we sorter turned into the woods to 
 wait till they 'd come out. Then all of a 
 suddent Lance stopped as rigid as a pointer 
 that 's flushed something and says, 'B'gosh ! ' 
 And thar, under a big redwood, sat that 
 slimy hypocrite Bulger, twisting his long 
 mustaches and smiling like clockwork along 
 side o' little Meely Baker you know her, 
 the pootiest of the two sisters and she 
 smilin' back on him. Think of it ! that 
 unknown, unwashed, long-haired tramp and 
 bully, who must be forty if a day, and that 
 innocent gal of sixteen. It was simply dis- 
 gustin' ! " 
 
 I need not say that the older cynics and 
 critics already alluded to at once improved 
 the occasion. What more could be ex 
 pected? Women, the world over, were 
 noted for this sort of thing! This long 
 haired, swaggering bully, with his air of 
 mystery, had -captivated them, as he always 
 had done since the days of Homer. Simple 
 merit, which sat lowly in bar-rooms, and 
 conceived projects for the public good 
 around the humble, unostentatious stove, 
 was nowhere! Youth could not too soon 
 learn this bitter lesson. And in this case
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 99 
 
 youth too, perhaps, was right in its conjec 
 tures, for this was, no doubt, the little 
 game of the perfidious Bulger. We recalled 
 the fact that his unhallowed appearance in 
 camp was almost coincident with the arrival 
 of the two families. We glanced at Briggs; 
 to our amazement, for the first time he 
 looked seriously concerned. But Mosby in 
 the mean time leaned his elbows lazily over 
 the counter and, in a slow voice, added fuel 
 to the flame. 
 
 "I wouldn't hev spoken of it before," he 
 said, with a sidelong glance at Briggs, "for 
 it might be all in the line o' Bulger's ' busi 
 ness,' but suthin' happened the other night 
 that, for a minit, got me! I was passin' 
 the Bakers' shanty, and I heard one of them 
 gals a-singing a camp-meeting hymn. I 
 don't calkilate to run agin you young fellers 
 in any sparkin' or canoodlin' that 's goin' 
 on, but her voice sounded so pow'ful sooth- 
 in' and pretty thet I jest &{;ood there and 
 listened. Then the old woman old Mo 
 ther Baker she joined in, and I listened 
 too. And then dern my skin ! but a 
 man's voice joined in jest belching outer 
 that cabin ! and I sorter lifted myself up 
 and kem away.
 
 100 BULGERS REPUTATION. 
 
 "That voice, gentlemen," said Mosby, lin 
 gering artistically as he took up a glass and 
 professionally eyed it before wiping it with 
 his towel, "that voice, cumf'bly fixed thar 
 in thet cabin among them wirnen folks, was 
 Bulger's!" 
 
 Briggs got up, with his eyes looking the 
 darker for his flushed face. "Gentlemen," 
 he said huskily, "thar's only one thing to 
 be done. A lot of us have got to ride over 
 to Sawyer's Dam to-morrow morning and 
 pick up as many square men as we can 
 muster; there's a big camp-meeting goin' 
 on there, and there won't be no difficulty in 
 that. When we 've got a big enough crowd 
 to show we mean business, we must march 
 back here and ride Bulger out of this camp ! 
 I don't hanker arter Vigilance Committees, 
 as a rule it 's a rough remedy it 's like 
 drinkin' a quart o' whisky agin rattlesnake 
 poison but it's got to be done! We 
 don't mind being sold ourselves but when 
 it comes to our standin' by and seein' the 
 only innocent people in Rattlesnake given 
 away we kick! Bulger 's got to be fired 
 outer this camp ! And he will be ! " 
 
 But he was not. 
 
 For when, the next morning, a determined
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION. 101 
 
 and thoughtful procession of the best 
 most characteristic citizens of Rattlesnake 
 Camp filed into Sawyer's Dam, they found 
 that their mysterious friends had disap 
 peared, although they met with a fraternal 
 but subdued welcome from the general 
 camp. But any approach to the subject of 
 their visit, however, was received with a 
 chilling disapproval. Did they not know 
 that lawlessness of any kind, even under 
 the rude mantle of frontier justice, was to 
 be deprecated and scouted when a "means 
 of salvation, a power of regeneration," such 
 as was now sweeping over Sawyer's Dam, 
 was at hand? Could they not induce this 
 man who was to be violently deported to 
 accompany them willingly to Sawyer's Dam 
 and subject himself to the powerful influence 
 of the "revival" then in full swing? 
 
 The Rattlesnake boys laughed bitterly, 
 and described the man of whom they talked 
 so lightly; but in vain. "It 's no use, gen 
 tlemen," said a more worldly bystander, in 
 a lower voice, "the camp-meetin 's got a 
 strong grip here, and betwixt you and me 
 there ain't no wonder. For the man that 
 runs it the big preacher has got new 
 ways and methods that fetches the boys
 
 102 BULGER'S DEPUTATION. 
 
 every time. He don't preach no cut-and- 
 dried gospel; he don't carry around no slop 
 shop robes and clap 'em on you whether 
 they fit or not j- but he samples and measures 
 the camp afore he wades into it. He scouts 
 and examines; he ain't no mere Sunday 
 preacher with a comfortable house and once- 
 a-week church, but he gives up his days and 
 nights to it, and makes his family work 
 with him, and even sends 'em forward to 
 explore the field. And he ain't no white- 
 choker shadbelly either, but fits himself, 
 like his gospel, to the men he works among. 
 Ye ought to hear him afore you go. His 
 tent is just out your way. I '11 go with 
 you." 
 
 Too dejected to offer any opposition, and 
 perhaps a little curious to see this man who 
 had unwittingly frustrated their design of 
 lynching Bulger, they halted at the outer 
 fringe of worshipers who packed the huge 
 in closure. They had not time to indulge 
 their cynicisms over this swaying mass of 
 emotional, half -thinking, and almost irre 
 sponsible beings, nor to detect any similarity 
 between their extreme methods and the 
 scheme of redemption they themselves were 
 seeking, for in a few moments, apparently
 
 BULGERS REPUTATION. 103 
 
 lifted to his feet on a wave of religious ex 
 ultation, the famous preacher arose. The 
 men of Rattlesnake gasped for breath. 
 
 It was Bulger ! 
 
 But Briggs quickly recovered himself. 
 "By what name," said he, turning passion 
 ately towards his guide, " does this man 
 this impostor call himself here?" 
 
 "Baker." 
 
 "Baker?" echoed the Rattlesnake con 
 tingent. 
 
 "Baker?" repeated Lance Forester, with 
 a ghastly smile. 
 
 "Yes," returned their guide. "You 
 oughter know it too ! For he sent his wife 
 and daughters over, after his usual style, to 
 sample your camp, a week ago! Come, 
 now, what are you givin' us?"
 
 IN THE TITLES. 
 
 HE had never seen a steamboat in his 
 life. Born and reared in one of the West 
 ern Territories, far from a navigable river, 
 he had only known the "dug-out" or canoe 
 as a means of conveyance across the scant 
 streams whose fordable waters made even 
 those scarcely a necessity. The long, nar 
 row, hooded wagon, drawn by swaying oxen, 
 known familiarly as a "prairie schooner," 
 in which he journeyed across the plains to 
 California in '53, did not help his concep 
 tion by that nautical figure. And when at 
 last he dropped upon the land of promise 
 through one of the Southern mountain passes 
 he halted all unconsciously upon the low 
 banks of a great yellow river amidst a tan 
 gled brake of strange, reed-like grasses that 
 were unknown to him. The river, broaden 
 ing as it debouched through many channels 
 into a lordly bay, seemed to him the ultima 
 thule of his journeyings. Unyoking his 
 oxen on the edge of the luxuriant meadows
 
 IN THE TULES. 105 
 
 which blended with scarcely any line of de 
 marcation into the great stream itself, he 
 found the prospect "good" according to his 
 lights and prairial experiences, and, con 
 verting his halted wagon into a temporary 
 cabin, he resolved to rest here and "settle." 
 There was little difficulty in so doing. 
 The cultivated clearings he had passed were 
 few and far between; the land would be his 
 by discovery and occupation; his habits of 
 loneliness and self-reliance made him inde 
 pendent of neighbors. He took his first 
 meal in his new solitude under a spreading 
 willow, but so near his natural boundary 
 that the waters gurgled and oozed in the 
 reeds but a few feet from him. The sun 
 sank, deepening the gold of the river until it 
 might have been the stream of Pactolus itself. 
 But Martin Morse had no imagination; he 
 was not even a gold-seeker ; he had simply 
 obeyed the roving instincts of the frontiers 
 man in coming hither. The land was virgin 
 and unoccupied; it was his; he was alone. 
 These questions settled, he smoked his pipe 
 with less concern over his three thousand 
 miles' transference of habitation than the 
 man of cities who had moved into a next 
 street. When the sun sank, he rolled him-
 
 106 IN THE TULES. 
 
 self in his blankets in the wagon bed and 
 went quietly to sleep. 
 
 But he was presently awakened by some 
 thing which at first he could not determine 
 to be a noise or an intangible sensation. It 
 was a deep throbbing through the silence of 
 the night a pulsation that seemed even to 
 be communicated to the rude bed whereon 
 he lay. As it came nearer it separated it 
 self into a labored, monotonous panting, 
 continuous, but distinct from an equally 
 monotonous but fainter beating of the waters, 
 as if the whole track of the river were being 
 coursed and trodden by a multitude of 
 swiftly-trampling feet. A strange feeling 
 took possession of him half of fear, half 
 of curious expectation. It was coming 
 nearer. He rose, leaped hurriedly from 
 the wagon, and ran to the bank. The 
 night was dark ; at first he saw nothing be 
 fore him but the steel-black sky pierced 
 with far-spaced, irregularly scattered stars. 
 Then there seemed to be approaching him, 
 from the left, another and more symmetri 
 cal constellation a few red and blue stars 
 high above the river, with three compact 
 lines of larger planetary lights flashing to 
 wards him and apparently on his own level.
 
 IN THE TULES. 107 
 
 It was almost upon him; he involuntarily 
 drew back as the strange phenomenon swept 
 abreast of where he stood, and resolved it 
 self into a dark yet airy bulk, whose vague 
 ness, topped by enormous towers, was yet 
 illuminated by those open squares of light 
 that he had taken for stars, but which he 
 saw now were brilliantly -lit windows. 
 
 Their vivid rays shot through the reeds 
 and sent broad bands across the meadow, 
 the stationary wagon, and the slumbering 
 oxen. But all this was nothing to the inner 
 life they disclosed through lifted curtains 
 and open blinds, which was the crowning 
 revelation of this strange and wonderful 
 spectacle. Elegantly dressed men and wo 
 men moved through brilliantly lit and elabo 
 rately gilt saloons ; in one a banquet seemed 
 to be spread, served by white -jacketed ser 
 vants; in another were men playing cards 
 around marble-topped tables; in another 
 the light flashed back again from the mir 
 rors and glistening glasses and decanters of 
 a gorgeous refreshment saloon; in smaller 
 openings there was the shy disclosure of 
 dainty white curtains and velvet lounges of 
 more intimate apartments. 
 
 Martin Morse stood enthralled and mysti-
 
 108 IN THE TULES. 
 
 fied. It was as if some invisible Asmodeus 
 had revealed to this simple frontiersman a 
 world of which he had never dreamed. It 
 was the world a world of which he knew 
 nothing in his simple, rustic habits and 
 profound Western isolation sweeping by 
 him with the rush of an unknown planet. 
 In another moment it was gone ; a shower 
 of sparks shot up from one of the towers 
 and fell all around him, and then vanished, 
 even as he remembered the set piece of 
 "Fourth of July" fireworks had vanished 
 in his own rural town when he was a boy. 
 The darkness fell with it too. But such 
 was his utter absorption and breathless pre 
 occupation that only a cold chill recalled 
 him to himself, and he found he was stand 
 ing mid-leg deep in the surge cast over the 
 low banks by this passage of the first steam 
 boat he had ever seen ! 
 
 He waited for it the next night, when it 
 appeared a little later from the opposite 
 direction on its return trip. He watched 
 it the next night and the next. Hereafter 
 he never missed it, coming or going what 
 ever the hard and weary preoccupations of 
 his new and lonely life. He felt he could not 
 have slept without seeing it go by. Oddly
 
 IN THE TULES. 109 
 
 enough, his interest and desire did not go 
 further. Even had he the time and money 
 to spend in a passage on the boat, and thus 
 actively realize the great world of which he 
 had only these rare glimpses, a certain 
 proud, rustic shyness kept him from it. It 
 was not his world; he could not affront the 
 snubs that his ignorance and inexperience 
 would have provoked, and he was dimly 
 conscious, as so many of us are in our igno 
 rance, that in mingling with it he would 
 simply lose the easy privileges of alien criti 
 cism. For there was much that he did not 
 understand, and some things that grated 
 upon his lonely independence. 
 
 One night, a lighter one than those pre 
 vious, he lingered a little longer in the 
 moonlight to watch the phosphorescent wake 
 of the retreating boat. Suddenly it struck 
 him that there was a certain irregular splash 
 ing in the water, quite different from the 
 regular, diagonally crossing surges that the 
 boat swept upon the bank. Looking at it 
 more intently, he saw a black object turn 
 ing in the water like a porpoise, and then 
 the unmistakable uplifting of a black arm 
 in an unskillful swimmer's overhand stroke. 
 It was a struggling man. But it was quickly
 
 110 IN THE TULES. 
 
 evident that the current was too strong and 
 the turbulence of the shallow water too great 
 for his efforts. Without a moment's hesi 
 tation, clad as he was in only his shirt and 
 trousers, Morse strode into the reeds, and 
 the next moment, with a call of warning, 
 was swimming towards the now wildly strug 
 gling figure. But, from some unknown rea 
 son, as Morse approached him nearer the 
 man uttered some incoherent protest and 
 desperately turned away, throwing off 
 Morse's extended arm. 
 
 Attributing this only to the vague con 
 vulsions of a drowning man, Morse, a skilled 
 swimmer, managed to clutch his shoulder, 
 and propelled him at arm's length, still 
 ' struggling, apparently with as much reluc 
 tance as incapacity, towards the bank. As 
 their feet touched the reeds and slimy bot 
 tom the man's resistance ceased, and he 
 lapsed quite listlessly in Morse's arms. 
 Half lifting, half dragging his burden, he 
 succeeded at last in gaining the strip of 
 meadow, and deposited the unconscious man 
 beneath the willow tree. Then he ran to 
 his wagon for whiskey. 
 
 But, to his surprise, on his return the 
 man was already sitting up and wringing
 
 IN THE TULES. Ill 
 
 the water from his clothes. He then saw 
 for the first time, by the clear moonlight, 
 that the stranger was elegantly dressed and 
 of striking appearance, and was clearly a 
 part of that bright and fascinating world 
 which Morse had been contemplating in his 
 solitude. He eagerly took the proffered tin 
 cup and drank the whiskey. Then he rose 
 to his feet, staggered a few steps forward, 
 and glanced curiously around him at the 
 still motionless wagon, the few felled trees 
 and evidence of "clearing," and even at the 
 rude cabin of logs and canvas just begin 
 ning to rise from the ground a few paces 
 distant, and said, impatiently: 
 
 "Where the devil am I?" 
 
 Morse hesitated. He was unable to name- 
 the locality of his dwelling-place. He an 
 swered briefly : 
 
 "On the right bank of the Sacramento." 
 
 The stranger turned upon him a look of 
 suspicion not unmingled with resentment. 
 "Oh! " he said, with ironical gravity, "and 
 I suppose that this water you picked me out 
 of was the Sacramento River. Thank you ! " 
 
 Morse, with slow Western patience, ex 
 plained that he had only settled there three 
 weeks ago, and the place had no name.
 
 112 IN THE TULES. 
 
 "What 's your nearest town, then? " 
 
 "Thar ain't any. Thar 's a blacksmith's 
 shop and grocery at the cross-roads, twenty 
 miles further on, but it 's got no name as 
 I 've heard on." 
 
 The stranger's look of suspicion passed. 
 "Well," he said, in an imperative fashion, 
 which, however, seemed as much the result 
 of habit as the occasion, " I want a horse, 
 and mighty quick, too." 
 
 "H'aint got any." 
 
 "No horse? How did you get to this 
 place?" 
 
 Morse pointed to the slumbering oxen. 
 
 The stranger again stared curiously at 
 him. After a pause he said, with a half- 
 pi tying, half -humorous smile: "Pike 
 aren't you? " 
 
 Whether Morse did or did not know 
 that this current California slang for a deni 
 zen of the bucolic West implied a certain 
 contempt, he replied simply : 
 
 "I 'm from Pike County, Mizzouri." 
 
 "Well," said the stranger, resuming his 
 impatient manner, "you must beg or steal 
 a horse from your neighbors." 
 
 "Thar ain't any neighbor nearer than fif 
 teen miles."
 
 IN THE TULES. 113 
 
 "Then send fifteen miles! Stop." He 
 opened his still clinging shirt and drew out 
 a belt pouch, which he threw to Morse. 
 "There! there's two hundred and fifty 
 dollars in that. Now, I want a horse. 
 
 "Thar ain't any one to send," said Morse, 
 quietly. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you are all alone 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you fished me out all by your 
 self?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The stranger again examined him curi 
 ously. Then he suddenly stretched out his 
 hand and grasped his companion's. 
 
 "All right; if you can't send, I reckon 
 I can manage to walk over there to - mor 
 row." 
 
 "I was goin' on to say," said Morse, sim 
 ply, "that if you'll lie by to-night, I'll 
 start over sun up, after puttin' out the cat 
 tle, and fetch you back a horse afore noon." 
 
 "That's enough." He, however, re 
 mained looking curiously at Morse. "Did 
 you never hear," he said, with a singular 
 smile, "that it was about the meanest kind
 
 114 IN THE TULES. 
 
 of luck that could happen to you to save a 
 drowning man ? " 
 
 -'No," said Morse, simply. "I reckon 
 it orter be the meanest if you didn't" 
 
 "That depends upon the man you save," 
 said the stranger, with the same ambiguous 
 smile, "and whether the saving him is only 
 putting things off. Look here," he added, 
 with an abrupt return to his imperative 
 style, "can't you give me some dry clothes? " 
 
 Morse brought him a pair of overalls and 
 a "hickory shirt," well worn, but smelling 
 strongly of a recent wash with coarse soap. 
 The stranger put them on while his compan 
 ion busied himself in collecting a pile of 
 sticks and dry leaves. 
 
 "What's that for?" said the stranger, 
 suddenly. 
 
 "A fire to dry your clothes." 
 
 The stranger calmly kicked the pile aside. 
 
 "Not any fire to-night if I know it," he 
 said, brusquely. Before Morse could resent 
 his quickly changing moods he continued, in 
 another tone, dropping to an easy reclining 
 position beneath the tree, "Now, tell me all 
 about yourself, and what you are doing 
 here." 
 
 Thus commanded, Morse patiently re-
 
 IN THE TULES. 115 
 
 peatetl his story from the time he had left 
 his backwoods cabin to his selection of the 
 river bank for a "location." He pointed 
 out the rich quality of this alluvial bottom 
 and its adaptability for the raising of stock, 
 which he hoped soon to acquire. The 
 stranger smiled grimly, raised himself to a 
 sitting position, and, taking a penknife from 
 his damp clothes, began to clean his nails 
 in the bright moonlight an occupation 
 which made the simple Morse wander 
 vaguely in his narration. 
 
 "And you don't know that this hole will 
 give you chills and fever till you '11 shake 
 yourself out of your boots? " 
 
 Morse had lived before in aguish districts, 
 and had no fear. 
 
 "And you never heard that some night 
 the whole river will rise up and walk over 
 you and your cabin and your stock? " 
 
 "No. For I reckon to move my shanty 
 farther back." 
 
 The man shut up his penknife with a 
 click and rose. 
 
 " If you 've got to get up at sunrise, we 'd 
 better be turning in. I suppose you can 
 give me a pair of blankets? " 
 
 Morse pointed to the wagon. "Thar 's a
 
 116 IN THE TULES. 
 
 shakedown in the wagon bed; you kin lie 
 there." Nevertheless he hesitated, and, 
 with the inconsequence and abruptness of 
 a shy man, continued the previous conversa 
 tion. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to move far away, for 
 them steamboats is pow'ful kempany o' 
 nights. I never seed one afore I kem here," 
 and then, with the inconsistency of a re 
 served man, and without a word of further 
 preliminary, he launched into a confidential 
 disclosure of his late experiences. The 
 stranger listened with a singular interest 
 and a quietly searching eye. 
 
 "Then you were watching the boat very 
 closely just now when you saw me. What 
 else did you see? Anything before that 
 before you saw me in the water?" 
 
 " No the boat had got well off before I 
 saw you at all." 
 
 "Ah," said the stranger. "Well, I'm 
 going to turn in." He walked to the wagon, 
 mounted it, and by the time that Morse had 
 reached it with his wet clothes he was al 
 ready wrapped in the blankets. A moment 
 later he seemed to be in a profound slumber. 
 
 It was only then, when his guest was ly 
 ing helplessly at his mercy, that he began
 
 IN THE TULES. 117 
 
 to realize his strange experiences. The 
 domination of this man had been so com 
 plete that Morse, although by nature inde.- 
 pendent and self-reliant, had not permitted 
 himself to question his right or to resent his 
 rudeness. He had accepted his guest's care 
 less or premeditated silence regarding the 
 particulars of his accident as a matter of 
 course, and had never dreamed of question 
 ing him. That it was a natural accident of 
 that great world so apart from his own ex 
 periences he did not doubt, and thought no 
 more about it. The advent of the man 
 himself was greater to him than the causes 
 which brought him there. He was as yet 
 quite unconscious of the complete fascina 
 tion this mysterious stranger held over him, 
 but he found himself shyly pleased with 
 even the slight interest he had displayed in 
 his affairs, and his hand felt yet warm and 
 tingling from his sudden soft but expressive 
 grasp, as if it had been a woman's. There 
 is a simple intuition of friendship in some 
 lonely, self -abstracted natures that is nearly 
 akin to love at first sight. Even the audaci 
 ties and insolence of this stranger affected 
 Morse as he might have been touched and 
 captivated by the coquetries or imperious-
 
 J 
 
 118 IN THE TULES. 
 
 ness of some bucolic virgin. And this re 
 served and shy frontiersman found himself 
 that night sleepless, and hovering with an 
 abashed timidity and consciousness around 
 the wagon that sheltered his guest, as if he 
 had been a very Corydon watching the 
 moonlit couch of some slumbering Ama 
 ryllis. 
 
 He was off by daylight after having 
 placed a rude breakfast by the side of the 
 still sleeping guest and before mid-day 
 he had returned with a horse. When he 
 handed the stranger his pouch, less the 
 amount he had paid for the horse, the man 
 said curtly 
 
 "What's that for?" 
 
 "Your change. I paid only fifty dollars 
 for the horse." 
 
 The stranger regarded him with his pe 
 culiar smile. Then, replacing the pouch in 
 his belt, he shook Morse's hand again and 
 mounted the horse. 
 
 "So your name's Martin Morse! Well 
 good-by, Morsey ! " 
 
 Morse hesitated. A blush rose to his 
 dark cheek. "You didn't tell me your 
 name," he said. "In case " 
 
 " In case I 'm ivanted ? Well, you can
 
 IN THE TULES. 119 
 
 call me Captain Jack." He smiled, and, 
 nodding his head, put spurs to his mustang 
 and cantered away. 
 
 Morse did not do much work that day, 
 falling into abstracted moods and living 
 over his experiences of the previous night, 
 until he fancied he could almost see his 
 strange guest again. The narrow strip of 
 meadow was haunted by him. There was 
 the tree under which he had first placed 
 him, and that was where he had seen him 
 sitting up in his dripping but well-fitting 
 clothes. In the rough garments he had 
 worn and returned lingered a new scent of 
 some delicate soap, overpowering the strong 
 alkali flavor of his own. He was early by 
 the river side, having a vague hope, he 
 knew not why, that he should again see him 
 and recognize him among the passengers. 
 He was wading out among the reeds, in the 
 faint light of the rising moon, recalling the 
 exact spot where he had first seen the 
 stranger, when he was suddenly startled by 
 the rolling over in the water of some black 
 object that had caught against the bank, 
 but had been dislodged by his movements. 
 To his horror it bore a faint resemblance to 
 his first vision of the preceding night. But
 
 120 IN THE TULES. 
 
 a second glance at the helplessly floating 
 hair and bloated outline showed him that it 
 was a dead man, and of a type and build 
 far different from his former companion. 
 There was a bruise upon his matted fore 
 head and an enormous wound in his throat 
 already washed bloodless, white, and waxen. 
 An inexplicable fear came upon him, not at 
 the sight of the corpse, for he had been in 
 Indian massacres and had rescued bodies 
 mutilated beyond recognition; but from 
 some moral dread that, strangely enough, 
 quickened and deepened with the far-off 
 pant of the advancing steamboat. Scarcely 
 knowing why, he dragged the body hurriedly 
 ashore, concealing it in the reeds, as if he 
 were disposing of the evidence of his own 
 crime. Then, to his preposterous terror, 
 he noticed that the panting of the steam 
 boat and the beat of its paddles were " slow 
 ing" as the vague bulk came in sight, until 
 a huge wave from the suddenly arrested 
 wheels sent a surge like an enormous heart 
 beat pulsating through the sedge that half 
 submerged him. The flashing of three or 
 four lanterns on deck and the motionless 
 line of lights abreast of him dazzled his 
 eyes, but he knew that the low fringe of
 
 IN THE TULES. 121 
 
 willows hid his house and wagon completely 
 from view. A vague murmur of voices 
 from the deck was suddenly over-ridden by 
 a sharp order, and to his relief the slowly 
 revolving^ wheels again sent a pulsation 
 through the water, and the great fabric 
 moved solemnly away. A sense of relief 
 came over him, he knew not why, and he 
 was conscious that for the first time he had 
 not cared to look at the boat. 
 
 When the moon arose he again examined 
 the body, and took from its clothing a few 
 articles of identification and some papers of 
 formality and precision, which he vaguely 
 conjectured to be some law papers from 
 their resemblance to the phrasing of sher 
 iffs' and electors' notices which he had seen 
 in the papers. He then buried the corpse 
 in a shallow trench, which he dug by the 
 light of the moon. He had no question of 
 responsibility ; his pioneer training had not 
 included coroners' inquests in its experience; 
 in giving the body a speedy and secure 
 burial from predatory animals he did what 
 one frontiersman would do for another 
 what he hoped might be done for him. If 
 his previous unaccountable feelings returned 
 occasionally, it was not from that; but
 
 122 IN TIIE TULES. 
 
 rather from some uneasiness in regard to 
 his late guest's possible feelings, and a re 
 gret that he had not been here at the finding 
 of the body. That it would in some way 
 have explained his own accident he did not 
 doubt. 
 
 The boat did not "slow up" the next 
 night, but passed as usual; yet three or 
 four days elapsed before he could look for 
 ward to its coining with his old extravagant 
 and half -exalted curiosity which was his 
 nearest approach to imagination. He was 
 then able to examine it more closely, for the 
 appearance of the stranger whom he now 
 began to call "his friend" in his verbal 
 communings with himself but whom he 
 did not seem destined to again discover ; 
 until one day, to his astonishment, a couple 
 of fine horses were brought to his clearing 
 by a stock-drover. They had been "or 
 dered " to be left there. In vain Morse ex 
 postulated and questioned. 
 
 "Your name 's Martin Morse, ain't it?" 
 said the drover, with business brusqueness ; 
 "and I reckon there ain't no other man o' 
 that name around here?" 
 
 "No," said Morse. 
 
 "Well, then, they 're yours."
 
 IN THE TULES. 123 
 
 "But who sent them?" insisted Morse. 
 "What was his name, and where does he 
 live?" 
 
 "I didn't know ez I was called upon to 
 give the pedigree o' buyers," said the drover 
 drily; "but the horses is 'Morgan,' you 
 can bet your life." He grinned as he rode 
 away. 
 
 That Captain Jack sent them, and that it 
 was a natural prelude to his again visiting 
 him, Morse did not doubt, and for a few 
 days he lived in that dream. But Captain 
 Jack did not come. The animals were of 
 great service to him in "rounding up" the 
 stock he now easily took in for pasturage, 
 and saved him the necessity of having a 
 partner or a hired man. The idea that this 
 superior gentleman in fine clothes might 
 ever appear to him in the former capacity 
 had even flitted through his brain, but he 
 had rejected it with a sigh. But the thought 
 that, with luck and industry, he himself 
 might, in course of time, approximate to 
 Captain Jack's evident station, did occur 
 to him, and was an incentive to energy. 
 Yet it was quite distinct from the ordinary 
 working man's ambition of wealth and state. 
 It was only that it might make him more
 
 124 IN THE TULES. 
 
 worthy of his friend. The great world was 
 still as it had appeared to him in the pass 
 ing boat a thing to wonder at to be 
 above and to criticise. 
 
 For all that, he prospered in his occupa 
 tion. But one day he woke with listless 
 limbs and feet that scarcely carried him 
 through his daily labors. At night his list- 
 lessness changed to active pain and a fever - 
 ishness that seemed to impel him towards 
 the fateful river, as if his one aim in life 
 was to drink up its waters and bathe in its 
 yellow stream. But whenever he seemed to 
 attempt it, strange dreams assailed him of 
 dead bodies arising with swollen and dis 
 torted lips to touch his own as he strove to 
 drink, or of his mysterious guest battling 
 with him in its current, and driving him 
 ashore. Again, when he essayed to bathe 
 his parched and crackling limbs in its flood, 
 he would be confronted with the dazzling 
 lights of the motionless steamboat and the 
 glare of stony eyes until he fled in aim 
 less terror. How long this lasted he knew 
 not, until one morning he awoke in his new 
 cabin with a strange man sitting by his bed 
 and a negress in the doorway. 
 
 "You've had a sharp attack of ' tule
 
 Itf THE TULES. 125 
 
 fever,' " said the stranger, dropping Morse's 
 listless wrist and answering his questioning 
 eyes, "but you're all right now, and will 
 pull through." 
 
 "Who are you?" stammered Morse fee- 
 bly. 
 
 "Dr. Duchesne, of Sacramento." 
 
 "How did you come here?" 
 
 "I was ordered to come to you and bring 
 a nurse, as you were alone. There she is." 
 He pointed to the smiling negress. 
 
 " Who ordered you? " 
 
 The doctor smiled with professional toler 
 ance. "One of your friends, of course." 
 
 "But what was his name? " 
 
 "Really, I don't remember. But don't 
 distress yourself. He has settled for every 
 thing right royally. You have only to get 
 strong now. My duty is ended, and I can 
 safely leave you with the nurse. Only when 
 you are strong again, I say and he says 
 keep back farther from the river." 
 
 And that was all he knew. For even the 
 nurse who attended him through the first 
 days of his brief convalescence would tell 
 him nothing more. He quickly got rid of 
 her and resumed his work, for a new and 
 strange phase of his simple, childish affec-
 
 126 IN THE TULES. 
 
 tion for his benefactor, partly superinduced 
 by his illness, was affecting him. He was 
 beginning to feel the pain of an unequal 
 friendship ; he was dimly conscious that his 
 mysterious guest was only coldly returning 
 his hospitality and benefits, while holding- 
 aloof from any association with him and 
 indicating the immeasurable distance that 
 separated their future intercourse. He had 
 withheld any kind message or sympathetic 
 greeting; he had kept back even his name. 
 The shy, proud, ignorant heart of the fron 
 tiersman swelled beneath the fancied slight, 
 which left him helpless alike of reproach 
 or resentment. He could not return the 
 horses, although in a fit of childish indigna 
 tion he had resolved not to use them; he 
 could not reimburse him for the doctor's 
 bill, although he had sent away the nurse. 
 
 He took a foolish satisfaction in not mov 
 ing back from the river, with a faint hope 
 that his ignoring of Captain Jack's advice 
 might mysteriously be conveyed to him. 
 He even thought of selling out his location 
 and abandoning it, that he might escape the 
 cold surveillance of his heartless friend. 
 All this was undoubtedly childish but 
 there is an irrepressible simplicity of youth
 
 IN THE TULES. 127 
 
 in all deep feeling, and the worldly inexpe 
 rience of the frontiersman left him as inno 
 cent as a child. In this phase of his unre 
 quited affection he even went so far as to 
 seek some news of Captain Jack at Sacra 
 mento, and, following out his foolish quest, 
 to even take the steamboat from thence to 
 Stockton. 
 
 What happened to him then was perhaps 
 the common experience of such natures. 
 Once upon the boat the illusion of the great 
 world it contained for him utterly vanished. 
 He found it noisy, formal, insincere, and 
 had he ever understood or used the word in 
 his limited vocabulary vulgar. Rather, 
 perhaps, it seemed to him that the prevailing 
 sentiment and action of those who frequented 
 it and for whom it was built were of a 
 lower grade than his own. And, strangely 
 enough, this gave him none of his former 
 sense of critical superiority, but only of his 
 own utter and complete isolation. He wan 
 dered in his rough frontiersman's clothes 
 from deck to cabin, from airy galleries to 
 long saloons, alone, unchallenged, unrecog 
 nized, as if he were again haunting it only 
 in spirit, as he had so often done in his 
 dreams.
 
 128 IN THE TULES. 
 
 His presence on the fringe of some volu 
 ble crowd caused no interruption; to him 
 their speech was almost foreign in its allu 
 sions to things he did not understand, or, 
 worse, seemed inconsistent with their eager 
 ness and excitement. How different from 
 all this were his old recollections of slowly 
 oncoming teams, uplifted above the level 
 horizon of the plains in his former wander 
 ings; the few sauntering figures that met 
 him as man to man, and exchanged the 
 chronicle of the road; the record of Indian 
 tracks; the finding of a spring; the discov 
 ery of pasturage, with the lazy, restful hos 
 pitality of the night ! And how fierce here 
 this continual struggle for dominance and 
 existence, even in this lull of passage. For 
 above all and through all he was conscious 
 of the feverish haste of speed and exertion. 
 
 The boat trembled, vibrated, and shook 
 with every stroke of the ponderous piston. 
 The laughter of the crowd, the exchange of 
 gossip and news, the banquet at the long 
 table, the newspapers and books in the read 
 ing-room, even the luxurious couches in the 
 state-rooms, were all dominated, thrilled, 
 and pulsating with the perpetual, throb of 
 the demon of hurry and unrest. And when
 
 IN THE TULES. 129 
 
 at last a horrible fascination dragged him 
 into the engine-room, and he saw the cruel 
 relentless machinery at work, he seemed to 
 recognize and understand some intelligent 
 but pitiless Moloch, who was dragging this 
 feverish world at its heels. 
 
 Later he was seated in a corner of the 
 hurricane deck, whence he could view the 
 monotonous banks of the river; yet, per 
 haps by certain signs unobservable to others, 
 he knew he was approaching his own local 
 ity. He knew that his cabin and clearing 
 would be undiscernible behind the fringe of 
 willows on the bank, but he already distin 
 guished the points where a few cottonwoods 
 struggled into a promontory of lighter foli 
 age beyond them. Here voices fell upon 
 his ear, and he was suddenly aware that two 
 men had lazily crossed over from the other 
 side of the boat, and were standing before 
 him looking upon the bank. 
 
 "It was about here, I reckon," said one, 
 listlessly, as if continuing a previous lag 
 ging conversation, "that it must have hap 
 pened. For it was after we were making 
 for the bend we 've just passed that the dep 
 uty, goin' to the state-room below us, found 
 the door locked and the window open. But
 
 130 IN THE TULES. 
 
 both men Jack Despard and Seth Hall, 
 the sheriff weren't to be found. Not a 
 trace of 'em. The boat was searched, but 
 all for nothing. The idea is that the sheriff, 
 arter getting his prisoner comf'ble in the 
 state room, took off Jack's handcuffs and 
 locked the door ; that Jack, who was mighty 
 desp'rate, bolted through the window into 
 the river, and the sheriff, who was no slouch, 
 arter him. Others allow for the chairs 
 and things was all tossed about in the state 
 room that the two men clinched thar, and 
 Jack choked Hall and chucked him out, and 
 then slipped cl'ar into the water himself, 
 for the state-room window was just ahead of 
 the paddle-box, and the cap'n allows that 
 no man or men could fall afore the paddles 
 and live. Anyhow, that was all they ever 
 knew of it." 
 
 "And there wasn't no trace of them 
 found? " said the second man, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 "No. Cap'n says them paddles would 
 hev' just snatched 'em and slung 'em round 
 and round and buried 'em 'way down in the 
 ooze of the river bed, with all the silt of the 
 current atop of 'em, and they might n't come 
 up for ages; or else the wheels might have
 
 IN THE TULES. 131 
 
 waltzed 'em 'way up to Sacramento until 
 there was n't enough left of 'em to float, and 
 dropped 'em when the boat stopped."' 
 
 " It was a mighty fool risk for a man like 
 Despard to take," resumed the second 
 speaker as he turned away with a slight 
 yawn. 
 
 "Bet your life! but he was desp'rate, and 
 the sheriff had got him sure ! And they do 
 say that he was superstititious, like all them 
 gamblers, and allowed that a man who was 
 fixed to die by a rope or a pistol wasn't to 
 be washed out of life by water." 
 
 The two figures drifted lazily away, but 
 Morse sat rigid and motionless. Yet, 
 strange to say, only one idea came to him 
 clearly out of this awful revelation the 
 thought that his friend was still true to him 
 and that his strange absence and myste 
 rious silence were fully accounted for and 
 explained. And with it came the more 
 thrilling fancy that this man was alive now 
 to him alone. 
 
 He was the sole custodian of his secret. 
 The morality of the question, while it pro 
 foundly disturbed him, was rather in refer 
 ence to its effect upon the chances of Cap 
 tain Jack and the power it gave his enemies
 
 132 IN THE TULES. 
 
 than his own conscience. He would rather 
 that his friend should have proven the pro 
 scribed outlaw who retained an unselfish 
 interest in him than the superior gentleman 
 who was coldly wiping out his gratitude. 
 He thought he understood now the reason 
 of his visitor's strange and varying moods 
 even his bitter superstitious warning in 
 regard to the probable curse entailed upon 
 one who should save a drowning man. Of 
 this he recked little ; enough that he fancied 
 that Captain Jack's concern in his illness 
 was heightened by that fear, and this assur 
 ance of his protecting friendship thrilled 
 him with pleasure. 
 
 There was no reason now why he should 
 not at once go back to his farm, where, at 
 least, Captain Jack would always find him ; 
 and he did so, returning on the same boat. 
 He was now fully recovered from his illness, 
 and calmer in mind ; he redoubled his labors 
 to put himself in a position to help the mys 
 terious fugitive when the time should come. 
 The remote farm should always be a haven 
 of refuge for him, and in this hope he for 
 bore to take any outside help, remaining 
 solitary and alone, that Captain Jack's re 
 treat should be inviolate. And so the long,
 
 IN THE TULES. 133 
 
 dry season passed, the hay was gathered, 
 the pasturing herds sent home, and the first 
 rains, dimpling like shot the broadening sur 
 face of the river, were all that broke his 
 unending solitude. In this enforced atti 
 tude of waiting and expectancy he was ex 
 alted and strengthened by a new idea. He 
 was not a religious man, but, dimly remem 
 bering the exhortations of some camp -meet 
 ing of his boyhood, he conceived the idea 
 that he might have been selected to work 
 out the regeneration of Captain Jack. 
 What might not come of this meeting and 
 communing together in this lonely spot? 
 That anything was due to the memory of 
 the murdered sheriff, whose bones were rot 
 ting in the trench that he daily but uncon 
 cernedly passed, did not occur to him. 
 Perhaps his mind was not large enough for 
 the double consideration. Friendship and 
 love and, for the matter of that, religion 
 are eminently one-ideaed. 
 
 But one night he awakened with a start. 
 His hand, which was hanging out of his 
 bunk, was dabbling idly in water. He had 
 barely time to spring to his middle in what 
 seemed to be a slowly filling tank before the 
 door fell out as from that inward pressure,
 
 134 IN THE TULES. 
 
 and his whole shanty collapsed like a pack 
 of cards. But it fell outwards, the roof 
 sliding from over his head like a withdrawn 
 canopy; and he was swept from his feet 
 against it, and thence out into what might 
 have been another world ! For the rain had 
 ceased, and the full moon revealed only one 
 vast, illimitable expanse of water! It was 
 not an overflow, but the whole rushing river 
 magnified and repeated a thousand times, 
 which, even as he gasped for breath and 
 clung to the roof, was bearing him away he 
 knew not whither. But it was bearing him 
 away upon its centre, for as he cast one 
 swift glance towards his meadows he saw 
 they were covered by the same sweeping 
 torrent, dotted with his sailing hay-ricks 
 and reaching to the wooded foothills. It 
 was the great flood of '54. In its awe- 
 inspiring completeness it might have seemed 
 to him the primeval Deluge. 
 
 As his frail raft swept under a cotton - 
 wood he caught at one of the overhanging 
 limbs, and, working his way desperately 
 along the bough, at last reached a secure 
 position in the fork of the tree. Here he 
 was for the moment safe. But the devasta 
 tion viewed from this height was only the
 
 IN THE TULES. 135 
 
 more appalling. Every sign of his clearing, 
 all evidence of his past year's industry, had 
 disappeared. He was now conscious for the 
 first time of the lowing of the few cattle he 
 had kept, as, huddled together on a slight 
 eminence, they one by one slipped over 
 struggling into the flood. The shining 
 bodies of his dead horses rolled by him as 
 he gazed. The lower-lying limbs of the 
 sycamore near him were bending with the 
 burden of the lighter articles from his over 
 turned wagon and cabin which they had 
 caught and retained, and a rake was securely 
 lodged in a bough. The habitual solitude 
 of his locality was now strangely invaded by 
 drifting sheds, agricultural implements and 
 fence rails from unknown and remote neigh 
 bors, and he could faintly hear the far-off 
 calling of some unhappy farmer adrift upon 
 a spar of his wrecked and shattered house. 
 When day broke he was cold and hungry. 
 
 Hours passed in hopeless monotony, with 
 no slackening or diminution of the waters. 
 Even the drifts became less, and a vacant 
 sea at last spread before him on which no 
 thing moved. An awful silence impressed 
 him. In the afternoon rain again began to 
 fall on this gray, nebulous expanse, until
 
 136 IN THE TULES. 
 
 V 
 the whole world seemed made of aqueous 
 
 vapor. He had but one idea now the 
 coming of the evening boat, and he would 
 reserve his strength to swim to it. He did 
 not know until later that it could no longer 
 follow the old channel of the river, and 
 passed far beyond his sight and hearing. 
 With his disappointment and exposure that 
 night came a return of his old fever. His 
 limbs were alternately racked with pain or 
 benumbed and lifeless. He could scarcely 
 retain his position at times he scarcely 
 cared to and speculated upon ending his 
 sufferings by a quick plunge downwards. 
 In other moments of lucid misery he was 
 conscious of having wandered in his mind ; 
 of having seen the dead face of the murdered 
 sheriff, washed out of his shallow grave by 
 the flood, staring at him from the water; to 
 this was added the hallucination of noises. 
 He heard voices, his own name called by a 
 voice he knew Captain Jack's ! 
 
 Suddenly he started, but in that fatal 
 movement lost his balance and plunged 
 downwards. But before the water closed 
 above his head he had had a cruel glimpse 
 of help near him; of a flashing light of 
 the black hull of a tug not many yards away
 
 IN THE TULES. 137 
 
 
 
 of moving figures the sensation of a 
 sudden plunge following his own, the grip 
 of a strong hand upon his collar, and 
 unconsciousness ! 
 
 When he came to he was being lifted in 
 a boat from the tug and rowed through the 
 deserted streets of a large city, until he was 
 taken in through the second-story window 
 of a half-submerged hotel and cared for. 
 But all his questions yielded only the infor 
 mation that the tug a privately procured 
 one, not belonging to the Public Belief 
 Association had been dispatched for him 
 with special directions, by a man who acted 
 as one of the crew, and who was the one 
 who had plunged in for him at the last 
 moment. The man had left the boat at 
 Stockton. There was nothing more? Yes! 
 
 he had left a letter. Morse seized it 
 feverishly. It contained only a few lines : 
 
 "We are quits now. You are all right. 
 I have saved you from drowning, and shifted 
 the curse to my own shoulders. Good-by. 
 ' CAPTAIN JACK. ' ' 
 
 The astounded man attempted to rise 
 to utter an exclamation but fell back, 
 unconscious. 
 
 Weeks passed before he was able to leave
 
 138 IN THE TULES. 
 
 his bed and then only as an impoverished 
 and physically shattered man. He had no 
 means to re-stock the farm left bare by the 
 subsiding water. A kindly train - packer 
 offered him a situation as muleteer in a 
 pack-train going to the mountains for he 
 knew tracks and passes and could ride. 
 The mountains gave him back a little of the 
 vigor he had lost in the river valley, but 
 none of its dreams and ambitions. One 
 day, while tracking a lost mule, he stopped 
 to slake his thirst in a water-hole all that 
 the summer had left of a lonely mountain 
 torrent. Enlarging the hole to give drink 
 to his beast also, he was obliged to dislodge 
 and throw out with the red soil some bits of 
 honeycomb rock, which were so queer-look 
 ing and so heavy as to attract his attention. 
 Two of the largest he took back to camp 
 with him. They were gold! From the 
 locality he took out a fortune. Nobody 
 wondered. To the Californian's supersti 
 tion it was perfectly natural. It was "nig 
 ger luck" the luck of the stupid, the 
 ignorant, the inexperienced, the non-seeker 
 the irony of the gods ! 
 
 But the simple, bucplic nature that had 
 sustained itself against i temptation with pa-
 
 IN THE TULES. 139 
 
 tient industry and lonely self -concentration 
 succumbed to rapidly acquired wealth. So 
 it chanced that one day, with a crowd of 
 excitement-loving spendthrifts and compan 
 ions, he found himself on the outskirts of a 
 lawless mountain town. An eager, frantic 
 crowd had already assembled there a des 
 perado was to be lynched ! Pushing his way 
 through the crowd for a nearer view of the 
 exciting spectacle, the changed and reckless 
 Morse was stopped by armed men only at 
 the foot of a cart, which upheld a quiet, 
 determined man, who, with a rope around 
 his neck, was scornfully surveying the mob, 
 that held the other end of the rope drawn 
 across the limb of a tree above him. The 
 eyes of the doomed man caught those of 
 Morse his expression changed a kindly 
 smile lit his face he bowed his proud head 
 for the first time, with an easy gesture of 
 farewell. 
 
 And then, with a cry, Morse threw him 
 self upon the nearest armed guard, and a 
 fierce struggle began. He had overpowered 
 one adversary and seized another in his 
 hopeless fight towards the cart when the 
 half-astonished crowd felt that something 
 must be done. It was done with a sharp
 
 140 IN THE TULES. 
 
 report, the upward curl of smoke and the 
 falling back of the guard as Morse stag 
 gered forward free with a bullet in his 
 heart. Yet even then he did not fall until 
 he reached the cart, when he lapsed forward, 
 dead, with his arms outstretched and his 
 head at the doomed man's feet. 
 
 There was something so supreme and all- 
 powerful in this hopeless act of devotion 
 that the heart of the multitude thrilled and 
 then recoiled aghast at its work, and a sin 
 gle word or a gesture from the doomed man 
 himself would have set him free. But they 
 say and it is credibly recorded that as 
 Captain Jack Despard looked down upon 
 the hopeless sacrifice at his feet his eyes 
 blazed, and he flung upon the crowd a curse 
 so awful and sweeping that, hardened as 
 they were, their blood ran cold, and then 
 leaped furiously to their cheeks. 
 
 "And now," he said, coolly tightening 
 the rope around his neck with a jerk of his 
 head "Go on, and be d d to you! I 'm 
 ready." 
 
 They did not hesitate this time. And 
 Martin Morse and. Captain Jack Despard 
 were buried in the same grave.
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 THE largest tent of the Tasajara camp- 
 meeting was crowded to its utmost extent. 
 The excitement of that dense mass was at 
 its highest pitch. The Reverend Stephen 
 Masterton, the single erect, passionate fig 
 ure of that confused medley of kneeling 
 worshipers, had reached the culminating 
 pitch of his irresistible exhortatory power. 
 Sighs and groans were beginning to respond 
 to his appeals, when the reverend brother 
 was seen to lurch heavily forward and fall 
 to the ground. 
 
 At first the effect was that of a part of 
 his performance; the groans redoubled, and 
 twenty or thirty brethren threw themselves 
 prostrate in humble imitation of the preacher. 
 But Sister Deborah Stokes, perhaps through 
 some special revelation of feminine intuition, 
 grasped the fallen man, tore loose his black 
 silk necktie, and dragged him free of the 
 struggling, frantic crowd whose paroxysms 
 he had just evoked. Howbeit he was pale
 
 142 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 and unconscious, and unable to continue the 
 service. Even the next day, when he had 
 slightly recovered, it was found that any 
 attempt to renew his fervid exhortations 
 produced the same disastrous result. 
 
 A council was hurriedly held by the eld 
 ers. In spite of the energetic protests of 
 Sister Stokes, it was held that the Lord 
 "was wrestlin' with his sperrit," and he 
 was subjected to the same extraordinary 
 treatment from the whole congregation that 
 he himself had applied to them. Propped 
 up pale and trembling in the "Mourners' 
 Bench" by two brethren, he was "striven 
 with," exhorted, prayed over, and admon 
 ished, until insensibility mercifully suc 
 ceeded convulsions. Spiritual therapeutics 
 having failed, he was turned over to the 
 weak and carnal nursing of "women folk." 
 But after a month of incapacity he was 
 obliged to yield to "the flesh," and, in the 
 local dialect, "to use a doctor." 
 
 It so chanced that the medical practitioner 
 of the district was a man of large experi 
 ence, of military training, and plain speech. 
 When, therefore, he one day found in his 
 surgery a man of rude Western type, strong- 
 limbed and sun -burned, but trembling, hesi-
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 143 
 
 tating and neurotic in movement, after lis 
 tening to his symptoms gravely, lie asked, 
 abruptly: "And how much are you drink 
 ing now?" 
 
 "I am a life-long abstainer," stammered 
 his patient in quivering indignation. But 
 this was followed by another question so 
 frankly appalling to the hearer that he stag 
 gered to his feet. 
 
 "I'm Stephen Masterton known of 
 men as a circuit preacher, of the Northern 
 California district," he thundered "and 
 an enemy of the flesh in all its forms." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," responded Dr. 
 Duchesne, grimly, "but as you are suffer 
 ing from excessive and repeated excitation 
 of the nervous system, and the depression 
 following prolonged artificial exaltation 
 it makes little difference whether the cause 
 be spiritual, as long as there is a certain 
 physical effect upon your body which I 
 believe you have brought to me to cure. 
 Now as to diet ? you look all wrong there." 
 
 "My food is of the simplest I have no 
 hankering for flesh-pots," responded the 
 patient. 
 
 "I suppose you call saleratus bread and 
 salt pork and flapjacks simple?" said the
 
 144 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 doctor, coolly; "they are common enough, 
 and if you were working with your muscles 
 instead of your nerves in that frame of yours 
 they might not hurt you ; but you are suffer 
 ing as much from eating more than you can 
 digest as the veriest gourmand. You must 
 stop all that. Go down to a quiet watering- 
 place for two months." . . . 
 
 "/ go to a watering-place? " interrupted 
 Masterton; "to the haunt of the idle, the 
 frivolous and wanton never ! " 
 
 "Well, I 'm not particular about a ' wa 
 tering-place,' " said the doctor, with a 
 shrug, "although a little idleness and frivol 
 ity with different food would n't hurt you 
 but you must go somewhere and change your 
 habits and mode of life completely. I will 
 find you some sleepy old Spanish town in 
 the southern country where you can rest 
 and diet. If this is distasteful to you," he 
 continued, grimly, "you can always call 
 it 'a trial.'" 
 
 Stephen Masterton may have thought it 
 so when, a week later, he found himself 
 issuing from a rocky gorge into a rough, 
 badly paved, hilly street, which seemed to 
 be only a continuation of the mountain road 
 itself. It broadened suddenly into a square
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 145 
 
 or plaza, flanked on each side by an irregu 
 lar row of yellowing adobe houses, with the 
 inevitable verandahed tienda in each corner, 
 and the solitary, galleried fonda, with a 
 half Moorish archway leading into an inner 
 patio or courtyard in the centre. 
 
 The whole street stopped as usual at the 
 very door of the Mission church, a few 
 hundred yards further on, and under the 
 shadow of the two belfry towers at each 
 angle of the facade, as if this were the 
 ultima thule of every traveler. But all that 
 the eye rested on was ruined, worn, and 
 crumbling. The adobe houses were cracked 
 by the incessant sunshine of the half-year 
 long summer, or the more intermittent earth 
 quake shock; the paved courtyard of the 
 fonda was so uneven and sunken in the 
 centre that the lumbering wagon and faded 
 diligencia stood on an incline, and the 
 mules with difficulty kept their footing 
 while being unladen; the whitened plaster 
 had fallen from the feet of the two pil 
 lars that flanked the Mission doorway, like 
 bandages from a gouty limb, leaving the 
 reddish core of adobe visible ; there were ap 
 parently as many broken tiles in the streets 
 and alleys as there were on the heavy red
 
 146 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 roofs that everywhere asserted themselves 
 and even seemed to slide down the crum 
 bling walls to the ground. There were 
 hopeless gaps in grille and grating of door 
 ways and windows, where the iron bars had 
 dropped helplessly out, or were bent at dif 
 ferent angles. The walls of the peaceful 
 Mission garden and the warlike presidio 
 were alike lost in the escalading vines or 
 leveled by the pushing boughs of gnarled 
 pear and olive trees that now surmounted 
 them. The dust lay thick and impalpable 
 in hollow and gutter, and rose in little va 
 pory clouds with a soft detonation at every 
 stroke of his horse's hoofs. Over all this 
 dust and ruin, idleness seemed to reign su 
 preme. From the velvet- jacketed figures 
 lounging motionless in the shadows of the 
 open doorways so motionless that only 
 the lazy drift of cigarette smoke betokened 
 their breathing to the reclining peons in 
 the shade of a catalpa, or the squatting In 
 dians in the arroyo all was sloth and dirt, 
 The Rev. Stephen Masterton felt his 
 throat swell with his old exhortative indig 
 nation. A gaudy yellow fan waved lan 
 guidly in front of a black rose-crested head 
 at a white-curtained window. He knew he
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 147 
 
 was stifling with righteous wrath, and clapped 
 his spurs to his horse. 
 
 Nevertheless, in a few days, by the aid of 
 a letter to the innkeeper, he was installed 
 in a dilapidated adobe house, not unlike 
 those he had seen, but situated in the out 
 skirts, and overlooking the garden and part 
 of the refectory of the old Mission. It had 
 even a small garden of its own if a strip 
 of hot wall, overburdened with yellow and 
 white roses, a dozen straggling callas, a 
 bank of heliotrope, and an almond tree 
 could be called a garden. It had an open 
 doorway, but so heavily recessed in the thick 
 walls that it preserved seclusion, a sitting- 
 room, and an alcoved bed-room with deep 
 embrasured windows, that, however, ex 
 cluded the unwinking sunlight and kept an 
 even monotone of shade. 
 
 Strange to say, he found it cool, restful, 
 and, in spite of the dust, absolutely clean, 
 and, but for the scent of heliotrope, entirely 
 inodorous. The dry air seemed to dissipate 
 all noxious emanations and decay the very 
 dust itself in its fine impalpability was vola 
 tile with a spice-like piquancy, and left no 
 stain. 
 
 A wrinkled Indian woman, brown and
 
 148 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 veined like a tobacco leaf, ministered to his 
 simple wants. But these wants had also 
 been regulated by Dr. Duchesne. He found 
 himself, with some grave doubts of his effem 
 inacy, breakfasting on a single cup of 
 chocolate instead of his usual bowl of mo 
 lasses-sweetened coffee; crumbling a crisp 
 tortilla instead of the heavy saleratus bread, 
 greasy flapjack, or the lard-fried steak, 
 and, more wonderful still, completing his 
 repast with purple grapes from the Mission 
 wall. He could not deny that it was simple 
 
 that it was even refreshing and consistent 
 with the climate and his surroundings. On 
 the other hand, it was the frugal diet of the 
 commonest peasant and were not those 
 peons slothful idolaters ? 
 
 At the end of the week his correspon 
 dence being also restricted by his doctor to 
 a few lines to himself regarding his progress 
 
 he wrote to that adviser : 
 
 "The trembling and unquiet has almost 
 ceased; I have less nightly turmoil and vi 
 sions ; my carnal appetite seems to be amply 
 mollified and soothed by these viands, what 
 ever may be their ultimate effect upon the 
 weakness of our common sinful nature. 
 But I should not be truthful to you if I did
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 149 
 
 not warn you that I am viewing with the 
 deepest spiritual concern a decided tendency 
 towards sloth, and a folding of the hands 
 over matters that often, I fear, are spiritual 
 as well as temporal. I would ask you to 
 consider, in a spirit of love, if it be not 
 wise to rouse my apathetic flesh, so as to 
 strive, even with the feeblest exhortations 
 against this sloth in others if only 
 to keep one's self from falling into the pit 
 of easy indulgence." 
 
 What answer he received is not known, 
 but it is to be presumed that he kept loyal 
 faith with his physician, and gave himself 
 up to simple walks and rides and occasional 
 meditation. His solitude was not broken 
 upon; curiosity was too active a vice, and 
 induced too much exertion for his indolent 
 neighbors, and the Americano's basking se 
 clusion, though unlike the habits of his 
 countrymen, did not affect them. The shop 
 keeper and innkeeper saluted him always 
 with a profound courtesy which awakened 
 his slight resentment, partly because he was 
 conscious that it was grateful to him, and 
 partly that he felt he ought to have pro 
 voked in them a less satisfied condition. 
 
 Once, when he had unwittingly passed
 
 150 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 the confines of his own garden, through a 
 gap in the Mission orchard, a lissome, 
 black-coated shadow slipped past him with 
 an obeisance so profound and gentle that he 
 was startled at first into an awkward imita 
 tion of it himself, and then into an angry 
 self-examination. He knew that he loathed 
 that long-skirted, woman-like garment, that 
 dangling, ostentatious symbol, that air of 
 secrecy and mystery, and he inflated his 
 chest above his loosely tied cravat and un 
 buttoned waistcoat with a contrasted sense 
 of freedom. But he was conscious the next 
 day of weakly avoiding a recurrence of this 
 meeting, and in his self-examination put it 
 down to his self-disciplined observance of 
 his doctor's orders. But when he was 
 strong again, and fitted for his Master's 
 work, how strenuously he should improve 
 the occasion this gave him of attacking the 
 Scarlet Woman among her slaves and wor 
 shipers ! 
 
 His afternoon meditations and the perusal 
 of his only book the Bible were regu 
 larly broken in upon at about sunset by two 
 or three strokes from the cracked bell that 
 hung in the open belfry which reared itself 
 beyond the gnarled pear trees. He could
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 151 
 
 not say that it was aggressive or persistent, 
 like his own church bells, nor that it even 
 expressed to him any religious sentiment. 
 Moreover, it was not a "Sabbath" bell, but 
 a daily one, and even then seemed to be 
 only a signal to ears easily responsive, rather 
 than a stern reminder. And the hour was 
 always a singularly witching one. 
 
 It was when the sun had slipped from the 
 glaring red roofs, and the yellowing adobe 
 of the Mission walls and the tall ranks of 
 wild oats on the hillside were all of the one 
 color of old gold. It was when the quiver 
 ing heat of the arroyo and dusty expanse 
 of plaza was blending with the soft breath of 
 the sea fog that crept through the clefts 
 of the coast range, until a refreshing balm 
 seemed to fall like a benediction on all 
 nature. It was when the trade-wind-swept 
 and irritated surfaces of the rocky gorge 
 beyond were soothed with clinging vapors ; 
 when the pines above no longer rocked mo 
 notonously, and the great undulating sea of 
 the wild oat plains had gone down and was 
 at rest. It was at this hour, one afternoon, 
 that, with the released scents of the garden, 
 there came to him a strange and subtle per 
 fume that was new to his senses. He laid 

 
 152 A CONVEET OF THE MISSION. 
 
 aside his book, went into the garden, and, 
 half-unconscious of his trespass, passed 
 through the Mission orchard and thence 
 into the little churchyard beside the church. 
 
 Looking at the strange inscriptions in an 
 unfamiliar tongue, he was singularly touched 
 with the few cheap memorials lying upon 
 the graves like childish toys and for 
 the moment overlooked the papistic emblems 
 that accompanied them. It struck him 
 vaguely that Death, the common leveler, 
 had made even the symbols of a faith eter 
 nal inferior to those simple records of un 
 dying memory and affection, and he was for 
 a moment startled into doubt. 
 
 He walked to the door of the church: to 
 his surprise it was open. Standing upon 
 the threshold he glanced inside, and stood 
 for a moment utterly bewildered. In a 
 man of refined taste and education that 
 bizarre and highly colored interior would 
 have only provoked a smile or shrug; to 
 Stephen Masterton's highly emotional na 
 ture, but artistic inexperience, strangely 
 enough it was profoundly impressive. The 
 heavily timbered, roughly hewn roof, barred 
 with alternate bands of blue and Indian 
 red, the crimson hangings, the gold and
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 153 
 
 black draperies, affected this religious back 
 woodsman exactly as they were designed to 
 affect the heathen and acolytes for whose 
 conversion the temple had been reared. He 
 could scarcely take his eyes from the tinsel- 
 crowned Mother of Heaven, resplendent in 
 white and gold and glittering with jewels; 
 the radiant shield before the Host, illumi 
 nated by tall spectral candles in the myste 
 rious obscurity of the altar, dazzled him 
 like the rayed disk of the setting sun. 
 
 A gentle murmur, as of the distant sea, 
 came from the altar. In his naive bewil 
 derment he had not seen the few kneeling 
 figures in the shadow of column and aisle ; 
 it was not until a man, whom he recognized 
 as a muleteer he had seen that afternoon 
 gambling and drinking in the fonda, slipped 
 by him like a shadow and sank upon his 
 knees in the centre of the aisle that he real 
 ized the overpowering truth. 
 
 He, Stephen Masterton, was looking upon 
 some rite of Popish idolatry ! He was turn 
 ing quickly away when the keeper of the 
 tienda a man of sloth and sin gently 
 approached him from the shadow of a col 
 umn with a mute gesture, which he took to 
 be one of invitation. A fierce protest of
 
 154 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 scorn and indignation swelled to his throat, 
 but died upon his lips. Yet he had strength 
 enough to erect his gaunt emaciated figure, 
 throwing out his long arms and extended 
 palms in the attitude of defiant exorcism, 
 and then rush swiftly from the church. As 
 he did so he thought he saw a faint smile 
 cross the shopkeeper's face, and a whispered 
 exchange of words with a neighboring wor 
 shiper of more exalted appearance came to 
 his ears. But it was not intelligible to his 
 comprehension. 
 
 The next day he wrote to his doctor in 
 that quaint grandiloquence of written speech 
 with which the half -educated man balances 
 the slips of his colloquial phrasing : 
 
 " Do not let the purgation of my flesh be 
 unduly protracted. What with the sloth 
 and idolatries of Baal and Ashteroth, which 
 I see daily around me, I feel that without 
 a protest not only the flesh but the spirit is 
 mortified. But my bodily strength is mer 
 cifully returning, and I found myself yester 
 day able to take a long ride at that hour 
 which they here keep sacred for an idola 
 trous rite, under the beautiful name of 
 ' The Angelus. ' Thus do they bear false 
 witness to Him! Can you tell me the
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 155 
 
 meaning of the Spanish words, ' Don Key- 
 hotter? ' I am ignorant of these sensuous 
 Southern languages, and am aware that this 
 is not the correct spelling, but I have striven 
 to give the phonetic equivalent. It was 
 used, I am inclined to think, in reference 
 to myself, by an idolater. 
 
 "P. S. You need not trouble yourself. 
 I have just ascertained that the words hi 
 question were simply the title of an idle 
 novel, and, of course, could not possibly 
 refer to me." 
 
 Howbeit it was as "Don Quixote " .that 
 is, the common Spaniard's conception of the 
 Knight of La Mancha, merely the simple 
 fanatic and madman that Mr. Stephen 
 Masterton ever after rode all unconsciously 
 through the streets of the Mission, amid the 
 half-pitying, half-smiling glances of the 
 people. 
 
 In spite of his meditations, his single 
 volume, and his habit of retiring early, he 
 found his evenings were growing lonely and 
 tedious. He missed the prayer - meeting, 
 and, above all, the hymns. He had a fine 
 baritone voice, sympathetic, as may be im 
 agined, but not cultivated. One night, in 
 the seclusion of his garden, and secure in
 
 156 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 his distance from other dwellings, he raised 
 his voice in a familiar camp-meeting hymn 
 with a strong Covenanter's ring in the 
 chorus. Growing bolder as he went on, he 
 at last filled the quiet night with the strenu 
 ous sweep of his chant. Surprised at his 
 own fervor, he paused for a moment, listen 
 ing, half-frightened, half-ashamed of his 
 outbreak. But there was only the trilling 
 of the night wind in the leaves, or the far- 
 off yelp of a coyote. 
 
 For a moment he thought he heard the 
 metallic twang of a stringed instrument in 
 the Mission garden beyond his own, and 
 remembered his contiguity to the church 
 with a stir of defiance. But he was relieved, 
 nevertheless. His pent - up emotion had 
 found vent, and without the nervous excite 
 ment that had followed his old exaltation. 
 That night he slept better. He had found 
 the Lord again with Psalmody ! 
 
 The next evening he chanced upon a 
 softer hymn of the same simplicity, but with 
 a vein of human tenderness in its aspira 
 tions, which his more hopeful mood gently 
 rendered. At the conclusion of the first 
 verse he was, however, distinctly conscious 
 of being followed by the same twanging
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 157 
 
 sound he had heard on the previous night, 
 and which even his untutored ear could rec 
 ognize as an attempt to accompany him. 
 But before he had finished the second verse 
 the unknown player, after an ingenious but 
 ineffectual essay to grasp the right chord, 
 abandoned it with an impatient and almost 
 pettish flourish, and a loud bang upon the 
 sounding-board of the unseen instrument. 
 Masterton finished it alone. 
 
 With his curiosity excited, however, he 
 tried to discover the locality of the hidden 
 player. The sound evidently came from 
 the Mission garden ; but in his ignorance of 
 the language he could not even interrogate 
 his Indian housekeeper. On the third 
 night, however, his hymn was uninterrupted 
 by any sound from the former musician. 
 A sense of disappointment, he knew not 
 why, came over him. The kindly overture 
 of the unseen player had been a relief to his 
 loneliness. Yet he had barely concluded 
 the hymn when the familiar sound again 
 struck his ears. But this time the musician 
 played boldly, confidently, and with a sin 
 gular skill on the instrument. 
 
 The brilliant prelude over, to his entire 
 surprise and some confusion, a soprano
 
 158 A CONVEET OF THE MISSION. 
 
 voice, high, childish, but infinitely quaint 
 and fascinating, was mischievously uplifted. 
 But alas ! even to his ears, ignorant of the 
 language, it was very clearly a song of lev 
 ity and wantonness, of freedom and license, 
 of coquetry and incitement ! Yet such was 
 its fascination that he fancied it was re 
 claimed by the delightful childlike and inno 
 cent expression of the singer. 
 
 Enough that this tall, gaunt, broad-shoul 
 dered man arose, and, overcome by a curi 
 osity almost as childlike, slipped into the 
 garden and glided with an Indian softness 
 of tread towards the voice. The moon shone 
 full upon the ruined Mission wall tipped 
 with clusters of dark foliage. Half hiding, 
 half mingling with one of them an indis 
 tinct bulk of light-colored huddled fleeces 
 like an extravagant bird's nest hung the 
 unknown musician. So intent was the per 
 former's preoccupation that Masterton actu 
 ally reached the base of the wall immediately 
 below the figure without attracting its atten 
 tion. But his foot slipped on the crumbling 
 debris with a snapping of dry twigs. There 
 was a quick little cry from above. He had 
 barely time to recover his position before 
 the singer, impulsively leaning over the
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 159 
 
 parapet, had lost hers, and fell outwards. 
 But Masterton was tall, alert, and self-pos 
 sessed, and threw out his long arms. The 
 next moment they were full of soft flounces, 
 a struggling figure was against his breast, 
 and a woman's frightened little hands around 
 his neck. But he had broken her fall, and 
 almost instantly, yet with infinite gentle 
 ness, he released her unharmed, with hardly 
 her crisp flounces crumpled, in an upright 
 position against the wall. Even her guitar, 
 still hanging from her shoulder by a yellow 
 ribbon, had bounded elastic and resounding 
 against the wall, but lay intact at her satin- 
 slippered feet. She caught it up with an 
 other quick little cry, but this time more of 
 sauciness than fear, and drew her little 
 hand across its strings, half defiantly.' 
 
 "I hope you are not hurt?" said the cir 
 cuit preacher, gravely. 
 
 She broke into a laugh so silvery that he 
 thought it no extravagance to liken it to the 
 moonbeams that played over her made audi 
 ble. She was lithe, yet plump ; barred with 
 black and yellow and small waisted like a 
 pretty wasp. Her complexion in that light 
 was a sheen of pearl satin that made her 
 eyes blacker and her little mouth redder
 
 160 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 than any other color could. She was small, 
 but, remembering the fourteen-year-old wife 
 of the shopkeeper, he felt that, for all her 
 childish voice and features, she was a grown 
 woman, and a sudden shyness took hold of 
 him. 
 
 But she looked pertly in his face, stood 
 her guitar upright before her, and put her 
 hands behind her back as she leaned saucily 
 against the wall and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "It was the fault of you," she said, in a 
 broken English that seemed as much infan 
 tine as foreign. " What for you not remain 
 to yourself in your own casa ? So it come. 
 You creep so in the dark and shake my 
 wall, and I fall. And she," pointing to the 
 guitar, "is a'most broke! And for all thees 
 I have only make to you a serenade. ,In- 
 grate ! " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Masterton 
 quickly, "but I was curious. I thought I 
 might help you, and " 
 
 "Make yourself another cat on the wall, 
 eh? No; one is enough, thank you! " 
 
 A frown lowered on Masterton 's brow. 
 "You don't understand me," he said, 
 bluntly. "I did not know who was here." 
 
 " Ah, bueno ! Then it is Pepita Ramirez,
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 161 
 
 you see," she said, tapping her bodice with 
 one little finger, "all the same; the niece 
 from Manuel Garcia, who keeps the Mission 
 garden and lif there. And you?" 
 
 "My name is Masterton." 
 
 "How mooch?" 
 
 "Masterton," he repeated. 
 
 She tried to pronounce it once or twice 
 desperately, and then shook her little head 
 so violently that a yellow rose fastened over 
 her ear fell to the ground. But she did not 
 heed it, nor the fact that Masterton had 
 picked it up. 
 
 "Ah, I cannot!" she said, poutingly. 
 " It is as deef eecult to make go as my guitar 
 with your serenade." 
 
 " Can you not say * Stephen Masterton ' ? " 
 he asked, more gently, with a returning and 
 forgiving sense of her childishness. 
 
 "Es-stefen? Ah, Esteban! Yes; Don 
 Esteban ! Bueno ! Then, Don Esteban, 
 what for you sink so melank-olly one night, 
 and one night so fierce? The melank-olly, 
 he ees not so bad ; but the fierce ah ! he 
 is weeked ! Ess it how the Americano make 
 always his serenade?" 
 
 Masterton's brow again darkened. And 
 his hymn of exultation had been mistaken
 
 162 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 by these people by this this wanton 
 child! 
 
 "It was no serenade," he replied, curtly; 
 "it was in praise of the Lord! " 
 
 "Of how mooch?" 
 
 "Of the Lord of Hosts of the Almighty 
 in Heaven." He lifted his long arms rev 
 erently on high. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, with a friglitened look, 
 slightly edging away from the wall. At a 
 secure distance she stopped. "Then you 
 are a soldier, Don Esteban?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Then what for you sink ' I am a soldier 
 of the Lord, ' and you will make die ' in His 
 army? ' Oh, yes; you have said." She 
 gathered up her guitar tightly under her 
 arm, shook her small finger at him gravely, 
 and said, "You are a hoombog, Don Este 
 ban; good a' night," and began to glide 
 away. 
 
 "One moment, Miss Miss Ramirez," 
 called Masterton. "I that is you you 
 have forgotten your rose," he added, fee 
 bly, holding up the flower. She halted. 
 
 "Ah, yes; he have drop, you have pick 
 him up, he is yours. / have drop, you have 
 pick me up, but I am not yours. Good a' 
 night, Comandante Don Esteban ! "
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 163 
 
 With a light laugh she ran along beside 
 the wall for a little distance, suddenly leaped 
 up and disappeared in one of the largest 
 gaps in its ruined and helpless structure. 
 Stephen Masterton gazed after her stupidly, 
 still holding the rose in his hand. Then he 
 threw it away and re-entered his home. 
 
 Lighting his candle, he undressed him 
 self, prayed fervently so fervently that 
 all remembrance of the idle, foolish incident 
 was wiped from his mind, and went to bed. 
 He slept well and dreamlessly. The next 
 morning, when his thoughts recurred to the 
 previous night, this seemed to him a token 
 that he had not deviated from his spiritual 
 integrity ; it did not occur to him that the 
 thought itself was a tacit suspicion. 
 
 So his feet quite easily sought the garden 
 again in the early sunshine, even to the wall 
 where she had stood. But he had not taken 
 into account the vivifying freshness of the 
 morning, the renewed promise of life and 
 resurrection in the pulsing air and potent 
 sunlight, and as he stood there he seemed to 
 see the figure of the young girl again lean 
 ing against the wall in all the charm of her 
 irrepressible and innocent youth. More 
 than that, he found the whole scene re-enact-
 
 164 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 ing itself before him; the nebulous drapery 
 half hidden in the foliage, the cry and the 
 fall; the momentary soft contact of the 
 girl's figure against his own, the clinging 
 arms around his neck, the brush and fra 
 grance of her flounces all this came back 
 to him with a strength he had not felt when 
 it occurred. 
 
 He was turning hurriedly away when his 
 eyes fell upon the yellow rose still lying in 
 the debris where he had thrown it but 
 still pure, fresh, and unfaded. He picked 
 it up again, with a singular fancy that it 
 was the girl herself, and carried it into the 
 house. 
 
 As he placed it half shyly in a glass on 
 his table a wonderful thought occurred to 
 him. Was not the episode of last night a 
 special providence? Was not that young- 
 girl, wayward and childlike, a mere neo 
 phyte in her idolatrous religion, as yet un- 
 steeped in sloth and ignorance, presented 
 to him as a brand to be snatched from the 
 burning? Was not this the opportunity of 
 conversion he had longed for; this the 
 chance of exercising his gifts of exhortation, 
 that he had been hiding in the napkin of 
 solitude and seclusion? Nay, was not all
 
 A CONVEET OF THE MISSION. 165 
 
 this predestined? His illness, his conse 
 quent exile to this land of false gods this 
 contiguity to the Mission was not all this 
 part of a supremely ordered plan for the 
 girl's salvation and was he not elected 
 and ordained for that service? Nay, more, 
 was not the girl herself a mere unconscious 
 instrument in the hands of a higher power; 
 was not her voluntary attempt to accompany 
 him in his devotional exercise a vague stir 
 ring of that predestined force within her? 
 Was not even that wantonness and frivolity 
 contrasted with her childishness which he 
 had at first misunderstood the stirrings of 
 the flesh and the spirit, and was he to aban 
 don her in that struggle of good and evil? 
 
 He lifted his bowed head, that had been 
 resting on his arm before the little flower 
 on the table as if it were a shrine with 
 a flash of resolve in his blue eyes. The 
 wrinkled Concepcion coming to her duties 
 in the morning scarcely recognized her 
 gloomily abstracted master in this transfig 
 ured man. He looked ten years younger. 
 
 She met his greeting, and the few direct 
 inquiries that his new resolve enabled him 
 to make more freely, with some informa 
 tion which a later talk with the shop-
 
 166 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 keeper, who had a fuller English vocabu 
 lary, confirmed in detail. 
 
 " Yes ! truly this was a niece of the Mis 
 sion gardener, who lived with her uncle in 
 the ruined wing of the presidio. She had 
 taken her first communion four years ago. 
 Ah, yes, she was a great musician, and 
 could play on the organ. And the guitar, 
 ah, yes of a certainty. She was gay, and 
 flirted with the caballeros, young and old, 
 but she cared not for any." 
 
 Whatever satisfaction this latter state 
 ment gave Masterton, he believed it was 
 because the absence of any disturbing worldly 
 affection would make her an easier convert. 
 
 But how continue this chance acquaint 
 ance and effect her conversion? For the 
 first time Masterton realized the value of 
 expediency ; while his whole nature impelled 
 him to frankly and publicly seek her society 
 and openly exhort her, he knew that this 
 was impossible; still more, he remembered 
 her unmistakable fright at his first expres 
 sion of faith; he must "be wise as the ser 
 pent and harmless as the dove." He must 
 work upon her soul alone, and secretly. 
 He, who would have shrunk from any clan 
 destine association with a girl from mere
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 167 
 
 human affection, saw no wrong in a covert 
 intimacy for the purpose of religious salva 
 tion. Ignorant as he was of the ways of 
 the world, and inexperienced in the usages 
 of society, he began to plan methods of 
 secretly meeting her with all the intrigue of 
 a gallant. The perspicacity as well as the 
 intuition of a true lover had descended upon 
 him in this effort of mere spiritual conquest. 
 
 Armed with his information and a few 
 Spanish words, he took the yellow Concep- 
 cion aside and gravely suborned her to carry 
 a note to be delivered secretly to Miss Ra 
 mirez. To his great relief and some sur 
 prise the old woman grinned with intelli 
 gence, and her withered hand closed with a 
 certain familiar dexterity over the epistle 
 and the accompanying gratuity. To a man 
 less naively one-ideaed it might have awak 
 ened some suspicion ; but to the more san 
 guine hopefulness of Masterton it only sug 
 gested the fancy that Concepcion herself 
 might prove to be open to conversion, and 
 that he should in due season attempt her 
 salvation also. But that would be later. 
 For Concepcion was always with him and 
 accessible; the girl was not. 
 
 The note, which had cost him some labor
 
 168 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 of composition, simple and almost business 
 like as was the result, ran as follows : 
 
 "I wish to see you upon some matter of 
 grave concern to yourself. Will you oblige 
 me by coming again to the wall of the Mis 
 sion to-night at early candle-light? It 
 would avert worldly suspicion if you brought 
 also your guitar." 
 
 The afternoon dragged slowly on; Con- 
 cepcion returned; she had, with great diffi 
 culty, managed to see the Senorita, but not 
 alone; she had, however, slipped the note 
 into her hand, not daring to wait for an 
 answer. 
 
 In his first hopefulness Masterton did not 
 doubt what the answer would be, but as 
 evening approached he grew concerned as to 
 the girl's opportunities of coming, and re 
 gretted that he had not given her a choice 
 of time. 
 
 Before his evening meal was finished he 
 began to fear for her willingness, and doubt 
 the potency of his note. He was accus 
 tomed to exhort orally perhaps he ought 
 to have waited for the chance of speaking 
 to her directly without writing. 
 
 When the moon rose he was already in 
 the garden. Lingering at first in the shadow
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 169 
 
 of an olive tree, he waited until the moon 
 beams fell on the wall and its crests of foli 
 age. But nothing moved among that ebony 
 tracery ; his ear was strained for the famil 
 iar tinkle of the guitar all was silent. 
 As the moon rose higher he at last boldly 
 walked to the wall, and listened for any 
 movement on the other side of it. But 
 nothing stirred. She was evidently not 
 coming his note had failed. 
 
 He was turning away sadly, but as he 
 faced his home again he heard a light laugh 
 beside him. He stopped. A black shadow 
 stepped out from beneath his own almond 
 tree. He started, when, with a gesture 
 that seemed familiar to him, the upper part 
 of the shadow seemed to fall away with a 
 long black mantilla and the face of the 
 young girl was revealed. 
 
 He could see now that she was clad in 
 black lace from head to foot. She looked 
 taller, older, and he fancied even prettier 
 than before. A sudden doubt of his ability 
 to impress her, a swift realization of all the 
 difficulties of the attempt, and, for the 
 first time, perhaps, a dim perception of the 
 incongruity of the situation came over 
 him.
 
 170 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 "I was looking for you on the wall," he 
 stammered. 
 
 "Madre de Dios !" she retorted, with a 
 laugh and her old audacity, "you would 
 that I shall always hang there, and drop 
 upon you like a pear when you shake the 
 tree? No!" 
 
 "You haven't brought your guitar," he 
 continued, still ' >re awkwardly, as he no 
 ticed that she 'I only a long black fan in 
 her hand. 
 
 "For why 9 ou would that I play it, 
 and when my 3 say ' Where go Pepita? 
 She is loss,' 'sbine one shall say, 'Oh! I 
 have hear her tink-a-tink in the garden of 
 the Americano, who lif alone. ' And then 
 it ess finish! " 
 
 Masterton began to feel exceedingly un 
 comfortable. There was something in this 
 
 situation that he had not dreamed of. 
 
 with the persistency of an awkward man he 
 
 went on. 
 
 "But you played on the wall the other 
 night, and tried to accompany me." 
 
 "But that was lass night and on the wall. 
 I had not speak to you, you had not speak 
 to me. You had not sent me the leetle note 
 by your peon." She stopped, and suddenly
 
 A CONVEET OF THE MISSION. 171 
 
 opening her fan before her face, so that 
 only her mischievous eyes were visible, 
 added: "You had not asked me then to 
 come to hear you make lof to me, Don Este- 
 ban. That is the difference." 
 
 The circuit preacher felt the blood rush 
 to his face. Anger, shame, mortification, 
 remorse, and fear alt~;r^ ely strove with 
 him, but above all 'and ugh all he was 
 conscious of a shai^p, e:x site pleasure 
 that frightened him sti lore. Yet he 
 managed to exclaim : 
 
 "No! no! You cannot ..oik me capable 
 of such a cowardly trick?" 
 
 The girl started, more at the unmistak 
 able sincerity of his utterance than at the 
 words, whose full meaning she may have 
 only imperfectly caught. 
 
 "A treek? A treek?" she slowly and 
 wonderingly repeated. Then suddenly, as 
 if comprehending him, she turned her round 
 black eyes full upon him and dropped her 
 fan from her face. 
 
 "And what for you ask me to come here 
 then? " 
 
 "I wanted to talk with you," he began, 
 "on far more serious matters. I wished 
 to" but he stopped. He could not ad-
 
 172 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 dress this quaint child-woman, staring at 
 him in black-eyed wonder, in either the 
 measured or the impetuous terms with which 
 he would have exhorted a maturer responsi 
 ble being. He made a step towards her; 
 she drew back, striking at his extended 
 hand half impatiently, half mischievously 
 with her fan. 
 
 He flushed ant triVri burst out bluntly, 
 "I want to talk vith you about your soul." 
 
 "My what?" 
 
 "Your immortal soul, unhappy girl." 
 
 "What have you to make with that? 
 Are you a devil? " Her eyes grew rounder, 
 though she faced him boldly. 
 
 "I am a Minister of the Gospel," he said, 
 in hurried entreaty. "You must hear me 
 for a moment. I would save your soul." 
 
 "My immortal soul lif with the Padre at 
 the Mission you moost seek her there! 
 My mortal body," she added, with a mis 
 chievous smile, "say to you, ' good a' night, 
 Don Esteban. ' ' She dropped him a little 
 courtesy and ran away. 
 
 "One moment, Miss Ramirez," said Mas- 
 terton, eagerly; but she had already slipped 
 beyond his reach. He saw her little black 
 figure passing swiftly beside the moonlit
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 173 
 
 wall, saw it suddenly slide into a shadowy 
 fissure, and vanish. 
 
 In his blank disappointment he could not 
 bear to reenter the house he had left so 
 sanguinely a few moments before, but 
 walked moodily in the garden. His dis 
 comfiture was the more complete since he 
 felt that his defeat was owing to some mis 
 take in his methods, and not the incorrigi- 
 bility of his subject. 
 
 Was it not a spiritual weakness in him to 
 have resented so sharply the girl's imputa 
 tion that he wished to make love to her ? 
 He should have borne it as Christians had 
 even before now borne slander and false 
 testimony for their faith! He might even 
 have accepted it, and let the triumph of her 
 conversion in the end prove his innocence. 
 Or was his purpose incompatible with that 
 sisterly affection he had so often preached 
 to the women of his flock? He might have 
 taken her hand, and called her "Sister 
 Pepita," even as he had called Deborah 
 "Sister." He recalled the fact that he had 
 for an instant held her struggling in his 
 arms: he remembered the thrill that the 
 recollection had caused him, and somehow 
 it now sent a burning blush across his face. 
 He hurried back into the house.
 
 174 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 The next day a thousand wild ideas took 
 the place of his former settled resolution. 
 He would seek the Padre, this custodian of 
 the young girl's soul; he would convince 
 him of his error, or beseech him to give him 
 an equal access to her spirit! He would 
 seek the uncle of the girl, and work upon 
 his feelings. 
 
 Then for three or four days he resolved 
 to put the young girl from his mind, trust 
 ing after the fashion of his kind for some 
 special revelation from a supreme source as 
 an indication for his conduct. This revela 
 tion presently occurred, as it is apt to occur 
 when wanted. 
 
 One evening his heart leaped at the famil 
 iar sound of Pepita's guitar in the distance. 
 Whatever his ultimate intention now, he 
 hurriedly ran into the garden. The sound 
 came from the former direction, but as he 
 unhesitatingly approached the Mission wall, 
 he could see that she was not upon it, and 
 as the notes of her guitar were struck again, 
 he knew that they came from the other side. 
 But the chords were a prelude to one of his 
 own hymns, and he stood entranced as her 
 sweet, child-like voice rose with the very 
 words that he had sung. The few defects
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 175 
 
 were those of purely oral imitation, the 
 accents, even the slight reiteration of the 
 "s," were Pepita's own: 
 
 Cheeldren oof the Heavenly King, 
 As ye journey essweetly ssing ; 
 Essing your great Redeemer's praise, 
 Glorioos in Hees works and ways. 
 
 He was astounded. Her recollection of 
 the air and words was the more wonderful, 
 for he remembered now that he had only 
 sung that particular hymn once. But to 
 his still greater delight and surprise, her 
 voice rose again in the second verse, with 
 a touch of plaintiveness that swelled his 
 throat: 
 
 We are traveling home to God, 
 In the way our farzers trod, 
 They are happy now, and we 
 Soon their happiness shall see. 
 
 The simple, almost childish words so 
 childish that they might have been the fit 
 ting creation of her own childish lips here 
 died away with a sweep and crash of the 
 whole strings. Breathless silence followed, 
 in which Stephen Masterton could feel the 
 beatings of his own heart. 
 
 "Miss Ramirez," he called, in a voice 
 that scarcely seemed his own. There was
 
 176 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 no reply. "Pepita!" he repeated; it was 
 strangely like the accent of a lover, but he 
 no longer cared. Still the singer's voice 
 was silent. 
 
 Then he ran swiftly beside the wall, as 
 he had seen her run, until he came to the 
 fissure. It was overgrown with vines and 
 brambles almost as impenetrable as an abat- 
 tis, but if she had pierced it in her delicate 
 crape dress, so could he! He brushed 
 roughly through, and found himself in a 
 glimmering aisle of pear trees close by the 
 white wall of the Mission church. 
 
 For a moment in that intricate tracing of 
 ebony and ivory made by the rising moon, 
 he was dazzled, but evidently his irruption 
 into the orchard had not been as lithe and 
 silent as her own, for a figure in a parti 
 colored dress suddenly started into activity, 
 and running from the wall, began to course 
 through the trees until it became apparently 
 a part of that involved pattern. Nothing 
 daunted, however, Stephen Masterton pur 
 sued, his speed increased as he recognized 
 the flounces of Pepita 's barred dress, but 
 the young girl had the advantage of know 
 ing the locality, and could evade her pursuer 
 by unsuspected turns and doubles.
 
 A CONVEET OF THE MISSION. 177 
 
 For some moments this fanciful sylvan 
 chase was kept up in perfect silence; it 
 might have been a woodland nymph pursued 
 by a wandering shepherd. Masterton pres 
 ently saw that she was making towards a 
 tiled roof that was now visible as projecting 
 over the presidio wall, and was evidently 
 her goal of refuge. He redoubled his speed; 
 with skillful audacity and sheer strength of 
 his broad shoulders he broke through a 
 dense ceanothus hedge which Pepita was 
 swiftly skirting, and suddenly appeared be 
 tween her and her house. 
 
 With her first cry, the young girl turned 
 and tried to bury herself in the hedge ; but 
 in another stride the circuit preacher was 
 at her side, and caught her panting figure 
 in his arms. 
 
 While he had been running he had swiftly 
 formulated what he should do and what he 
 should say to her. To his simple appeal 
 for her companionship and willing ear he 
 would add a brotherly tenderness, that 
 should invite her trustfulness in him; he 
 would confess his wrong and ask her for 
 giveness of his abrupt solicitations; he 
 would propose to teach her more hymns, 
 they would practise psalmody together;
 
 178 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 even this priest, the custodian of her soul, 
 could not object to that; but chiefly he 
 would thank her : he would tell her how she 
 had pleased him, and this would lead to 
 more serious and thoughtful converse. All 
 this was in his mind while he ran, was upon 
 his lips as he caught her and for an instant 
 she lapsed, exhausted, in his arms. But, 
 alas! even in that moment he suddenly 
 drew her towards him, and kissed her as 
 only a lover could ! 
 
 The wire grass was already yellowing on 
 the Tasajara plains with the dusty decay of 
 the long, dry summer, when Dr. Duchesne 
 returned to Tasajara. lie came to see the 
 wife of Deacon Sanderson, who, having for 
 the twelfth time added to the population of 
 the settlement, was not "doing as well" as 
 everybody except, possibly, Dr. Duchesne 
 expected. After he had made this hol 
 low-eyed, over-burdened, under-nourished 
 woman as comfortable as he could in her 
 rude, neglected surroundings, to change the 
 dreary chronicle of suffering, he turned to 
 the husband, and said, "And what has be 
 come of Mr. Masterton, who used to be in 
 your vocation ? " A long groan came from 
 the deacon.
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 179 
 
 "Hallo! I hope he has not had a re 
 lapse," said the Doctor, earnestly. "I 
 thought I 'd knocked all that nonsense out 
 of him I beg your pardon I mean," he 
 added, hurriedly, "he wrote to me only a 
 few weeks ago that he was picking up his 
 strength again and doing well! " 
 
 "In his weak, gross, sinful flesh yes, 
 no doubt," returned the Deacon, scornfully, 
 "and, perhaps, even in a worldly sense, for 
 those who value the vanities of life; but he 
 is lost to us, for all time, and lost to eternal 
 life forever. Not," he continued in sancti 
 monious vindictiveness, "but that I often 
 had my doubts of Brother Masterton's 
 steadfastness. He was too much given to 
 imagery and song." 
 
 "But what has he done?" persisted Doc 
 tor Duchesne. 
 
 "Done! He has embraced the Scarlet 
 Woman ! " 
 
 "Dear me!" said the Doctor, "so soon? 
 Is it anybody you knew here? not any 
 body's wife? Eh?" 
 
 "He has entered the Church of Eome," 
 said the Deacon, indignantly, "he has for 
 saken the God of his fathers for the tents of 
 the idolaters; he is the consort of Papists 
 and the slave of the Pope ! "
 
 180 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION. 
 
 "But are you sure?" said Doctor Du- 
 chesne, with perhaps less concern than be 
 fore. 
 
 "Sure," returned the Deaaon angrily, 
 "didn't Brother Bulkley, on account of 
 warning reports made by a God-fearing and 
 soul-seeking teamster, make a special pil 
 grimage to this land of Sodom to inquire 
 and spy out its wickedness? Didn't he 
 find Stephen Masterton steeped in the in 
 iquity of practising on an organ he that 
 scorned even a violin or harmonium in the 
 tents of the Lord in an idolatrous chapel, 
 with a foreign female Papist for a teacher? 
 Didn't he find him a guest at the board of 
 a Jesuit priest, visiting the schools of the 
 Mission where this young Jezebel of a singer 
 teaches the children to chant in unknown 
 tongues? Didn't he find him living with a 
 wrinkled Indian witch who called him ' Pa 
 drone,' and speaking her gibberish? 
 Did n't they find him, who left here a man 
 mortified in flesh and spirit and pale with 
 striving with sinners, fat and rosy from 
 native wines and flesh pots, and even vain 
 and gaudy in colored apparel? And last of 
 all, did n't Brother Bulkley hear that a 
 rumor was spread far and wide that this
 
 A CONVEET OF THE MISSION. 181 
 
 miserable backslider was to take to himself 
 a wife in one of these strange women 
 that very Jezebel who seduced him? What 
 do you call that? " 
 
 "It looks a good deal like human nature," 
 said the Doctor, musingly, "but / call it 
 a cure! "
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 THE American paused. He had evidently 
 lost his way. For the last half-hour he 
 had been wandering in a mediaeval town, in 
 a profound mediaeval dream. Only a few 
 days had elapsed since he had left the steam 
 ship that carried him hither ; and the accents 
 of his own tongue, the idioms of his own 
 people and the sympathetic community of 
 New World tastes and expressions still filled 
 his mind until he woke up, or rather, as it 
 seemed to him, was falling asleep in the 
 past of this Old World town which had 
 once held his ancestors. Although a repub 
 lican, he had liked to think of them in 
 quaint distinctive garb, representing State 
 and importance perhaps even aristocratic 
 preeminence content to let the responsi 
 bility of such "bad eminence" rest with 
 them entirely, but a habit of conscientious 
 ness and love for historic truth eventually 
 led him also to regard an honest bauer 
 standing beside his cattle in the quaint
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 183 
 
 market-place, or a kindly-faced black-eyed 
 dienstmadchen in a doorway, with a timid, 
 respectful interest, as a possible type of his 
 progenitors. For, unlike some of his trav 
 eling countrymen in Europe, he was not a 
 snob, and it struck him as an American 
 that it was, perhaps, better to think of 
 his race as having improved than as having 
 degenerated. In these ingenuous medita 
 tions he had passed the long rows of quaint, 
 high houses, whose sagging roofs and un- 
 patched dilapidations were yet far removed 
 from squalor, until he had reached the road 
 bordered by poplars, all so unlike his own 
 country's waysides and knew that he had 
 wandered far from his hotel. 
 
 He did not care, however, to retrace his 
 steps and return by the way he had come. 
 There was, he reasoned, some other street 
 or turning that would eventually bring him 
 to the market-place and his hotel, and yet 
 extend his experience of the town. He 
 turned at right angles into a narrow grass 
 lane, which was, however, as neatly kept 
 and apparently as public as the highway. 
 A few moments' walking convinced him 
 that it was not a thoroughfare and that it 
 led to the open gates of a park. This had
 
 184 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 something of a public look, which suggested 
 that his intrusion might be, at least, a par 
 donable trespass, and he relied, like most 
 strangers, on the exonerating quality of a 
 stranger's ignorance. The park lay in the 
 direction he wished to go, and yet it struck 
 him as singular that a park of such extent 
 should be allowed to still occupy such valu 
 able urban space. Indeed, its length seemed 
 to be illimitable as he wandered on, until 
 he became conscious that he must have again 
 lost his way, and he diverged toward the 
 only boundary, a high, thick-set hedge to 
 the right, whose line he had been following. 
 As he neared it he heard the sound of 
 voices on the other side, speaking in Ger 
 man, with which he was unfamiliar. Hav 
 ing, as yet, met no one, and being now im 
 pressed with the fact that for a public place 
 the park was singularly deserted, he was 
 conscious that his position was getting seri 
 ous, and he determined to take this only 
 chance of inquiring his way. The hedge 
 was thinner in some places than in others, 
 and at times he could see not only the light 
 through it but even the moving figures of 
 the speakers, and the occasional white flash 
 of a summer gown. At last he determined
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETR. 185 
 
 to penetrate it, and with little difficulty 
 emerged on the other side. But here he 
 paused motionless. He found himself be 
 hind a somewhat formal and symmetrical 
 group of figures with their backs toward 
 him, but all stiffened into attitudes as mo 
 tionless as his own, and all gazing with a 
 monotonous intensity in the direction of a 
 handsome building, which had been invisi 
 ble above the hedge, but which now seemed 
 to arise suddenly before him. Some of the 
 figures were in uniform. Immediately be 
 fore him, but so slightly separated from the 
 others that he was enabled to see the house 
 between her and her companions, he was 
 confronted by the pretty back, shoulders 
 and blonde braids of a young girl of twenty. 
 Convinced that he had unwittingly intruded 
 upon some august ceremonial, he instantly 
 slipped back into the hedge, but so silently 
 that his momentary presence was evidently 
 undetected. When he regained the park 
 side he glanced back through the interstices ; 
 there was no movement of the figures nor 
 break in the silence to indicate that his in 
 trusion had been observed. With a long 
 breath of relief he hurried from the park. 
 It was late when he finally got back to
 
 18G THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 his hotel. But his little modern adventure 
 had, I fear, quite outrun his previous medi 
 aeval reflections, and almost his first inquiry 
 of the silver-chained porter in the courtyard 
 was in regard to the park. There was no 
 public park in Alstadt ! The Herr possibly 
 alluded to the Hof Gardens the Schloss, 
 which was in the direction he indicated. 
 The Schloss was the residency of the hered 
 itary Grand Duke. Ja wold! He was 
 stopping there with several Hoheiten. 
 There was naturally a party there a fam 
 ily reunion. But it was a private inclosure. 
 At times, when the Grand Duke was not 
 "in residence," it was open to the public. 
 In point of fact, at such times tickets of 
 admission were to be had at the hotel for 
 fifty pfennige each. There was not, of 
 truth, much to see except a model farm and 
 dairy the pretty toy of a previous Grand 
 Duchess. 
 
 But he seemed destined to come into 
 closer collision with the modern life of Al 
 stadt. On entering the hotel, wearied by 
 his long walk, he passed the landlord and a 
 man in half -military uniform on the landing 
 near his room. As he entered his apart 
 ment he had a vague impression, without
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 187 
 
 exactly knowing why, that the landlord and 
 the military stranger had just left it. This 
 feeling was deepened by the evident disar 
 rangement of certain articles in his unlocked 
 portmanteau and the disorganization of his 
 writing-case. A wave of indignation passed 
 over him. It was followed by a knock at 
 the door, and the landlord blandly appeared 
 with the stranger. 
 
 "A thousand pardons," said the former, 
 smilingly, "but Herr Sanderman, the Ober- 
 Inspector of Police, wishes to speak with 
 you. I hope we are not intruding?" 
 
 "Not noiv," said the American, dryly. 
 
 The two exchanged a vacant and depreca 
 ting smile. 
 
 " I have to ask only a few formal ques 
 tions," said the Ober-Inspector in excellent 
 but somewhat precise English, "to supple 
 ment the report which, as a stranger, you 
 may not know is required by the police from 
 the landlord in regard to the names and 
 quality of his guests who are foreign to the 
 town. You have a passport?" 
 
 "I have," said the American still more 
 drily. " But I do not keep it in an unlocked 
 portmanteau or an open writing-case." 
 
 "An admirable precaution," said Sander-
 
 188 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 man, with unmoved politeness. "May I 
 see it? Thanks," he added, glancing over 
 the document which the American produced 
 from his pocket. "I see that you are a 
 born American citizen and an earlier 
 knowledge of that fact would have prevented 
 this little contretemps. You are aware, Mr. 
 Hoffman, that your name is German? " 
 
 "It was borne by my ancestors, who came 
 from this country two centuries ago," said 
 Hoffman, curtly. 
 
 "We are indeed honored by your return 
 to it," returned Sanderman suavely, "but 
 it was the circumstance of your name being 
 a local one, and the possibility of your still 
 being a German citizen liable to unper 
 formed military duty, which has caused the 
 trouble." His manner was clearly civil and 
 courteous, but Hoffman felt that all the 
 time his own face and features were under 
 going a profound scrutiny from the speaker. 
 
 "And you are making sure that you will 
 know me again?" said Hoffman, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "I trust, indeed, both," returned Sander 
 man, with a bow, "although you will permit 
 me to say that your description here," point 
 ing to the passport, "scarcely does you jus-
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 189 
 
 tice. Ach Gottf it is the same in all coun 
 tries; the official eye is not that of the 
 young Damen." 
 
 Hoffman, though not conceited, had not 
 lived twenty years without knowing that he 
 was very good-looking, yet there was some 
 thing in the remark that caused him to color 
 with a new uneasiness. The Ober-Inspector 
 rose with another bow, and moved toward 
 the door. ' "I hope you will let me make 
 amends for this intrusion by doing anything 
 I can to render your visit here a pleasant 
 one. Perhaps," he added, "it is not for 
 long." 
 
 But Hoffman evaded the evident question 
 as he resented what he imagined was a pos 
 sible sneer. 
 
 "I have not yet determined my move 
 ments," he said. 
 
 The Ober-Inspector brought his heels to 
 gether in a somewhat stiffer military salute 
 and departed. 
 
 Nothing, however, could have exceeded 
 the later almost servile urbanity of the land 
 lord, who seemed to have been proud of the 
 official visit to his guest. He was profuse 
 in his attentions, and even introduced him 
 to a singularly artistic-looking man of mid-
 
 190 THE INDISCRETION OF ELS BETH. 
 
 die age, wearing an order in his buttonhole, 
 whom he met casually in the hall. 
 
 "Our Court photographer," explained 
 the landlord with some fervor, "at whose 
 studio, only a few houses distant, most of 
 the Hoheiten and Prinzessiiien of Germany 
 have sat for their likenesses." 
 
 "I should feel honored if the distin 
 guished American Herr would give me a 
 visit," said the stranger gravely, as he 
 gazed at Hoffman with an intensity which 
 recalled the previous scrutiny of the Police- 
 Inspector, "and I would be charmed if he 
 would avail himself of my poor skill to trans 
 mit his picturesque features to my unique 
 collection." 
 
 Hoffman returned a polite evasion to this 
 invitation, although he was conscious of 
 being struck with -this second examination 
 of his face, and the allusion to his personal- 
 ity. 
 
 The next morning the porter met him 
 with a mysterious air. The Herr would 
 still like to see the Schloss? Hoffman, who 
 had quite forgotten his adventure in the 
 park, looked vacant. Ja wohl the Hof 
 authorities had no doubt heard of his visit 
 and had intimated to the hotel proprietor
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 191 
 
 that he might have permission to visit the 
 model farm and dairy. As the American 
 still looked indifferent the porter pointed 
 out with some importance that it was a 
 Ducal courtesy not to be lightly treated; 
 that few, indeed, of the burghers themselves 
 had ever been admitted to this eccentric 
 whim of the late Grand Duchess. He 
 would, of course, be silent about it; the 
 Court would not like it known that they 
 had made an exception to their rules in 
 favor of a foreigner ; he would enter quickly 
 and boldly alone. There would be a house 
 keeper or a dairymaid to show him over the 
 place. 
 
 More amused at this important mystery 
 over what he, as an American, was inclined 
 to classify as a "free pass" to a somewhat 
 heavy "side show," he gravely accepted the 
 permission, and the next morning after 
 breakfast set out to visit the model farm 
 and dairy. Dismissing his driver, as he 
 had been instructed, Hoffman entered the 
 gateway with a mingling of expectancy and 
 a certain amusement over the "boldness" 
 which the porter had suggested should char 
 acterize his entrance. Before him was a 
 beautifully-kept lane bordered by arbored
 
 192 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 and trellised roses, which seemed to sink 
 into the distance. He was instinctively fol 
 lowing it when he became aware that he was 
 mysteriously accompanied by a man in the 
 livery of a chasseur, who was walking among 
 the trees almost abreast of him, keeping 
 pace with his step, and after the first intro 
 ductory military salute preserving a cere 
 monious silence. There was something so 
 ludicrous in this solemn procession toward 
 a peaceful, rural industry that by the time 
 they had reached the bottom of the lane the 
 American had quite recovered his good hu 
 mor. But here a new astonishment awaited 
 him. Nestling before him in a green am 
 phitheatre lay a little wooden farmyard and 
 outbuildings, which irresistibly suggested 
 that it had been recently unpacked and set 
 up from a box of Nuremberg toys. The 
 symmetrical trees, the galleried houses with 
 preternaturally glazed windows, even the 
 spotty, disproportionately sized cows in the 
 white-fenced barnyards were all unreal, 
 wooden and toylike. 
 
 Crossing a miniature bridge over a little 
 stream, from which he was quite prepared 
 to hook metallic fish with a magnet their 
 own size, he looked about him for some real
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 193 
 
 being to dispel the illusion. The mysteri 
 ous chasseur had disappeared. But under 
 the arch of an arbor, which seemed to be 
 composed of silk ribbons, green glass and 
 pink tissue paper, stood a quaint but de 
 lightful figure. 
 
 At first it seemed as if he had only dis 
 pelled one illusion for another. For the 
 figure before him might have been made of 
 Dresden china so daintily delicate and 
 unique it was in color and arrangement. 
 It was that of a young girl dressed in some 
 forgotten mediaeval peasant garb of velvet 
 braids, silver stay-laced corsage, lace sleeves 
 and helmeted metallic comb. But, after 
 the Dresden method, the pale yellow of her 
 hair was repeated in her bodice, the pink of 
 her cheeks was in the roses of her chintz 
 overskirt. The blue of her eyes was the 
 blue of her petticoat; the dazzling white 
 ness of her neck shone again in the sleeves 
 and stockings. Nevertheless she was real 
 and human, for the pink deepened in her 
 cheeks as Hoffman's hat flew from his head, 
 and she recognized the civility with a grave 
 little courtesy. 
 
 "You have come to see the dairy," she 
 said in quaintly accurate English; "I will 
 show you the way."
 
 194 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 "If you please," said Hoffman, gaily, 
 "but"- 
 
 "But what?" she said, facing him sud 
 denly with absolutely astonished eyes. 
 
 Hoffman looked into them so long that 
 their frank wonder presently contracted into 
 an ominous mingling of restraint and resent 
 ment. Nothing daunted, however, he went 
 on: 
 
 "Couldn't we shake all that?" 
 
 The look of wonder returned. "Shake 
 all that?" she repeated. "I do not under 
 stand." 
 
 "Well! I'm not positively aching to 
 see cows, and you must be sick of showing 
 them. I think, too, I 've about sized the 
 whole show. Wouldn't it be better if we 
 sat down in that arbor supposing it won't 
 fall down and you told me all about the 
 lot? It would save you a heap of trouble 
 and keep your pretty frock cleaner than 
 trapesing round. Of course," he said, with 
 a quick transition to the gentlest courtesy, 
 "if you're conscientious about this thing 
 we '11 go on and not spare a cow. Consider 
 me in it with you for the whole morn- 
 ing." 
 
 She looked at him again, and then sud-
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 195 
 
 denly broke into a charming laugh. It re 
 vealed a set of strong white teeth, as well 
 as a certain barbaric trace in its cadence 
 which civilized restraint had not entirely 
 overlaid. 
 
 "I suppose she really is a peasant, in 
 spite of that pretty frock," he said to him 
 self as he laughed too. 
 
 But her face presently took a shade of 
 reserve, and with a gentle but singular sig 
 nificance she said : 
 
 "I think you must see the dairy." 
 
 Hoffman's hat was in his hand with a 
 vivacity that tumbled the brown curls on 
 his forehead. "By all means," he said in 
 stantly, and began walking by her side in 
 modest but easy silence. Now that he 
 thought her a conscientious peasant he was 
 quiet and respectful. 
 
 Presently she lifted her eyes, which, de 
 spite her gravity, had not entirely lost their 
 previous mirthf ulness, and said : 
 
 "But you Americans in your rich and 
 prosperous country, with your large lands 
 and your great harvests you must know 
 all about farming." 
 
 "Never was in a dairy in my life," said 
 Hoffman gravely. "I 'm from the city of
 
 196 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 New York, where the cows give swill milk, 
 and are kept in cellars." 
 
 Her eyebrows contracted prettily in an 
 effort to understand. Then she apparently 
 gave it up, and said with a slanting glint of 
 mischief in her eyes : 
 
 "Then you come here like the other 
 Americans in hope to see the Grand Duke 
 and Duchess and the Princesses? " 
 
 "No. The fact is I almost tumbled into 
 a lot of 'em standing like wax figures 
 the other side of the park lodge, the other 
 day and got away as soon as I could. I 
 think I prefer the cows." 
 
 Her head was slightly turned away. He 
 had to content himself with looking down 
 upon the strong feet in their serviceable but 
 smartly -buckled shoes that uplifted her up 
 right figure as she moved beside him. 
 
 "Of course," he added with boyish but 
 unmistakable courtesy, "if it 's part of your 
 show to trot out the family, why I 'm in 
 that, too. I dare say you could make them 
 interesting." 
 
 "But why," she said with her head still 
 slightly turned away toward a figure a 
 sturdy-looking woman, which, for the first 
 time, Hoffman perceived was walking in a
 
 THE INDISCEETION OF ELSBETH. 197 
 
 line with them as the chasseur had done 
 "why did you come here at all?" 
 
 "The first time was a fool accident," he 
 returned frankly. "I was making a short 
 cut through what I thought was a public 
 park. The second time was because I had 
 been rude to a Police-Inspector whom I 
 found going through my things, but who 
 apologized as I suppose by getting me 
 an invitation from the Grand Duke to come 
 here, and I thought it only the square thing 
 to both of 'em to accept it. But I 'm 
 mighty glad I came ; I would n't have missed 
 you for a thousand dollars. You see I 
 haven't struck any one I cared to talk to 
 since." Here he suddenly remarked that 
 she had n't looked at him, and that the deli 
 cate whiteness of her neck was quite suffused 
 with pink, and stopped instantly. Presently 
 he said quite easily : 
 
 "Who's the chorus?" 
 
 "The lady?" 
 
 "Yes. She 's watching us as if she did n't 
 quite approve, you know just as if she 
 didn't catch on." 
 
 " She 's the head housekeeper of the farm. 
 Perhaps you would prefer to have her show 
 you the dairy; shall I call her? "
 
 198 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 The figure in question was very short and 
 stout, with voluminous petticoats. 
 
 "Please don't; I'll stay without your 
 setting that paper-weight on me. But 
 here 's the dairy. Don't let her come inside 
 among those pans of fresh milk with that 
 smile, or there '11 be trouble." 
 
 The young girl paused too, made a slight 
 gesture with her hand, and the figure passed 
 on as they entered the dairy. It was beau 
 tifully clean and fresh. With a persistence 
 that he quickly recognized as mischievous 
 and ironical, and with his characteristic 
 adaptability accepted with even greater 
 gravity and assumption of interest, she 
 showed him all the details. From thence 
 they passed to the farmyard, where he hung 
 with breathless attention over the names of 
 the cows and made her repeat them. Al 
 though she was evidently familiar with the 
 subject he could see that her zeal was fitful 
 and impatient. 
 
 "Suppose we sit down," he said, point 
 ing to an ostentatious rustic seat in the cen 
 tre of the green. 
 
 "Sit down?" she repeated wonderingly. 
 "What for?" 
 
 "To talk. We'U knock off and caU it 
 half a day."
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 199 
 
 " But if you are not looking at the farm 
 you are, of course, going," she said quickly. 
 
 "Am I? I don't think these particulars 
 were in my invitation." 
 
 She again broke into a fit of laughter, 
 and, at the same time, cast a bright eye 
 around the field. 
 
 "Come," he said gently, "there are no 
 other sightseers waiting, and your conscience 
 is clear," and he moved toward the rustic 
 seat. 
 
 "Certainly not there," she added in a 
 low voice. 
 
 They moved on slowly together to a copse 
 of willows which overhung the miniature 
 stream. 
 
 "You are not staying long in Alstadt?" 
 she said. 
 
 "No; I only came to see the old town 
 that my ancestors came from." 
 
 They were walking so close together that 
 her skirt brushed his trousers, but she sud 
 denly drew away from him, and looking 
 him fixedly in the eye said : 
 
 "Ah, you have relations here?" 
 
 "Yes, but they are dead two hundred 
 years." 
 
 She laughed again with a slight expres-
 
 200 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 sion of relief. They had entered the copse 
 and were walking in dense shadow when she 
 suddenly stopped and sat down upon a rus 
 tic bench. To his surprise he found that 
 they were quite alone. 
 
 "Tell me about these relatives," she said, 
 slightly drawing aside her skirt to make 
 room for him on the seat. 
 
 He did not require a second invitation. 
 He not only told her all about his ancestral 
 progenitors, but, I fear, even about those 
 more recent and more nearly related to him ; 
 about his own life, his vocation he was a 
 clever newspaper correspondent with a rov 
 ing commission his ambitions, his beliefs 
 and his romance. 
 
 "And then, perhaps, of this visit you 
 will also make ' copy ' ? " 
 
 He smiled at her quick adaptation of his 
 professional slang, but shook his head. 
 
 "No," he said gravely. "No this is 
 you. The ' Chicago Interviewer ' is big pay 
 and is rich, but it has n't capital enough to 
 buy you from me." 
 
 He gently slid his hand toward hers and 
 slipped his fingers softly around it. She 
 made a slight movement of withdrawal, but 
 even then as if in f orgetf ulness or indif-
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETR. 201 
 
 ference permitted her hand to rest unre- 
 sponsively in his. It was scarcely an en 
 couragement to gallantry, neither was it a 
 rejection of an unconscious familiarity. 
 
 "But you haven't told me about your 
 self," he said. 
 
 "Oh, I" she returned, with her first 
 approach to coquetry in a laugh and a side 
 long glance, "of what importance is that to 
 you? It is the Grand Duchess and Her 
 Highness the Princess that you Americans 
 seek to know. I am what I am as you 
 see." 
 
 "You bet," said Hoffman with charming 
 decision. 
 
 "I what?" 
 
 "You are, you know, and that's good 
 enough for me, but I don't even know your 
 name." 
 
 She laughed again, and after a pause, 
 said: "Elsbeth." 
 
 "But I couldn't call you by your first 
 name on our first meeting, you know." 
 
 "Then you Americans are really so very 
 formal eh?" she said slily, looking at 
 her imprisoned hand. 
 
 "Well, yes," returned Hoffman, disen 
 gaging it. "I suppose we are respectful,
 
 202 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSEETH. 
 
 or mean to be. But whom am I to inquire 
 for? To write to?" 
 
 "You are neither to write nor inquire." 
 
 "What?" She had moved in her seat so 
 as to half face him with eyes in which curi 
 osity, mischief and a certain seriousness 
 alternated, but for the first time seemed 
 conscious of his hand, and accented her 
 words with a slight pressure. 
 
 "You are to return to your hotel pres 
 ently, and say to your landlord : ' Pack up 
 my luggage. I have finished with this old 
 town and my ancestors, and the Grand 
 Duke whom I do not care to see, and I shall 
 leave Alstadt to-morrow ! ' 
 
 "Thank you! I don't catch on." 
 
 " Of what necessity should you ? I have 
 said it. That should be enough for a chiv 
 alrous American like you." She again sig 
 nificantly looked down at her hand. 
 
 " If you mean that you know the extent 
 of the favor you ask of me, I can say no 
 more," he said seriously; "but give me some 
 reason for it." 
 
 "Ah so!" she said, with a slight shrug 
 of her shoulders. "Then I must tell you. 
 You say you do not know the Grand Duke 
 and Duchess. Well! they know you. The
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 203 
 
 day before yesterday you were wandering in 
 the park, as you admit. You say, also, 
 you got through the hedge and interrupted 
 some ceremony. That ceremony was not a 
 Court function, Mr. Hoffman, but some 
 thing equally sacred the photographing 
 of the Ducal family before the Schloss. 
 You say that you instantly withdrew. But 
 after the photograph was taken the plate 
 revealed a stranger standing actually by the 
 side of the Princess Alexandrine, and even 
 taking the pas of the Grand Duke himself. 
 That stranger was you! " 
 
 "And the picture was spoiled," said the 
 American, with a quiet laugh. 
 
 " I should not say that," returned the lady, 
 with a demure glance at her companion's 
 handsome face, "and I do not believe that 
 the Princess who first saw the photograph 
 thought so either. But she is very young 
 and willful, and has the reputation of being 
 very indiscreet, and unfortunately she 
 begged the photographer not to destroy the 
 plate, but to give it to her, and to say no 
 thing about it, except that the plate was 
 defective, and to take another. Still it 
 would have ended there if her curiosity had 
 not led her to confide a description of the
 
 204 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 stranger to the Police-Inspector, with the 
 result you know." 
 
 "Then I am expected to leave town be 
 cause I accidentally stumbled into a family 
 group that was being photographed?" 
 
 "Because a certain Princess was indis 
 creet enough to show her curiosity about 
 you," corrected the fair stranger. 
 
 " But look here ! I '11 apologize to the 
 Princess, and offer to pay for the plate." 
 
 "Then you do want to see the Princess?" 
 said the young girl smiling; "you are like 
 the others." 
 
 "Bother the Princess! I want to see 
 you. And I don't see how they can prevent 
 it if I choose to remain." 
 
 "Very easily. You will find that there 
 is something wrong with your passport, and 
 you will be sent on to Pumpernickel for 
 examination. You will unwittingly trans 
 gress some of the laws of the town and be 
 ordered to leave it. You will be shadowed 
 by the police until you quarrel with them 
 like a free American and you are con 
 ducted to the frontier. Perhaps you will 
 strike an officer who has insulted you, and 
 then you are finished on the spot." 
 
 The American's crest rose palpably until 
 it cocked his straw hat over his curls.
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 205 
 
 " Suppose I am content to risk it hav 
 ing first laid the whole matter and its trivial 
 cause before the American Minister, so that 
 he could make it hot for this whole caboodle 
 of a country if they happened to ' down me. ' 
 By Jove! I shouldn't mind being the 
 martyr of an international episode if they 'd 
 spare me long enough to let me get the first 
 ' copy ' over to the other side." His eyes 
 sparkled. 
 
 "You could expose them, but they would 
 then deny the whole story, and you have no 
 evidence. They would demand to know 
 your informant, and I should be disgraced, 
 and the Princess, who is already talked 
 about, made a subject of scandal. But no 
 matter! It is right that an American's in 
 dependence shall not be interfered with." 
 
 She raised the hem of her handkerchief 
 to her blue eyes and slightly turned her 
 head aside. Hoffman gently drew the hand 
 kerchief away, and in so doing possessed 
 himself of her other hand. 
 
 "Look here, Miss Miss Elsbeth. 
 You know I would n't give you away, what 
 ever happened. But couldn't I get hold of 
 that photographer I saw him, he wanted 
 me to sit to him and make him tell me? "
 
 206 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 "He wanted you to sit to him," she said 
 hurriedly, "and did you?" 
 
 "No," he replied. "He was a little too 
 fresh and previous, though I thought he 
 fancied some resemblance in me to some 
 body else." 
 
 "Ah! " She said something to herself in 
 German which he did not understand, and 
 then added aloud : 
 
 "You did well; he is a bad man, this 
 photographer. Promise me you shall not 
 sit for him." 
 
 "How can I if I 'm fired out of the place 
 like this?" He added ruefully, "But I'd 
 like to make him give himself away to me 
 somehow." 
 
 "He will not, and if he did he would 
 deny it afterward. Do not go near him 
 nor see him. Be careful that he does not 
 photograph you with his instantaneous in 
 strument when you are passing. Now you 
 must go. I must see the Princess." 
 
 "Let me go, too. I will explain it to 
 her," said Hoffman. 
 
 She stopped, looked at him keenly, and 
 attempted to withdraw her hands. "Ah, 
 then it is so. It is the Princess you wish 
 to see. You are curious you, too; you
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 207 
 
 wish to see this lady who is interested in 
 you. I ought to have known it. You are 
 all alike." 
 
 He met her gaze with laughing frankness, 
 accepting her outburst as a charming femi 
 nine weakness, half jealousy, half coquetry 
 but retained her hands. 
 
 "Nonsense," he said. "I wish to see 
 her that I may have the right to see you 
 that you shall not lose your place here 
 through me; that I may come again." 
 
 "You must never come here again." 
 
 "Then you must come where I am. We 
 will meet somewhere when you have an after 
 noon off. You shall show me the town 
 the houses of my ancestors their tombs ; 
 possibly if the Grand Duke rampages 
 the probable site of my own." 
 
 She looked into his laughing eyes with 
 her clear, steadfast, gravely - questioning 
 blue ones. "Do not you Americans know 
 that it is not the fashion here, in Germany, 
 for the young men and the young women to 
 walk together unless they are verlobt ? " 
 
 "Fcr which?" 
 
 " Engaged. " She nodded her head thrice : 
 viciously, decidedly, mischievously. 
 
 "So much the better."
 
 208 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 "Ach Gott !" She made a gesture of 
 hopelessness at his incorrigibility, and again 
 attempted to withdraw her hands. 
 
 "I must go now." 
 
 "Well then, good-by." 
 
 It was easy to draw her closer by simply 
 lowering her still captive hands. Then he 
 suddenly kissed her coldly-startled lips, and 
 instantly released her. She as instantly 
 vanished. 
 
 "Elsbeth," he called quickly. "Els- 
 beth!" 
 
 Her now really frightened face reappeared 
 with a heightened color from the dense foli 
 age quite to his astonishment. 
 
 "Hush," she said, with her finger on her 
 lips. "Are you mad?" 
 
 "I only wanted to remind you to square 
 me with the Princess," he laughed, as her 
 head disappeared. 
 
 He strolled back toward the gate. Scarcely 
 had he quitted the shrubbery before the same 
 chasseur made his appearance with precisely 
 the same salute; and, keeping exactly the 
 same distance, accompanied him to the 
 gate. At the corner of the street he hailed 
 a drosky and was driven to his hotel. 
 
 The landlord came up smiling. He
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 209 
 
 trusted that the Herr had greatly enjoyed 
 himself at the Schloss. It was a distin 
 guished honor in fact, quite unprece 
 dented. Hoffman, while he determined not 
 to commit himself, nor his late fair compan 
 ion, was, nevertheless, anxious to learn 
 something more of her relations to the 
 Schloss. So pretty, so characteristic, and 
 marked a figure must be well known to 
 sightseers. Indeed, once or twice the idea 
 had crossed his mind with a slightly jealous 
 twinge that left him more conscious of the 
 impression she had made on him than he 
 had deemed possible. He asked if the 
 model farm and dairy were always shown 
 by the same attendants. 
 
 "Ach Gott! no doubt, yes; His Royal 
 Highness had quite a retinue when he was 
 in residence." 
 
 " And were these attendants in costume? " 
 
 " There was undoubtedly a livery for the 
 servants." 
 
 Hoffman felt a slight republican irritation 
 at the epithet he knew not why. But 
 this costume was rather an historical one; 
 surely it was not intrusted to every-day 
 menials and he briefly described it. 
 
 His host's blank curiosity suddenly
 
 210 THE INDISCRETION OF ELS BETH. 
 
 changed to a look of mysterious and arch 
 intelligence. 
 
 "AchGott! yes!" He remembered now 
 (with his finger on his nose) that when there 
 was a fest at the Schloss the farm and dairy 
 were filled with shepherdesses, in quaint 
 costume worn by the ladies of the Grand 
 Duke's own theatrical company, who as 
 sumed the characters with great vivacity- 
 Surely it was the same, and the Grand 
 Duke had treated the Herr to this special 
 courtesy. Yes there was one pretty, 
 blonde young lady the Fraulein Wimpfen- 
 buttel, a most popular soubrette, who would 
 play it to the life! And the description 
 fitted her to a hair! Ah, there was no 
 doubt of it; many persons, indeed, had 
 been so deceived. 
 
 But happily, now that he had given him 
 the wink, the Herr could corroborate it 
 himself by going to the theatre to-night. 
 Ah, it would be a great joke quite colos 
 sal ! if he took a front seat where she could 
 see him. And the good man rubbed his 
 hands in gleeful anticipation. 
 
 Hoffman had listened to him with a slow 
 repugnance that was only equal to his grad 
 ual conviction that the explanation was a
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 211 
 
 true one, and that he himself had been ridic 
 ulously deceived. The mystery of his fair 
 companion's costume, which he had accepted 
 as part of the "show;" the inconsistency 
 of her manner and her evident occupation ; 
 her undeniable wish to terminate the whole 
 episode with that single interview; her min 
 gling of worldly aplomb and rustic inno 
 cence; her perfect self-control and experi 
 enced acceptance of his gallantry under the 
 simulated attitude of simplicity all now 
 struck him as perfectly comprehensible. He 
 recalled the actress' inimitable touch in cer 
 tain picturesque realistic details in the dairy 
 which she had not spared him ; he recog 
 nized it now even in their bowered confi 
 dences (how like a pretty ballet scene their 
 whole interview on the rustic bench was !), 
 and it breathed through their entire conver 
 sation to their theatrical parting at the 
 close! And the whole story of the photo 
 graph was, no doubt, as pure a dramatic 
 invention as the rest! The Princess' ro 
 mantic interest in him that Princess who 
 had never appeared (why had he not detected 
 the old, well-worn, sentimental situation 
 here?) was all a part of it. The dark, 
 mysterious hint of his persecution by the
 
 212 THE INDISCRETION OF ELS BETH. 
 
 police was a necessary culmination to the 
 little farce. Thank Heaven! he had not 
 "risen" at the Princess, even if he had 
 given himself away to the clever actress in 
 her own humble role. Then the humor of 
 the whole situation predominated and he 
 laughed until the tears came to his eyes, 
 and his forgotten ancestors might have 
 turned over in their graves without his heed 
 ing them. And with this humanizing influ 
 ence upon him he went to the theatre. 
 
 It was capacious even for the town, and 
 although the performance was a special one 
 he had no difficulty in getting a whole box 
 to himself. He tried to avoid this public 
 isolation by sitting close to the next box, 
 where there was a solitary occupant an 
 officer apparently as lonely as himself. 
 He had made up his mind that when his 
 fair deceiver appeared he would let her see 
 by his significant applause that he recog 
 nized her, but bore no malice for the trick 
 she had played on him. After all, he had 
 kissed her he had no right to complain. 
 If she should recognize him, and this recog 
 nition led to a withdrawal of her prohibi 
 tion, and their better acquaintance, he would 
 be a fool to cavil at her pleasant artifice.
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 213 
 
 Her vocation was certainly a more indepen 
 dent and original one than that he had sup 
 posed; for its social quality and inequality 
 he cared nothing. He found himself long 
 ing for the glance of her calm blue eyes, for 
 the pleasant smile that broke the seriousness 
 of her sweetly-restrained lips. There was 
 no doubt that he should know her even as 
 the heroine of "Der Czar und der Zimmer- 
 mann " on the bill before him. He was be 
 coming impatient. And the performance 
 evidently was waiting. A stir in the outer 
 gallery, the clatter of sabres, the filing of 
 uniforms into the royal box, and a trium 
 phant burst from the orchestra showed the 
 cause. As a few ladies and gentlemen in 
 full evening dress emerged from the back 
 ground of uniforms and took their places in 
 the front of the box, Hoffman looked with 
 some interest for the romantic Princess. 
 Suddenly he saw a face and shoulders in a 
 glitter of diamonds that startled him, and 
 then a glance that transfixed him. 
 
 He leaned over to his neighbor. "Who 
 is the young lady in the box? " 
 
 "The Princess Alexandrine." 
 
 "I mean the young lady in blue with 
 blonde hair and blue eyes."
 
 214 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 
 
 "It is the Princess Alexandrine Elsbeth 
 Marie Stephanie, the daughter of the Grand 
 Duke there is none other there." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 He sat silently looking at the rising eur- 
 ' tain and the stage. Then he rose quietly, 
 gathered his hat and coat and left the box. 
 When he reached the gallery he turned in 
 stinctively and looked back at the royal 
 box. Her eyes had followed him, and as 
 he remained a moment motionless in the 
 doorway her lips parted in a grateful smile, 
 and she waved her fan with a faint but un 
 mistakable gesture of farewell. 
 
 The next morning he left Alstadt. There 
 was some little delay at the Zoll on the fron 
 tier, and when Hoffman received back his 
 trunk it was accompanied by a little sealed 
 packet which was handed to him by the 
 Custom-house Inspector. Hoffman did not 
 open it until he was alone. 
 
 There hangs upon the wall of his modest 
 apartment in New York a narrow, irregular 
 photograph ingeniously framed, of himself 
 standing side by side with a young German 
 girl, who, in the estimation of his compatri 
 ots, is by no means stylish and only passa-
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 215 
 
 bly good-looking. When he is joked by his 
 friends about the post of honor given to this 
 production, and questioned as to the lady, 
 he remains silent. The Princess Alexan 
 drine Elsbeth Marie Stephanie von West- 
 phalen-Alstadt, among her other royal qual 
 ities, knew whom to trust. 
 
 5 <J Ti? & v c ^ * *> (-^ t * r 
 h ft e c /> rt 4t /M /, /Y J i-/-jyir\n
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQTJEZ. 
 
 IN another chronicle which dealt with 
 the exploits of " Chu Chu," a Californian 
 mustang, I gave some space to the accom 
 plishments of Enriquez Saltillo, who as 
 sisted me in training her, and who was also 
 brother to Consuelo Saltillo, the young lady 
 to whom I had freely given both the mus 
 tang and my youthful affections. I con 
 sider it a proof of the superiority of mascu 
 line friendship that neither the subsequent 
 desertion of the mustang nor the young lady 
 ever made the slightest difference to Enri 
 quez or me in our exalted amity. To a 
 wondering doubt as to what I ever could 
 possibly have seen in his sister to admire 
 he joined a tolerant skepticism of the whole 
 sex. This he was wont to express in that 
 marvelous combination of Spanish precision 
 and California slang for which he was justly 
 famous. " As to thees women and their 
 little game," he would say, " believe me,
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 217 
 
 my friend, your old Oncle 'Enry is not in 
 it. No ; he will ever take a back seat when 
 lof e is around. For why ? Regard me here ! 
 If she is a horse, you shall say, ' She will 
 buck-jump,' ' She will ess-shy,' ' She will not 
 arrive,' or ' She will arrive too quick.' But 
 if it is thees women, where are you? For 
 when you shall say, ' She will ess-shy,' look 
 you, she will walk straight ; or she will re 
 main tranquil when you think she buck- 
 jump ; or else she will arrive and, look you, 
 you will not. You shall get left. It is ever 
 so. My father and the brother of my father 
 have both make court to my mother when 
 she was but a senorita. My father think 
 she have lofe his brother more. So he say 
 to her : ' It is enofe ; tranquillize yourself. 
 I will go. I will efface myself. Adios! 
 Shake hands ! Ta-ta ! So long ! See you 
 again in the fall.' And what make my 
 mother? Regard me! She marry my fa 
 ther on the instant ! Of thees women, 
 believe me, Pancho, you shall know nothing. 
 Not even if they shall make you the son of 
 your father or his nephew." 
 
 I have recalled this characteristic speech 
 to show the general tendency of Enriquez's 
 convictions at the opening of this little
 
 218 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 story. It is only fair to say, however, that 
 his usual attitude toward the sex he so 
 cheerfully maligned exhibited little appre 
 hension or caution in dealing- with them. 
 Among the frivolous and light-minded in 
 termixture of his race he moved with great 
 freedom and popularity. He danced well ; 
 when we went to fandangos together his 
 agility and the audacity of his figures always 
 procured him the prettiest partners, his pro 
 fessed sentiments, I presume, shielding him 
 from subsequent jealousies, heart-burnings, 
 or envy. I have a vivid recollection of him 
 in the mysteries of the semicuacua, a some 
 what corybantic dance which left much to 
 the invention of the performers, and very 
 little to the imagination of the spectator. 
 In one of the figures a gaudy handkerchief, 
 waved more or less gracefully by dancer and 
 danseuse before the dazzled eyes of each 
 other, acted as love's signal, and was used 
 to express alternate admiration and indiffer 
 ence, shyness and audacity, fear and trans 
 port, coyness and coquetry, as the dance 
 proceeded. I need not say that Enriquez's 
 pantomimic illustration of these emotions 
 was peculiarly extravagant ; but it was al 
 ways performed and accepted with a gravity
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENSIQUEZ. 219 
 
 that was an essential feature of the dance. 
 At such times sighs would escape him which 
 were supposed to portray the incipient stages 
 of passion ; snorts of jealousy burst from 
 him at the suggestion of a rival; he was 
 overtaken by a sort of St. Vitus's dance 
 that expressed his timidity in making the 
 first advances of affection ; the scorn of his 
 lady-love struck him with something like a 
 dumb ague ; and a single gesture of invita 
 tion from her produced marked delirium. 
 All this was very like Enriquez ; but on the 
 particular occasion to which I refer, I think 
 no one was prepared to see him begin the 
 figure with the waving of Jour handker 
 chiefs ! Yet this he did, pirouetting, caper 
 ing, brandishing his silken signals like a 
 bellerina's scarf in the languishment or fire 
 of passion, until, in a final figure, where the 
 conquered and submitting fair one usually 
 sinks into the arms of her partner, need it 
 be said that the ingenious Enriquez was 
 found in the centre of the floor supporting 
 four of the dancers ! Yet he was by no 
 means unduly excited either by the plaudits 
 of the crowd or by his evident success with 
 the fair. " Ah, believe me, it is nothing," 
 he said quietly, rolling a fresh cigarette as
 
 220 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 he leaned against the doorway. " Possibly, 
 I shall have to offer the chocolate or the 
 wine to thees girls, or make to them a prome 
 nade in the moonlight on the verandah. It 
 is ever so. Unless, my friend," he said, 
 suddenly turning toward me in an excess 
 of chivalrous self-abnegation, " unless you 
 shall yourself take my place. Behold, I 
 gif them to you ! I vamos ! I vanish ! 1 
 make track ! I skedaddle ! " I think he 
 would have carried his extravagance to the 
 point of summoning his four gypsy witches 
 of partners, and committing them to my 
 care, if the crowd had not at that moment 
 parted before the remaining dancers, and 
 left one of the on-lookers, a tall, slender girl, 
 calmly surveying them through gold-rimmed 
 eye-glasses in complete critical absorption. 
 I stared in amazement and consternation ; 
 for I recognized in the fair stranger Miss 
 Urania Mannersley, the Congregational 
 minister's niece ! 
 
 Everybody knew Rainie Mannersley 
 throughout the length and breadth of the 
 Encinal. She was at once the envy and 
 the goad of the daughters of those South 
 western and Eastern immigrants who had 
 settled in the valley. She was correct, she
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 221 
 
 was critical, she was faultless and observant. 
 She was proper, yet independent ; she was 
 highly educated ; she was suspected of know 
 ing Latin and Greek ; she even spelled cor 
 rectly ! She could wither the plainest field 
 nosegay in the hands of other girls by giv 
 ing the flowers their botanical names. She 
 never said, " Ain't you ? " but " Are n't 
 you ? " She looked upon " Did I which ? " 
 as an incomplete and imperfect form of 
 "What did I do?" She -quoted from 
 Browning and Tennyson, and was believed 
 to have read them. She was from Boston. 
 What could she possibly be doing at a free- 
 and-easy fandango ? 
 
 Even if these facts were not already fa 
 miliar to every one there, her outward ap 
 pearance would have attracted attention. 
 Contrasted with the gorgeous red, black, 
 and yellow skirts of the dancers, her plain, 
 tightly fitting gown and hat, all of one deli 
 cate gray, were sufficiently notable in them 
 selves, even had they not seemed, like the 
 girl herself, a kind of quiet protest to the 
 glaring flounces before her. Her small, 
 straight waist and flat back brought into 
 greater relief the corsetless, waistless, sway 
 ing figures of the Mexican girls, and her
 
 222 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 long, slim, well-booted feet, peeping from 
 the stiff, white edges of her short skirt, 
 made their broad, low-quartered slippers, 
 held on by the big toe, appear more prepos 
 terous than ever. Suddenly she seemed to 
 realize that she was standing there alone, 
 but without fear or embarrassment. She 
 drew back a little, glancing carelessly be 
 hind her as if missing some previous com 
 panion, and then her eyes fell upon mine. 
 She smiled an easy recognition ; then a mo 
 ment later, her glance rested more curiously 
 upon Enriquez, who was still by my side. 
 I disengaged myself and instantly joined 
 her, particularly as I noticed that a few of 
 the other bystanders were beginning to stare 
 at her with little reserve. 
 
 "Isn't it the most extraordinary thing 
 you ever saw ? " she said quietly. Then, 
 presently noticing the look of embarrass 
 ment on my face, she went on, more by way 
 of conversation than of explanation : " I just 
 left uncle making a call on a parishioner 
 next door, and was going home with Jocasta 
 (a peon servant of her uncle's), when I 
 heard the music, and dropped in. I don't 
 know what has become of her," she added, 
 glancing round the room again ; " she
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 223 
 
 seemed perfectly wild when she saw that 
 creature over there bounding about with 
 his handkerchiefs. You were speaking to 
 him just now. Do tell me is he real ? " 
 
 " I should think there was little doubt of 
 that," I said with a vague laugh. 
 
 " You know what I mean," she said sim 
 ply. "Is he quite sane ? Does he do that 
 because he likes it, or is he paid for it?" 
 
 This was too much. I pointed out some 
 what hurriedly that he was a scion of one of 
 the oldest Castilian families, that the per 
 formance was a national gypsy dance which 
 he had joined in as a patriot and a patron, 
 and that he was my dearest friend. At the 
 same time I was conscious that I wished she 
 hadn't seen his last performance. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that all that he 
 did was in the dance ? " she said. " I don't 
 believe it. It was only like him." As I 
 hesitated over this palpable truth, she went 
 on : "I do wish he 'd do it again. Don't 
 you think you could make him ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he might if you asked him," I 
 said a little maliciously. 
 
 " Of course I should n't do that," she re 
 turned quietly. "All the same, I do be 
 lieve he is really going to do it or some 
 thing else. Do look! "
 
 224 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 I looked, and to my horror saw that Enri- 
 quez, possibly incited by the delicate gold 
 eye-glasses of Miss Maunersley, had divested 
 himself of his coat, and was winding the 
 four handkerchiefs, tied together, pictu 
 resquely around his waist, preparatory to 
 some new performance. I tried furtively to 
 give him a warning look, but in vain. 
 
 " Isn't he really too absurd for any 
 thing?" said Miss Mannersley, yet with a 
 certain comfortable anticipation in her voice. 
 " You know, I never saw anything like this 
 before. I would n't have believed such a 
 creature could have existed." 
 
 Even had I succeeded in warning him, I 
 doubt if it would have been of any avail. 
 For, seizing a guitar from one of the musi 
 cians, he struck a few chords, and suddenly 
 began to zigzag into the centre of the floor, 
 swaying his body languishingly from side to 
 side in time with the music and the pitch of 
 a thin Spanish tenor. It was a gypsy love- 
 song. Possibly Miss Mannersley's lingual 
 accomplishments did not include a know 
 ledge of Castilian, but she could not fail to 
 see that the gestures and illustrative panto 
 mime were addressed to her. Passionately 
 assuring her that she was the most favored
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 225 
 
 daughter of the Virgin, that her eyes were 
 like votive tapers, and yet in the same breath 
 accusing her of being a " brigand " and " as 
 sassin " in her attitude toward " his heart," 
 he balanced with quivering timidity toward 
 her, threw an imaginary cloak in front of 
 her neat boots as a carpet for her to tread 
 on, and with a final astonishing pirouette 
 and a languishing twang of his guitar, sank 
 on one knee, and blew, with a rose, a kiss at 
 her feet. 
 
 If I had been seriously angry with him 
 before for his grotesque extravagance, I 
 could have pitied him now for the young 
 girl's absolute unconsciousness of anything 
 but his utter ludicrousness. The applause 
 of dancers and bystanders was instantaneous 
 and hearty; her only contribution to it was 
 a slight parting of her thin red lips in a 
 half-incredulous smile. In the silence that 
 followed the applause, as Enriquez walked 
 pantingly away, I heard her saying, half to 
 herself, " Certainly a most extraordinary 
 creature ! " In my indignation I could not 
 help turning suddenly upon her and looking 
 straight into her eyes. They were brown, 
 with that peculiar velvet opacity common 
 to the pupils of near-sighted persons, and
 
 226 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 seemed to defy internal scrutiny. She only 
 repeated carelessly, " Isn't he ? " and added : 
 " Please see if you can find Jocasta. I sup 
 pose we ought to be going now ; and I dare 
 say he won't be doing it again. Ah ! there 
 she is. Good gracious, child ! what have 
 you got there ? " 
 
 It was Enriquez' rose which Jocasta had 
 picked up, and was timidly holding out to 
 ward her mistress. 
 
 " Heavens ! I don't want it. Keep it 
 yourself. 1 ' 
 
 I walked with them to the door, as I did 
 not fancy a certain glitter in the black eyes 
 of the Senoritas Manuela and Pepita, who 
 were watching her curiously. But I think 
 she was as oblivious of this as she was of 
 Enriquez' particular attentions. As we 
 reached the street I felt that I ought to say 
 something more. 
 
 " You know," I began casually, " that al 
 though those poor people meet here in this 
 public way, their gathering is really quite 
 a homely pastoral and a national custom ; 
 and these girls are all honest, hard-working 
 peons or servants enjoying themselves in 
 quite the old idyllic fashion." 
 
 " Certainly," said the young girl, half ab-
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 227 
 
 stractedly. "Of course it's a Moorish 
 dance, originally brought over, I suppose, 
 by those old Andalusian immigrants two 
 hundred years ago. It 's quite Arabic in its 
 suggestions. I have got something like it 
 in an old cancionero I picked up at a book 
 stall in Boston. But," she added, with a 
 gasp of reminiscent satisfaction, " that 's not 
 like him ! Oh, no ! he is decidedly original. 
 Heavens ! yes." 
 
 I turned away in some discomfiture to 
 join Enriquez, who was calmly awaiting me, 
 with a cigarette in his mouth, outside the 
 sala. Yet he looked so unconscious of any 
 previous absurdity that I hesitated in what 
 I thought was a necessary warning. He, 
 however, quickly precipitated it. Glancing 
 after the retreating figures of the two wo 
 men, he said, " Thees mees from Boston is 
 return to her house. You do not accompany 
 her ? I shall. Behold me I am there." 
 But I linked my arm firmly in his. Then I 
 pointed out, first, that she was already ac 
 companied by a servant ; secondly, that if I, 
 who knew her, had hesitated to offer myself 
 as an escort, it was hardly proper for him, 
 a perfect stranger, to take that liberty ; that 
 Miss Mannersley was very punctilious of
 
 228 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 etiquette, which he, as a Castilian gentle 
 man, ought to appreciate. 
 
 " But will she not regard lofe the ad 
 miration excessif ? " he said, twirling his thin 
 little mustache meditatively. 
 
 " No ; she will not," I returned sharply ; 
 "and you ought to understand that she is 
 on a different level from your Manuelas and 
 Carmens." 
 
 " Pardon, my friend," he said gravely ; 
 " thees women are ever the same. There 
 is a proverb in my language. Listen : 
 ' Whether the sharp blade of the Toledo 
 pierce the satin or the goatskin, it shall find 
 behind it ever the same heart to wound.' 
 I am that Toledo blade possibly it is you, 
 my friend. Wherefore, let us together pur 
 sue this girl of Boston on the instant." 
 
 But I kept my grasp on Enriquez' arm, 
 and succeeded in restraining his mercurial 
 impulses for the moment. He halted, and 
 puffed vigorously at his cigarette ; but the 
 next instant he started forward again. " Let 
 us, however, follow with discretion in the 
 rear ; we shall pass her house ; we shall gaze 
 at it ; it shall touch her heart." 
 
 Ridiculous as was this following of the 
 young girl we had only just parted from, I
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 229 
 
 nevertheless knew that Euriquez was quite 
 capable of attempting it alone, and I thought 
 it better to humor him by consenting to 
 walk with him in that direction ; but I felt 
 it necessary to say : 
 
 " I ought to warn you that Miss Manners- 
 ley already looks upon your performances 
 at the sala as something outre and peculiar, 
 and if I were you I should n't do anything 
 to deepen that impression." 
 
 " You are saying she ees shock ? " said 
 Enriquez, gravely. 
 
 I felt I could not conscientiously say that 
 she was shocked, and he saw my hesitation. 
 " Then she have jealousy of the'Senoritas," 
 he observed, with insufferable complacency. 
 " You observe ! I have already said. It is 
 ever so." 
 
 I could stand it no longer. " Look here, 
 Harry," I said, " if you must know it, she 
 looks upon you as an acrobat a paid per 
 former." 
 
 " Ah ! " his black eyes sparkled " the 
 torero, the man who fights the bull, he is 
 also an acrobat." 
 
 " Yes ; but she thinks you a clown ! a 
 gracioso de teatro, there ! ' 
 
 " Then I have make her laugh ? " he said 
 coolly.
 
 230 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 I don't think he had ; but I shrugged my 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Bueno ! " he said cheerfully. " Lofe, 
 he begin with a laugh, he make feenish with 
 a sigh." 
 
 I turned to look at him in the moonlight. 
 His face presented its habitual Spanish 
 gravity a gravity that was almost ironical. 
 His small black eyes had their characteristic 
 irresponsible audacity the irresponsibility 
 of the vivacious young animal. It could not 
 be possible that he was really touched with 
 the placid frigidities of Miss Mannersley. 
 I remembered his equally elastic gallantries 
 with Miss Pinky Smith, a blonde Western 
 belle, from which both had harmlessly 
 rebounded. As we walked on slowly I con 
 tinued more persuasively : " Of course this 
 is only your nonsense ; but don't you see, 
 Miss Mannersley thinks it all in earnest and 
 really your nature?" I hesitated, for it 
 suddenly struck me that it was really his 
 nature. " And hang it all ! you don't 
 want her to believe you a common buffoon, 
 or some intoxicated muchaco." 
 
 " Intoxicated ? " repeated Enriquez, with 
 exasperating languishment. " Yes ; that is 
 the word that shall express itself. My friend,
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 231 
 
 you have made a shot in the centre you 
 have ring the bell every time ! It is intoxi 
 cation but not of aquardiente. Look ! I 
 have long time an ancestor of whom is a 
 pretty story. One day in church he have 
 seen a young girl a mere peasant girl 
 pass to the confessional. He look her in her 
 eye, he stagger," here Enriquez wobbled 
 pantomimically into the road, " he fall ! " 
 he would have suited the action to the 
 word if I had not firmly held him up. 
 " They have take him home, where he have 
 remain without his clothes, and have dance 
 and sing. But it was the drunkenness of 
 lofe. And, look you, thees village girl was 
 a nothing, not even pretty. The name of 
 my ancestor was " 
 
 " Don Quixote de la Mancha," I suggested 
 maliciously. " I suspected as much. Come 
 along. That will do." 
 
 " My ancestor's name," continued Enri 
 quez, gravely, " was Antonio Hermenegildo 
 de Salvatierra, which is not the same. 
 Thees Don Quixote of whom you speak exist 
 not at all." 
 
 " Never mind. Only, for heaven's sake, 
 as we are nearing the house, don't make a 
 fool of yourself again."
 
 232 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 It was a wonderful moonlight night. 
 The deep redwood porch of the Mannersley 
 parsonage, under the shadow of a great oak, 
 the largest in the Encinal, was dia 
 pered in black and silver. As the women 
 stepped upon the porch their shadows were 
 silhouetted against the door. Miss Man 
 nersley paused for an instant, and turned to 
 give a last look -at the beauty of the night 
 as Jocasta entered. Her glance fell upon 
 us as we passed. She nodded carelessly 
 and unaffectedly to me, but as she recognized 
 Enriquez she looked a little longer at him 
 with her previous cold and invincible curi 
 osity. To my horror Enriquez began 
 instantly to affect a slight tremulousness of 
 gait and a difficulty of breathing ; but I 
 gripped his arm savagely, and managed to 
 get him past the house as the door closed 
 finally on the young lady. 
 
 " You do not comprehend, friend Pancho," 
 lie said gravely, " but those eyes in their 
 glass are as the espejo ustorio, the burning 
 mirror. They burn, they consume me here 
 like paper. Let us affix to ourselves thees 
 tree. She will, without doubt, appear at 
 her window. We shall salute her for good 
 night."
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 233 
 
 " We will do nothing of the kind," I said 
 sharply. Finding that I was determined, he 
 permitted me to lead him away. I was de 
 lighted to notice, however, that he had 
 indicated the window which I knew was the 
 minister's study, and that as the bedrooms 
 were in the rear of the house, this later 
 incident was probably not overseen by the 
 young lady or the servant. But I did not 
 part from Enriquez until I saw him safely 
 back to the sala, where I left him sipping 
 chocolate, his arm alternating around the 
 waists of his two previous partners in a de 
 lightful Arcadian and childlike simplicity, 
 and an apparent utter forgetfulness of Miss 
 Mannersley. 
 
 The fandangoes were usually held on 
 Saturday night, and the next day, being 
 Sunday, I missed Enriquez ; but as he was 
 a devout Catholic I remembered that he was 
 at mass in the morning, and possibly at the 
 bull-fight at San Antonio in the afternoon. 
 But I was somewhat surprised on the Mon 
 day morning following, as I was crossing 
 the plaza, to have my arm taken by the 
 Rev. Mr. Mannersley in the nearest approach 
 to familiarity that was consistent with the 
 reserve of this eminent divine. I looked at
 
 
 234 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 him inquiringly. Although scrupulously 
 correct in attire, his features always had a 
 singular resemblance to the national carica 
 ture known as " Uncle Sam," but with the 
 humorous expression left out. Softly strok 
 ing his goatee with three fingers, he began 
 condescendingly: "You are, I think, more 
 or less familiar with the characteristics and 
 customs of the Spanish as exhibited by the 
 settlers here." A thrill of apprehension 
 went through me. Had he heard of Enri- 
 quez' proceedings ? Had Miss Mannersley 
 cruelly betrayed him to her uncle ? "I have 
 not given that attention myself to their lan 
 guage and social peculiarities," he continued, 
 with a large wave of the hand, " being much 
 occupied with a study of their religious 
 beliefs and superstitions " it struck me that 
 this was apt to be a common fault of people 
 of the Mannersley type " but I have re 
 frained from a personal discussion of them ; 
 on the contrary, I have held somewhat broad 
 views on the subject of their remarkable 
 missionary work, and have suggested a 
 scheme of cooperation with them, quite inde 
 pendent of doctrinal teaching, to my brethren 
 of other Protestant Christian sects. These 
 views I first incorporated in a sermon
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 235 
 
 last Sunday week, which I am told has 
 created considerable attention." He stopped 
 and coughed slightly. " I have not yet 
 heard from any of the Roman clergy, but I 
 am led to believe that my remarks were not 
 ungrateful to Catholics generally." 
 
 I was relieved, although still in some 
 wonder why he should address me on this 
 topic. I had a vague remembrance of hav 
 ing heard that he had said something on 
 Sunday which had offended some Puritans 
 of his flock, but nothing more. He con 
 tinued : " I have just said that I was unac 
 quainted with the characteristics of the 
 Spanish-American race. I presume, how 
 ever, they have the impulsiveness of their 
 Latin origin. They gesticulate eh? 
 They express their gratitude, their joy, their 
 affection, their emotions generally, by spas 
 modic movements? They naturally dance 
 sing eh ? " A horrible suspicion 
 crossed my mind ; I could only stare help 
 lessly at him. " I see," he said graciously ; 
 " perhaps it is a somewhat general question. 
 I will explain myself. A rather singular 
 occurrence happened to me the other night. 
 I had returned from visiting a parishioner, 
 and was alone in my study reviewing my
 
 236 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 
 
 sermon for the next day. It must have 
 been quite late before I concluded, for I 
 distinctly remember my niece had returned 
 with her servant fully an hour before. 
 Presently I heard the sounds of a musical 
 instrument in the road, with the accents of 
 some one singing or rehearsing some metrical 
 composition in words that, although couched 
 in a language foreign to me, in expression 
 and modulation gave me the impression of 
 being distinctly adulatory. For some little 
 time, in the greater preoccupation of my 
 task, I paid little attention to the perform 
 ance ; but its persistency at length drew me 
 in no mere idle curiosity to the window. 
 From thence, standing in my dressing-gown, 
 and believing myself unperceived, I noticed 
 under the large oak in the roadside the 
 figure of a young man, who, by the imper 
 fect light, appeared to be of Spanish extrac 
 tion. But I evidently miscalculated my own 
 invisibility ; for he moved rapidly forward 
 as I came to the window, and in a series of 
 the most extraordinary pantomimic gestures 
 saluted me. Beyond my experience of a few 
 Greek plays in earlier days, I confess 'I am 
 not an adept in the understanding of gestic 
 ulation ; but it struck me that the various
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 237 
 
 phases of gratitude, fervor, reverence, and 
 exaltation were successively portrayed. He 
 placed his hands upon his head, his heart, 
 and even clasped them together in this man 
 ner." To my consternation the reverend 
 gentleman here imitated Enriquez' most ex 
 travagant pantomime. " I am willing to con 
 fess," he continued, "that I was singularly 
 moved by them, as well as by the highly 
 creditable and Christian interest that 
 evidently produced them. At last I opened 
 the window. Leaning out, I told him that I 
 regretted that the lateness of the hour pre 
 vented any further response from me than a 
 grateful though hurried acknowledgment of 
 his praiseworthy emotion, but that I should 
 be glad to see him for a few moments in the 
 vestry before service the next day, or at 
 early candle-light, before the meeting of the 
 Bible class. I told him that as my sole pur 
 pose had been the creation of an evangelical 
 brotherhood and the exclusion of merely 
 doctrinal views, nothing could be more 
 gratifying to me than his spontaneous and 
 unsolicited testimony to my motives. He 
 appeared for an instant to be deeply affected, 
 and, indeed, quite overcome with emotion, 
 and then gracefully retired, with some agility 
 and a slight saltatory movement."
 
 238 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 He paused. A sudden and overwhelming 
 idea took possession of me, and I looked im 
 pulsively into his face. Was it possible that 
 for once Enriquez' ironical extravagance had 
 been understood, met, and vanquished by a 
 master hand ? But the Rev. Mr. Manners- 
 ley's self-satisfied face betrayed no ambiguity 
 or lurking humor. He was evidently in 
 earnest ; he had complacently accepted for 
 himself the abandoned Enriquez' serenade 
 to his niece. I felt an hysterical desire to 
 laugh, but it was checked by my compan 
 ion's next words. 
 
 " I informed my niece of the occurrence 
 in the morning at breakfast. She had not 
 heard anything of the strange performance, 
 but she agreed with me as to its undoubted 
 origin in a grateful recognition of my liberal 
 efforts toward his co-religionists. It was 
 she, in fact, who suggested that your know 
 ledge of these people might corroborate my 
 impressions." 
 
 I was dumfounded. Had Miss Manners- 
 ley, who must have recognized Enriquez' 
 hand in this, concealed the fact in a desire 
 to shield him ? But this was so inconsistent 
 with her utter indifference to him, except as 
 a grotesque study, that she would have been
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 239 
 
 more likely to tell her uncle all about his 
 previous performance. Nor could it be that 
 she wished to conceal her visit to the fan 
 dango. She was far too independent for 
 that, and it was even possible that the rev 
 erend gentleman, in his desire to know more 
 of Enriquez' compatriots, would not have 
 objected. In my confusion I meekly added 
 my conviction to hers, congratulated him 
 upon his evident success, and slipped away. 
 But I was burning with a desire to see 
 Enriquez and know all. He was imagina 
 tive but not untruthful. Unfortunately, I 
 learned that he was just then following one 
 of his erratic impulses, and had gone to a 
 rodeo at his cousin's, in the foothills, where 
 he was alternately exercising his horseman 
 ship in catching and breaking wild cattle, 
 and delighting his relatives with his incom 
 parable grasp of the American language 
 and customs, and of the airs of a young man 
 of fashion. Then my thoughts recurred to 
 Miss Mannersley. Had she really been ob 
 livious that night to Enriquez' serenade ? I 
 resolved to find out, if I could, without be 
 traying Enriquez. Indeed, it was possible, 
 after all, that it might not have been he. 
 Chance favored me. The next evening I
 
 240 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 was at a party where Miss Mannersley, by 
 reason of her position and quality, was a dis 
 tinguished I had almost written a popu 
 lar guest. But, as I have formerly stated, 
 although the youthful fair of the Encinal 
 were flattered by her casual attentions, and 
 secretly admired her superior style and aris 
 tocratic calm, they were more or less uneasy 
 under the dominance of her intelligence and 
 education, and were afraid to attempt either 
 confidence or familiarity. They were also 
 singularly jealous of her, for although the 
 average young man was equally afraid of 
 her cleverness and candor, he was not above 
 paying a tremulous and timid court to her 
 for its effect upon her humbler sisters. This 
 evening she was surrounded by her usual 
 satellites, including, of course, the local not 
 ables and special guests of distinction. She 
 had been discussing, I think, the existence 
 of glaciers on Mount Shasta with a specta 
 cled geologist, and had participated with 
 charming frankness in a conversation on 
 anatomy with the local doctor and a learned 
 professor, when she was asked to take a seat 
 at the piano. She played with remarkable 
 skill and wonderful precision, but coldly and 
 brilliantly. As she sat there in her subdued
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 241 
 
 but perfectly fitting evening dress, her regu 
 lar profile and short but slender neck firmly 
 set upon her high shoulders, exhaling an 
 atmosphere of refined puritanism and pro 
 vocative intelligence, the utter incongruity 
 of Enriquez' extravagant attentions, if ironi 
 cal, and their equal hopelessness if not, 
 seemed to me plainer than ever. What had 
 this well-poised, coldly observant spinster to 
 do with that quaintly ironic ruffler, that ro 
 mantic cynic, that rowdy Don Quixote, that 
 impossible Enriquez ? Presently she ceased 
 playing. Her slim, narrow slipper, reveal 
 ing her thin ankle, remained upon the pedal ; 
 her delicate fingers were resting idly on the 
 keys ; her head was slightly thrown back, 
 and her narrow eyebrows prettily knit to 
 ward the ceiling in an effort of memory. 
 
 " Something of Chopin's," suggested the 
 geologist, ardently. 
 
 " That exquisite sonata ! " pleaded the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Suthin' of Rubinstein. Heard him 
 once," said a gentleman of Siskiyou. " He 
 just made that pianner get up and howl. 
 Play Rube." 
 
 She shook her head with parted lips and 
 a slight touch of girlish coquetry in her
 
 242 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 
 
 manner. Then her fingers suddenly dropped 
 upon the keys with a glassy tinkle ; there 
 were a few quick pizzicato chords, down 
 went the low pedal with a monotonous 
 strumming, and she presently began to hum 
 to herself. I started, as well I might, 
 for I recognized one of Enriquez' favorite 
 and most extravagant guitar solos. It was 
 audacious ; it was barbaric ; it was, I fear, 
 vulgar. As I remembered it, as he sang 
 it, it recounted the adventures of one 
 Don Francisco, a provincial gallant and roy- 
 sterer of the most objectionable type. It 
 had one hundred and four verses, which 
 Enriquez never spared me. I shuddered as 
 in a pleasant, quiet voice the correct Miss 
 Mannersley warbled in musical praise of 
 the pellejo, or wine-skin, and a eulogy of the 
 dice-box came caressingly from her thin 
 red lips. But the company was far differ 
 ently affected: the strange, wild air and 
 wilder accompaniment were evidently catch 
 ing ; people moved towards the piano ; some 
 body whistled the air from a distant corner ; 
 even the faces of the geologist and doctor 
 brightened. 
 
 " A tarantella, I presume ? " blandly sug 
 gested the doctor.
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 243 
 
 Miss Mannersley stopped, and rose care 
 lessly from the piaiio. " It is a Moorish 
 gypsy song of the fifteenth century," she said 
 dryly. 
 
 " It seemed sorter familiar, too," hesitated 
 one of the young men, timidly, " like as if 
 don't you know ? you had without 
 knowing it, don't you know ? " he blushed 
 slightly " sorter picked it up somewhere." 
 
 " I ' picked it up,' as you call it, in the 
 collection of mediaeval manuscripts of the 
 Harvard Library, and copied it," returned 
 Miss Mannersley, coldly, as she turned 
 away. 
 
 But I was not inclined to let her off so 
 easily. I presently made my way to her 
 side. "Your uncle was complimentary 
 enough to consult me as to the meaning of 
 the appearance of a certain exuberant Span 
 ish visitor at his house the other night." I 
 looked into her brown eyes, but my own 
 slipped off her velvety pupils without retain 
 ing anything. Then she reinforced her gaze 
 with a pince-nez, and said carelessly : 
 
 "Oh, it's you? How are you? Well, 
 could you give him any information ? " 
 
 " Only generally," I returned, still looking 
 into her eyes. "These people are impul-
 
 244 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 sive. The Spanish blood is a mixture of 
 gold and quicksilver." 
 
 She smiled slightly. " That reminds me of 
 your volatile friend. He was mercurial 
 enough, certainly. Is he still dancing ? " 
 
 " And singing sometimes," I responded 
 pointedly. But she only added casually, 
 " A singular creature," without exhibiting 
 the least consciousness, and drifted away, 
 leaving me none the wiser. I felt that En- 
 riquez alone could enlighten me. I must 
 see him. 
 
 I did, but not in the way I expected. 
 There was a bull-fight at San Antonio the 
 next Saturday afternoon, the usual Sunday 
 performance being changed in deference to 
 the Sabbatical habits of the Americans. 
 An additional attraction was offered in the 
 shape of a bull and bear fight, also a con 
 cession to American taste, which had voted 
 the bull-fight " slow," and had averred that 
 the bull " did not get a fair show." I am 
 glad that I am able to spare the reader 
 the usual realistic horrors, for in the Cali- 
 fornian performances there was very little 
 of the brutality that distinguished this func 
 tion in the mother country. The horses 
 were not miserable, worn-out hacks, but
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 245 
 
 young and alert mustangs ; and the display 
 of horsemanship by the picadors was not 
 only wonderful, but secured an almost abso 
 lute safety to horse and rider. I never saw 
 a horse gored ; although unskillful riders 
 were sometimes thrown in wheeling quickly 
 to avoid the bull's charge, they generally 
 regained their animals without injury. 
 
 The Plaza de Toros was reached through 
 the decayed and tile-strewn outskirts of an 
 old Spanish village. It was a rudely built, 
 oval amphitheatre, with crumbling, white 
 washed adobe walls, and roofed only over 
 portions of the gallery reserved for the pro 
 vincial " notables," but now occupied by a 
 few shopkeepers and their wives, with a 
 sprinkling of American travelers and ranch 
 men. The impalpable adobe-dust of the 
 arena was being whirled into the air by the 
 strong onset of the afternoon trade-winds, 
 which happily, however, helped also to dissi 
 pate a reek of garlic, and the acrid fumes of 
 cheap tobacco rolled in corn-husk cigarettes. 
 I was leaning over the second barrier, wait 
 ing for the meagre and circus-like procession 
 to enter with the keys of the bull-pen, when 
 my attention was attracted to a movement 
 in the reserved gallery. A lady and gen-
 
 246 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 tleman of a quality that was evidently unfa 
 miliar to the rest of the audience were pick 
 ing their way along the rickety benches to a 
 front seat. I recognized the geologist with 
 some surprise, and the lady he was leading 
 with still greater astonishment. For it was 
 Miss Mannersley, in her precise, well-fitting 
 walking costume a monotone of sober 
 color among the parti-colored audience. 
 
 However, I was perhaps less surprised 
 than the audience, for I was not only be 
 coming as accustomed to the young girl's 
 vagaries as I had been to Enriquez' extrava 
 gance, but I was also satisfied that her uncle 
 might have given her permission to come, 
 as a recognition of the Sunday concession of 
 the management, as well as to conciliate his 
 supposed Catholic friends. I watched her 
 sitting there until the first bull had entered, 
 and, after a rather brief play with the pica 
 dors and banderilleros, was dispatched. At 
 the moment when the matador approached 
 the bull with his lethal weapon I was not 
 sorry for an excuse to glance at Miss Man 
 nersley. Her hands were in her lap, her 
 head slightly bent forward over her knees. 
 I fancied that she, too, had dropped her 
 eyes before the brutal situation ; to my
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRiqUEZ. 247 
 horror I saw that she had a drawing-book in 
 
 O 
 
 her hand, and was actually sketching it. I 
 turned my eyes in preference to the dying 
 bull. 
 
 The second animal led out for this ingen 
 ious slaughter was, however, more sullen, 
 uncertain, and discomposing to his butchers. 
 He accepted the irony of a trial with gloomy, 
 suspicious eyes, and he declined the chal 
 lenge of whirling and insulting picadors. 
 He bristled with banderillas like a hedgehog, 
 but remained with his haunches backed 
 against the barrier, at times almost hidden 
 in the fine dust raised by the monotonous 
 stroke of his sullenly pawing hoof his one 
 dull, heavy protest. A vague uneasiness 
 had infected his adversaries ; the picadors 
 held aloof, the banderilleros skirmished at a 
 safe distance. The audience resented only 
 the indecision of the bull. Galling epithets 
 were flung at him, followed by cries of " Es- 
 pada ! " and, curving his elbow under his 
 short cloak, the matador, with his flashing 
 blade in hand, advanced and stopped. 
 The bull remained motionless. 
 
 For at that moment a heavier gust of wind 
 than usual swept down upon the arena, lifted 
 a suffocating cloud of dust, and whirled it
 
 248 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 
 
 around the tiers of benches and the balcony, 
 and for a moment seemed to stop the perform 
 ance. I heard an exclamation from the geolo 
 gist, who had risen to his feet. I fancied I 
 heard even a faint cry from Miss Mannersley ; 
 but the next moment, as the dust was slowly 
 settling, we saw a sheet of paper in the air, 
 that had been caught up in this brief cyclone, 
 dropping, dipping from side to side on un 
 certain wings, until it slowly descended in 
 the very middle of the arena. It was a leaf 
 from Miss Mannersley's sketch-book, the 
 one on which she had been sketching. 
 
 In the pause that followed it seemed to be 
 the one object that at last excited the bull's 
 growing but tardy ire. He glanced at it 
 with murky, distended eyes ; he snorted at 
 it with vague yet troubled fury. Whether 
 he detected his own presentment in Miss 
 Mannersley's sketch, or whether he recog 
 nized it as an unknown and unfamiliar 
 treachery in his surroundings, I could not 
 conjecture ; for the next moment the matador, 
 taking advantage of the bull's concentration, 
 with a complacent leer at the audience, ad 
 vanced toward the paper. But at that 
 instant a young man cleared the barrier into 
 the arena with a single bound, shoved the
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 249 
 
 matador to one side, caught up the paper, 
 turned toward the balcony and Miss Man- 
 nersley with a gesture of apology, dropped 
 gaily before the bull, knelt down before him 
 with an exaggerated humility, and held up 
 the drawing as if for his inspection. A roar 
 of applause broke from the audience, a cry of 
 warning and exasperation from the atten 
 dants, as the goaded bull suddenly charged 
 the stranger. But he sprang to one side 
 with great dexterity, made a courteous ges 
 ture to the matador as if passing the bull 
 over to him, and still holding the paper in his 
 hand, re-leaped the barrier, and rejoined the 
 audience in safety. I did not wait to see 
 the deadly, dominant thrust with which the 
 matador received the charging bull ; my eyes 
 were following the figure now bounding up 
 the steps to the balcony, where with an ex 
 aggerated salutation he laid the drawing in 
 Miss Mannersley's lap and vanished. There 
 was no mistaking that thin lithe form, the 
 narrow black mustache, and gravely dancing 
 eyes. The audacity of conception, the extrav 
 agance of execution, the quaint irony of 
 the sequel, could belong to no one but 
 Enriquez. 
 
 I.imrried up to her as the six yoked mules
 
 250 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 dragged the carcass of the bull away. She 
 was placidly putting up her book, the un 
 moved focus of a hundred eager and curious 
 eyes. She smiled slightly as she saw me. 
 " I was just telling Mr. Briggs what an 
 extraordinary creature it was, and how you 
 knew him. He must have had great experi 
 ence to do that sort of thing so cleverly and 
 safely. Does he do it often? Of course, 
 not just that. But does he pick up cigars 
 and things that I see they throw to the 
 matador ? Does he belong to the manage 
 ment ? Mr. Briggs thinks the whole thing 
 was a feint to distract the bull," she added, 
 with a wicked glance at the geologist, who, 
 I fancied, looked disturbed. 
 
 " I am afraid," I said dryly, " that his act 
 was as unpremeditated and genuine as it was 
 unusual." 
 
 "Why afraid?" 
 
 It was a matter-of-fact question, but I 
 instantly saw my mistake. What right had 
 I to assume that Enriquez' attentions were 
 any more genuine than her own easy indiffer 
 ence ; and if I suspected that they were, was 
 it fair in me to give my friend away to this 
 heartless coquette ? " You are not very 
 gallant," she said, with a slight laugh, as I
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 251 
 
 was hesitating, and turned away with her 
 escort before I could frame a reply. But 
 at least Enriquez was now accessible, and 
 I should gain some information from him. 
 I knew where to find him, unless he were 
 still lounging about the building, intent upon 
 more extravagance; but I waited until I 
 saw Miss Mannersley and Briggs depart 
 without further interruption. 
 
 The hacienda of Ramon Saltillo, Enriquez' 
 cousin, was on the outskirts of the village. 
 When I arrived there I found Enriquez' 
 pinto mustang steaming in the corral, and 
 although I was momentarily delayed by the 
 servants at the gateway, I was surprised to 
 find Enriquez himself lying languidly on 
 his back in a hammock in the patio. His 
 arms were hanging down listlessly on each 
 side as if in the greatest prostration, yet I 
 could not resist the impression that the ras 
 cal had only just got into the hammock 
 when he heard of my arrival. 
 
 "You have arrived, friend Pancho, in 
 time," he said, in accents of exaggerated 
 weakness. "I am absolutely exhaust. I 
 am bursted, caved in, kerflummoxed. I 
 have behold you, my friend, at the barrier. 
 I speak not, I make no sign at the first,
 
 252 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 
 
 because I was on fire ; I speak not at the 
 feenish for I am exhaust." 
 
 " I see ; the bull made it lively for you." 
 
 He instantly bounded up in the hammock. 
 " The bull ! Caramba ! Not a thousand 
 bulls ! And thees one, look you, was a 
 craven. I snap my fingers over his horn ; I 
 roll my cigarette under his nose." 
 
 " Well, then what was it ? " 
 
 He instantly lay down again, pulling up 
 the sides of the hammock. Presently his 
 voice came from its depths, appealing in 
 hollow tones to the sky. " He asks me 
 thees friend of my soul, thees brother of my 
 life, thees Pancho that I lofe what it was ? 
 He would that I should tell him why I am 
 game in the legs, why I shake in the hand, 
 crack in the voice, and am generally wipe 
 out ! And yet he, my pardner thees 
 Francisco know that I have seen the 
 mees from Boston ! That I have gaze into 
 the eye, touch the hand, and for the instant 
 possess the picture that hand have drawn ! 
 It was a sublime picture, Pancho," he said, 
 sitting up again suddenly, "and have kill 
 the bull before our friend Pepe's sword 
 have touch even the bone of hees back and 
 make feenish of him."
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 253 
 
 " Look here, Enriquez," I said bluntly, 
 " have you been serenading that girl ? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders without the 
 least embarrassment, and said: "Ah, yes. 
 What would you ? It is of a necessity." 
 
 " Well," I retorted, " then you ought to 
 know that her uncle took it all to himself 
 thought you some grateful Catholic pleased 
 with his religious tolerance." 
 
 He did not even smile. " Bueno," he said 
 gravely. " That make something, too. In 
 thees affair it is well to begin with the 
 duenna. He is the duenna." 
 
 "And," I went on relentlessly, "her 
 escort told her just now that your exploit in 
 the bull-ring was only a trick to divert the 
 bull, suggested by the management." 
 
 " Bah ! her escort is a geologian. Natu 
 rally, she is to him as a stone." 
 
 I would have continued, but a peon inter 
 rupted us at this moment with a sign to 
 Enriquez, who leaped briskly from the ham 
 mock, bidding me wait his return from a 
 messenger in the gateway. 
 
 Still unsatisfied of mind I waited, and sat 
 down in the hammock that Enriquez had 
 quitted. A scrap of paper was lying in its 
 meshes, which at first appeared to be of the
 
 254 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 kind from which Enriquez rolled his cigar 
 ettes ; but as I picked it up to throw it away, 
 I found it was of much firmer and stouter 
 material. Looking at it more closely, I was 
 surprised to recognize it as a piece of the 
 tinted drawing-paper torn off the " block " 
 that Miss Maiinersley had used. It had 
 been deeply creased at right angles as if it 
 had been folded; it looked as if it might 
 have been the outer half of a sheet used for 
 a note. 
 
 It might have been a trifling circumstance, 
 but it greatly excited my curiosity. I knew 
 that he had returned the sketch to Miss 
 Mannersley, for I had seen it in her hand. 
 Had she given him another? And if so, 
 why had it been folded to the destruction of 
 the drawing? Or was it part of a note 
 which he had destroyed? In the first im 
 pulse of discovery I walked quickly with it 
 toward the gateway where Enriquez had dis 
 appeared, intending to restore it to him. 
 He was just outside talking with a young 
 girl. I started, for it was Jocasta Miss 
 Mannersley's maid. 
 
 With this added discovery came that 
 sense of uneasiness and indignation with 
 which we illogically are apt to resent the
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 255 
 
 withholding of a friend's confidence, even in 
 matters concerning only himself. It was no 
 use for me to reason that it was no business 
 of mine, that he was right in keeping a 
 secret that concerned another and a lady ; 
 but I was afraid I was even more meanly 
 resentful because the discovery quite upset 
 my theory of his conduct and of Miss Man- 
 nersley's attitude toward him. I continued 
 to walk on to the gateway, where I bade 
 Enriquez a hurried good-by, alleging the 
 sudden remembrance of anqther engagement, 
 but without appearing to recognize the girl, 
 who was moving away, when, to my further 
 discomfiture, the rascal stopped me with an 
 appealing wink, threw his arms around my 
 neck, whispered hoarsely in my ear, " Ah ! 
 you see you comprehend but you are 
 the mirror of discretion ! " and returned to 
 Jocasta. But whether this meant that he 
 had received a message from Miss Man- 
 nersley, or that he was trying to suborn her 
 maid to carry one, was still uncertain. He 
 was capable of either. 
 
 Durin<r the next two or three weeks I saw 
 
 o 
 
 him frequently ; but as I had resolved to try 
 the effect of ignoring Miss Mannersley in 
 our conversation, I gathered little further of
 
 256 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 their relations, and, to my surprise, after 
 one or two characteristic extravagances of 
 allusion, Enriquez dropped the subject, too. 
 Only one afternoon, as we were parting, he 
 said carelessly : " My friend, you are going 
 to the casa of Mannersley to-night. I too 
 have the honor of the invitation. But you 
 will be my Mercury my Leporello you 
 will take of me a message to thees Mees 
 Boston, that I am crushed, desolated, pros 
 trate, and flabbergasted that I cannot 
 arrive, for I have of that night to sit up 
 with the grandaunt of my brother-in-law, 
 who has a quinsy to the death. It is sad." 
 
 This was the first indication I had re 
 ceived of Miss Mannersley's advances. I 
 was equally surprised at Enriquez' refusal. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " I said bluntly. " Nothing 
 keeps you from going." 
 
 " My friend," returned Enriquez, with a 
 sudden lapse into languishment that seemed 
 to make him absolutely infirm ; " it is every 
 thing that shall restrain me. I am not 
 strong. I shall become weak of the knee 
 and tremble under the eye of Mees Boston. 
 I shall precipitate myself to the geologian 
 by the throat. Ask me another conundrum 
 that shall be easy."
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 257 
 
 He seemed idiotically inflexible, and did 
 not go. But I did. I found Miss Manners- 
 ley exquisitely dressed and looking singularly 
 animated and pretty. The lambent glow of 
 her inscrutable eye as she turned towards 
 me might have been flattering but for my 
 uneasiness in regard to Enriquez. I de 
 livered his excuses as naturally as I could. 
 She stiffened for an instant, and seemed an 
 inch higher. " I ain so sorry," she said at 
 last in a level voice. " I thought he would 
 have been so amusing. Indeed, I had hoped 
 we might try an old Moorish dance together 
 which I have found and was practising." 
 
 " He would have been delighted, I know. 
 It 's a great pity he did n't come with me," 
 I said quickly ; " but," I could not help 
 adding, with emphasis on her words, " he is 
 such an ' extraordinary creature,' you know." 
 
 " I see nothing extraordinary in his devo 
 tion to an aged relative," returned Miss 
 Mannersley, quietly, as she turned away, 
 " except that it justifies my respect for his 
 character." 
 
 I do not know why I did not relate this 
 to him. Possibly I had given up trying to 
 understand them ; perhaps I was beginning 
 to have an idea that he could take care of
 
 258 THE DEVOTION OF ENBIQUEZ. 
 
 Mmself. But I was somewhat surprised a 
 few days later when, after asking me to go 
 with him to a rodeo at his uncle's he added 
 composedly, " You will meet Mees Boston." 
 
 I stared, and but for his manner would 
 have thought it part of his extravagance. 
 For the rodeo a yearly chase of wild cat 
 tle for the purpose of lassoing and brand 
 ing them was a rather brutal affair, and 
 purely a man's function ; it was also a 
 family affair a property stock-taking of 
 the great Spanish cattle-owners and stran 
 gers, particularly Americans, found it diffi 
 cult to gain access to its mysteries and the 
 festa that followed. 
 
 " But how did she get an invitation ? " I 
 asked. " You did not dare to ask " I 
 began. 
 
 "My friend," said Enriquez, with a sin 
 gular deliberation, "the great and respect 
 able Boston herself, and her serene, vener 
 able oncle, and other Boston magnificoes, 
 have of a truth done me the inexpressible 
 honor to solicit of my degraded, papistical 
 oncle that she shall come that she shall 
 of her own superior eye behold the barbaric 
 customs of our race." 
 
 His tone and manner were so peculiar
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 259 
 
 that I stepped quickly before him, laid my 
 hands on his shoulders, and looked down 
 into his face. But the actual devil which I 
 now for the first time saw in his eyes went 
 out of them suddenly, and he relapsed again 
 in affected languishment in his chair. " I 
 shall be there, friend Pancho," he said, with 
 a preposterous gasp. " I shall nerve my arm 
 to lasso the bull, and tumble him before her 
 at her feet. I shall throw the 'buck-jump ' 
 mustang at the same sacred spot. I shall 
 pluck for her the buried chicken at full 
 speed from the ground, and present it to 
 her. You shall see it, friend Pancho. I 
 shall be there." 
 
 He was as good as his word. When Don 
 Pedro Amador, his uncle, installed Miss 
 Mannersley, with Spanish courtesy, on a 
 raised platform in the long valley where the 
 rodeo took place, the gallant Enriquez se 
 lected a bull from the frightened and gallop 
 ing herd, and, cleverly isolating him from 
 the band, lassoed his hind legs, and threw 
 him exactly before the platform where Miss 
 Mannersley was seated. It was Enriquez 
 who caught the unbroken mustang, sprang 
 from his own saddle to the bare back of his 
 captive, and with only the lasso for a bridle,
 
 260 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 halted him on rigid haunches at Miss Man- 
 nersley's feet. It was Enriquez who, in the 
 sports that followed, leaned from his saddle 
 at full speed, caught up the chicken buried 
 to its head in the sand without wringing its 
 neck, and tossed it unharmed and fluttering 
 toward his mistress. As for her, she wore 
 the same look of animation that I had seen 
 in her face at our previous meeting. Al 
 though she did not bring her sketch-book 
 with her, as at the bull-fight, she did not 
 shrink from the branding of the cattle, 
 which took place under her very eyes. 
 
 Yet I had never seen her and Enriquez 
 together; they had never, to my actual 
 knowledge, even exchanged words. And 
 now, although she was the guest of his 
 uncle, his duties seemed to keep him in the 
 field, and apart from her. Nor, as far as I 
 could detect, did either apparently make 
 any effort to have it otherwise. The pecul 
 iar circumstance seemed to attract no atten 
 tion from any one else. But for what I 
 alone knew or thought I knew of their 
 actual relations, I should have thought them 
 strangers. 
 
 But I felt certain that the festa which 
 took place in the broad patio of Don Pedro's
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 261 
 
 casa would bring them together. And later 
 in the evening, as we were all sitting on 
 the veranda watching the dancing of the 
 Mexican women, whose white-flounced sayas 
 were monotonously rising and falling to the 
 strains of two melancholy harps, Miss Man- 
 nersley rejoined us from the house. She 
 seemed to be utterly absorbed and abstracted 
 in the barbaric dances, and scarcely, moved 
 as she leaned over the railing with her cheek 
 resting on her hand. Suddenly she arose 
 with a little cry. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked two or three. 
 
 " Nothing only I have lost my fan." 
 She had risen, and was looking abstractedly 
 on the floor. 
 
 Half a dozen men jumped to their feet. 
 " Let me fetch it," they said. 
 
 " No, thank you. I think I know where 
 it is, and will go for it myself." She was 
 moving away. 
 
 But Don Pedro interposed with Spanish 
 gravity. Such a thing was not to be heard 
 of in his casa. If the senorita would not 
 permit him an old man to go for it, 
 it must be brought by Enriquez, her cava 
 lier of the day. 
 
 But Enriquez was not to be found. I
 
 262 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 glanced at Miss Mannersley's somewhat dis 
 turbed face, and begged her to let me fetch 
 it. I thought I saw a flush of relief come 
 into her pale cheek as she said, in a lower 
 voice, " On the stone seat in the garden." 
 
 I hurried away, leaving Don Pedro still 
 protesting. I knew the gardens, and the 
 stone seat at an angle of the wall, not a 
 dozen yards from the casa. The moon shone 
 full upon it. There, indeed, lay the little 
 gray-feathered fan. But close beside it, also, 
 lay the crumpled, black, gold-embroidered 
 riding gauntlet that Enriquez had worn at 
 the rodeo. 
 
 I thrust it hurriedly into my pocket, and 
 ran back. As I passed through the gate 
 way I asked a peon to send Enriquez to me. 
 The man stared. Did I not know that Don 
 Enriquez had ridden away two minutes ago ? 
 
 When I reached the veranda, I handed 
 the fan to Miss Mannersley without a word. 
 " Bueno,"' said Don Pedro, gravely ; " it is 
 as well. There shall be no bones broken 
 over the getting of it, for Enriquez, I hear, 
 has had to return to the Encinal this very 
 evening." 
 
 Miss Mannersley retired early. I did not 
 inform her of my discovery, nor did I seek
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 263 
 
 in any way to penetrate her secret. There 
 was no doubt that she and Enriquez had 
 been together, perhaps not for the first time ; 
 but what was the result of their interview ? 
 From the young girl's demeanor and En 
 riquez' hurried departure, I could only fear 
 the worst for him. Had he been tempted 
 into some further extravagance and been an 
 grily rebuked, or had he avowed a real pas 
 sion concealed under his exaggerated mask 
 and been deliberately rejected ? I tossed 
 uneasily half the night, following in my 
 dreams my poor friend's hurrying hoof -beats, 
 and ever starting from my sleep at what I 
 thought was the sound of galloping hoofs. 
 
 I rose early, and lounged into the patio ; 
 but others were there before me, and a small 
 group of Don Pedro's family were excitedly 
 discussing something, and I fancied they 
 turned away awkwardly and consciously as 
 I approached. There was an air of indefi 
 nite uneasiness everywhere. A strange fear 
 came over me with the chill of the early 
 morning air. Had anything happened to 
 Enriquez? I had always looked upon his 
 extravagance as part of his playful humor. 
 Could it be possible that under the sting of 
 rejection he had made his grotesque threat
 
 264 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 of languishing effacement real ? Surely 
 Miss Mannersley would know or suspect 
 something, if it were the case. 
 
 I approached one of the Mexican women 
 and asked if the senorita had risen. The 
 woman started, and looked covertly round 
 before she replied. Did not Don Pancho 
 know that Miss Mannersley and her maid 
 had not slept in their beds that night, but 
 had gone, none knew where ? 
 
 For an instant I felt an appalling sense of 
 my own responsibility in this suddenly seri 
 ous situation, and hurried after the retreat 
 ing family group. But as I entered the cor 
 ridor a vaquero touched me on the shoulder. 
 He had evidently just dismounted, and was 
 covered with the dust of the road. He 
 handed me a note written in pencil on a leaf 
 from Miss Mannersley's sketch-book. It 
 was in Enriquez' hand, and his signature 
 was followed by his most extravagant ru 
 bric. 
 
 "Friend Pancho: When you read this 
 line you shall of a possibility think I am no 
 more. That is where you shall slip up, my 
 little brother ! I am much more I am two 
 times as much, for I have marry Miss Bos 
 ton. At the Mission Church, at five of the
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 265 
 
 morning, sharp! No cards shall be left! I 
 kiss the hand of my venerable uncle-in-law. 
 You shall say to him that we fly to the South 
 wilderness as the combined evangelical mis 
 sionary to the heathen ! Miss Boston herself 
 say this. Ta-ta ! How are you now ? 
 
 " Your own ENEIQUEZ."
 
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