IlilillJl!!!!!!!
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 PAUL TURNER, U.S.M.C.R. 
 
 KILLED IN ACTION, SAIPAN 
 
 JUNE, 1944
 
 "HOW MANY MEN HAVE YOU HERE?" 
 
 In a Hollow of the Hills
 
 "ARGONAUT EDITION" OF 
 THE WORKS OF BRET HARTE 
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS 
 
 BY 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 P. F. COLLIER &f SON 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 f^tbhshtd vnder tpeeial arranffemtnt vitk 
 Me Iloughtun Mijtin Company 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1895 AND 1896 
 BY BRET HARTE 
 All rights reserved
 
 PS 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 1 
 
 A YELLOW DOG 44 
 
 A MOTHER OF FIVE 63 
 
 BULGER'S REPUTATION 80 
 
 IN THE TULES 104 
 
 A CONVERT OF THE MISSION .... 141 
 
 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH .... 182 
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ . 216 
 
 Bret Harte 1 V. 6 
 
 V 
 
 810100
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 
 
 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 
 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 BABKER'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
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 6 
 
 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' hoofs, 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 BAEKER'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 sale, 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 BABEER'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. 7 
 
 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 BARKERS 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? Perad venture a pearl 
 or two may have been overlooked ! " 
 
 " No that 's all," returned Barker sim- 
 
 ply.
 
 BARKER'S 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 '11 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 '11 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 bo
 
 10 BARKERS LUCK 
 
 d cl 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 Demovest 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 1 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 BARKER'S 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. u 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.
 
 BARKER'S 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 BARKER' 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 
 
 and laughed over a prospective " strike " in 
 mining 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 JiTst 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 woidd 
 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 BARKER'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 LUCK. 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 the bank 
 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 BAEEEE'S LUCK. 
 
 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
 
 BARKERS LUCE. 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 givin' 
 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
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 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 " 
 he 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 a/7. He did not even dare to 
 hope I 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
 
 BASKETS 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 BABKER'S LUCK 
 
 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 I 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 ! " 
 
 u 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. 
 He 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
 
 BAREEB'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 / 
 should n'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 iips,
 
 BARKER'S LUCK. 29 
 
 4 
 
 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
 
 80 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 out 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 5 
 and it said First in the Bloomville 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 
 Bret Harte 1 V. 6
 
 BARKER'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 
 4 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. 
 Bret Harte 2 V. 6
 
 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 would 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
 
 LUCK. 
 
 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 1 "
 
 BARKER'S LUCK 35 
 
 " Good God ! You must believe me. Lis- 
 ten ! It was all a mistake a printer's er- 
 ror. I 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 dfl 
 so at once 1 " 
 
 "What?" gasped Barker. 
 
 " At once do you hear ? or it may hj 
 too late I 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 
 tvas 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 BABKER'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 1 " 
 
 " 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 'm
 
 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.
 
 BARKEB'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 1"
 
 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 callin 1 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 " yellow 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 
 Vater 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 mis-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 secure 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 blear- 
 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 again, 
 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 DOG. 58 
 
 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 Battlers 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 
 dog," 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 dog 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 DOG. 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 sanc- 
 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 : 
 
 "flood Dog I"
 
 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 
 Bret Harte 3 V. 6
 
 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 did n'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 Roper, 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 
 any thin' 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 MOTHER OF FIVE. 
 
 constructed by Mary herself. It was an 
 ominous fact that it was always dressed as 
 a boy, 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 to 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 ninepin 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 altitxides 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 tact 
 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 MOTHEE OF FIVE. 
 
 were loyal to their trust. Indeed, for years 
 afterwards the blacksmith kept the iron- 
 headed Misery on 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 Keno 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 ha<l 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 we 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. 77 
 
 no sho, nor blacksmiffs shops, wich is not 
 to be seen no wear. Eapits 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 delitef ul 
 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 offen. 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 
 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 MOTHEE 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 REPUTATION. 
 
 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 impres- 
 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 
 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 
 severe moral revulsion, 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, gregarious 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 BULGES' 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 sayin', 
 ' 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 
 Jhat 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 their 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."
 
 BULGEE'S EEPUTATION. 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 u,nd 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 only 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 BULGERS 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 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 
 salvo 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 5 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 
 the 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
 
 00 BULGEB'S EEPUTATION. 
 
 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 for a couple o' weeks. I saw 
 an empty one at the head o' the hill. You 
 see, gennelmen," he added confidentially as
 
 BULGERS EEPUTATION. 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 
 ago ; when I seed that thar ditch meanderin' 
 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 chimbley 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 'II 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 own 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 filled 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! Lookyere! 
 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
 
 BULGER'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 wasn'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 
 Bret Harte 4 V. 6
 
 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 somethin', 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 stood 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 BULGES' S 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 wimen 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 and 
 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 REPUTATION. 
 
 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; 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 
 inclosure. 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
 
 BULGER'S 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 journey ings. 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 TITLES. 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- 
 pitying, 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. 
 Sale ? " 
 
 "Thar ain't anyone 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?" 
 
 4 '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 
 
 peated 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. Ill 
 
 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 hia 
 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-
 
 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 did n't tell me your 
 name," he said. " In case " 
 
 "In case I'm wanted? 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 IAT 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 THE 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 coming 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
 
 IN 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 
 iseparated 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. 
 Bret Harte 6 ~ V. 6
 
 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 Setli 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 wasn'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 TITLES. 
 
 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 J^ 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. 
 
 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 Relief 
 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 Calif ornian'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, bucolic nature that had 
 sustained itself against 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 IZV 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 CONVEKT 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 Keverend 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, he 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 J/ISSJO.V. 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 ihule 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 CON VEST 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 CON VEST 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 CONVERT 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 f onda, 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 Angelns.' 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 in 
 question were simply the title of an idle 
 novel, and, of course, could not possibly 
 refer to rae." 
 
 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 rilled 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 CONVERT 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 
 Bret Harte 6 V. 6
 
 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 deefeecult 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 frightened 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 CONVERT 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 Seiiorita, 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 CON VEST 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, ^,nd, 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," lie 
 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 more awkwardly, as he no- 
 ticed that she held only a long black fan in 
 her hand. 
 
 "For why? You would that I play it, 
 and when my uncle say ' Where go Pepita? 
 She is loss, ' some 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. But 
 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
 
 j A CONVERT 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 alternately strove with 
 him, but above all and through all he was 
 conscious of a sharp, exquisite pleasure 
 that frightened him still more. Yet he 
 managed to exclaim : 
 
 "No! no! You cannot think 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 and then burst out bluntly, 
 "I want to talk with 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 CONVERT 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. He 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 lie 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 Kome," 
 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 Deacon 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? 
 Did n'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? 
 Didn'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 CONVERT 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 INDISCEETION 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 ELSBETH. 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
 
 186 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 wohlf 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 now," 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. 
 i 
 
 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 Gott ! 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 Prinzessinen 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 
 Bret Harte 7 V. 6
 
 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 
 preter naturally 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 INDISCRETTOtf OF ELS BETH. 
 
 New York, whore 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 INDISCRETION OF ELSBETH. 19? 
 
 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'll knock off and call 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 
 
 f erence 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 &*" 
 
 "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 ELSBETH. 
 
 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 should n'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 ? " 
 
 Ver which?" 
 
 " Engaged. " She nodded her head thrice : 
 viciously, decidedly, mischievously. 
 
 "So much the better.''
 
 208 THE INDISCRETION OF ELSBETff. 
 
 "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 reappeai-ed 
 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 ELSBETH. 
 
 changed to a look of mysterious and arch 
 intelligence. 
 
 "Ach Gott ! 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 theFraulein 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 ELSBETR. 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 ELSBETH. 
 
 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 cur- 
 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.
 
 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 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 ENEIQUEZ. 217 
 
 my friend, your old Onele '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 enof e ; tranquillize yourself. 
 I will go. I will efface myself. AdiosI 
 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 ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 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
 
 TEE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 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 four 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. 
 
 lie 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 Ramie 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 TEE 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 mo re 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. 
 
 "' T s:ft'fc 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!" 
 Bret Harte 8 V. 6
 
 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 Mannersley, 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 wouldn'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 ENBIQUEZ. 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, Q 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 ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 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." 
 
 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 ENRIQUEZ. 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 ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 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 ENRIQUEZ. 229 
 
 nevertheless knew that Enriquez 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 lie 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," 
 he 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 ENEIQUEZ. 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 ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 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."
 
 288 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 ENEIQUJEZ. 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 ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 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 ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 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 ENEIQUEZ. 243 
 
 Miss Mannersley stopped, and rose care- 
 lessly from the piano. " 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 ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 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 ENKIQUEZ. 247 
 
 horror I saw that she had a drawing-book in 
 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 hurried up to her as the six yoked mules
 
 250 THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 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 ENRIQUEZ. 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 ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 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 Mannersley 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 another 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- 
 ner sley, or that he was trying to suborn her 
 maid to carry one, was still uncertain. He 
 was capable of either. 
 
 During the next two or three weeks I saw 
 
 him frequently ; but as I had resolved to try 
 
 the effect of ignoring Miss Mannersley in 
 
 our conversation, I gathered little further of 
 
 Bret Harte 9-V. 6
 
 256 THE DEVOTION OF ENEIQUEZ. 
 
 fcheir 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 languislunent 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 ENBIQUEZ. 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 am 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 ENRIQUEZ. 
 
 himself. 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 
 
 " 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 ENKIQUEZ. 
 
 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 
 ancle, 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 ENRIQUEZ. 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 ENBIQUEZ. 
 
 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 Mamiersley'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 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 ENBIQUEZ. 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 thiso Ta-ta ! How are you now ? 
 
 " Your own ENRIQUEZ."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was very dark, and the wind was in- 
 creasing. The last gust had been preceded 
 by an ominous roaring down the whole 
 mountain -side, which continued for some 
 time after the trees in the little valley had 
 lapsed into silence. The air was filled with 
 a faint, cool, sodden odor, as of stirred for- 
 est depths. In those intervals of silence 
 the darkness seemed to increase in propor- 
 tion and grow almost palpable. Yet out of 
 this sightless and soundless void now came 
 the tinkle of a spur's rowels, the dry crack- 
 ling of saddle leathers, and the muffled 
 plunge of a hoof in the thick carpet of dust 
 and desiccated leaves. Then a voice, which 
 in spite of its matter-of-fact reality the ob- 
 scurity lent a certain mystery to, said : 
 
 " I can't make out anything ! Where
 
 2 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the devil have we got to, anyway ? It 's as 
 black as Tophet, here ahead ! " 
 
 " Strike a light and make a flare with 
 something," returned a second voice. " Look 
 where you 're shoving to now keep 
 your horse off, will ye." 
 
 There was more muffled plunging, a 
 silence, the rustle of paper, the quick spurt 
 of a match, and then the uplifting of a flick- 
 ering flame. But it revealed only the heads 
 and shoulders of three horsemen, framed 
 within a nebulous ring of light, that still left 
 their horses and even their lower figures in 
 impenetrable shadow. Then the flame leaped 
 up and died out with a few zigzagging 
 sparks that were falling to the ground, when 
 a third voice, that was low but somewhat 
 pleasant in its cadence, said : 
 
 " Be careful where you throw that. You 
 were careless last time. With this wind and 
 the leaves like tinder, you might send a fur- 
 nace blast through the woods." 
 
 " Then at least we 'd see where we were." 
 
 Nevertheless, he moved his horse, whose 
 trampling hoofs beat out the last fallen spark. 
 Complete darkness and silence again fol- 
 lowed. Presently the first speaker con- 
 tinued :
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 3 
 
 " I reckon we '11 have to wait here till the 
 next squall clears away the scud from the 
 sky. HeUo! What's that?" 
 
 Out of the obscurity before them ap- 
 peared a faint light, a dun but perfectly 
 defined square of radiance, which, how- 
 ever, did not appear to illuminate anything 
 around it. Suddenly it disappeared. 
 
 " That 's a house it 's a light in a win- 
 dow," said the second voice. 
 
 "House be d d!" retorted the first 
 speaker. " A house with a window on Gal- 
 loper's Ridge, fifteen miles from anywhere ? 
 You 're crazy ! " 
 
 Nevertheless, from the muffled plunging 
 and tinkling that followed, they seemed to 
 be moving in the direction where the light 
 had appeared. Then there was a pause. 
 
 " There 's nothing but a rocky outcrop 
 here, where a house could n't stand, and 
 we're off the trail again," said the first 
 speaker impatiently. 
 
 " Stop I there it is again ! " 
 
 The same square of light appeared once 
 more, but the horsemen had evidently di- 
 verged in the darkness, for it seemed to be in 
 a different direction. But it was more dis-
 
 4 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 tinct, and as they gazed a shadow appeared 
 upon its radiant surface the profile of a 
 human face. Then the light suddenly went 
 out, and the face vanished with it. 
 
 " It is a window, and there was some one 
 behind it," said the second speaker emphat- 
 ically. 
 
 " It was a woman's face," said the plea- 
 sant voice. 
 
 " Whoever it is, just hail them, so that 
 we can get our bearings. Sing out ! All 
 together ! " 
 
 The three voices rose in a prolonged 
 shout, in which, however, the distinguishing 
 quality of the pleasant voice was sustained. 
 But there was no response from the dark- 
 ness beyond. The shouting was repeated 
 after an interval with the same result : the 
 silence and obscurity remained unchanged. 
 
 " Let 's get out of this," said the first 
 speaker angrily ; " house or no house, man 
 or woman, we 're not wanted, and we '11 
 make nothing waltzing round here ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " said the second voice. " Sh-h ! 
 Listen." 
 
 The leaves of the nearest trees were trill- 
 ing audibly. Then came a sudden gust that
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. O 
 
 swept the fronds of the taller ferns into 
 their faces, and laid the thin, lithe whips of 
 alder over their horses' flanks sharply. It 
 was followed by the distant sea-like roaring 
 of the mountain-side. 
 
 " That 's a little more like it ! " said the 
 first speaker joyfully. " Another blow like 
 that and we 're all right. And look J 
 there 's a lightenin' up over the trail we 
 came by." 
 
 There was indeed a faint glow in that 
 direction, like the first suffusion of dawn, 
 permitting the huge shoulder of the moun- 
 tain along whose flanks they had been jour- 
 neying to be distinctly seen. The sodden 
 breath of the stirred forest depths was 
 slightly tainted with an acrid fume. 
 
 " That 's the match you threw away two 
 hours ago," said the pleasant voice delib- 
 erately. " It 's caught the dry brush in the 
 trail round the bend." 
 
 " Anyhow, it 's given us our bearings, 
 boys," said the first speaker, with satisfied 
 accents. " We 're all right now ; and the 
 wind's lifting the sky ahead there. For- 
 ward now, all together, and let 's get out of 
 this hell-hole while we can I "
 
 6 iy A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 It was so much lighter that the bulk of 
 each horseman could be seen as they moved 
 forward together. But there was no thin- 
 ning of the obscurity on either side of them. 
 Nevertheless the profile of the horseman 
 with the pleasant voice seemed to be occa- 
 sionally turned backward, and he suddenly 
 checked his horse, 
 
 " There 's the window again ! " he said. 
 " Look ! There it 's gone again." 
 
 " Let it go and be d d ! " returned the 
 leader. " Come on." 
 
 They spurred forward in silence. It was 
 not long before the wayside trees began to 
 dimly show spaces between them, and the 
 ferns to give way to lower, thick-set shrubs, 
 which in turn yielded to a velvety moss, 
 with long quiet intervals of netted and tan- 
 gled grasses. The regular fall of the horses' 
 feet became a mere rhythmic throbbing. 
 Then suddenly a single hoof rang out sharply 
 on stone, and the first speaker reined in 
 slightly. 
 
 " Thank the Lord we 're on the ridge 
 now ! and the rest is easy. Tell you what, 
 though, boys, now we 're all right, I don't 
 mind saying that I did n't take no stock in
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 1 
 
 that blamed corpse light down there. If 
 there ever was a will-o'-the-wisp on a square 
 up mountain, that was one. It was n't no 
 window ! Some of ye thought ye saw a face 
 too eh?" 
 
 " Yes, and a rather pretty one," said the 
 pleasant voice meditatively. 
 
 " That 's the way they 'd build that sort 
 of thing, of course. It 's lucky ye had 
 to satisfy yourself with looking. Gosh ! I 
 feel creepy yet, thinking of it ! What are 
 ye looking back for now like Lot's wife ? 
 Blamed if I don't think that face bewitched 
 
 ye." 
 
 " I was only thinking about that fire you 
 started," returned the other quietly. "I 
 don't see it now." 
 
 "Well if you did?" 
 
 " I was wondering whether it could reach 
 that hollow." 
 
 " I reckon that hollow could take care of 
 any casual nat'rel fire that came boomin' 
 along, and go two better every time ! Why, 
 I don't believe there was any fire ; it was 
 all a piece of that infernal ignis fatuus 
 phantasmagoriana that was played upon us 
 down there ! "
 
 8 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 With the laugh that followed they started 
 forward again, relapsing into the silence of 
 tired men at the end of a long journey. 
 Even their few remarks were inter jectional, 
 or reminiscent of topics whose freshness had 
 been exhausted with the day. The gaining 
 light which seemed to come from the ground 
 about them rather than from the still, over- 
 cast sky above, defined their individuality 
 more distinctly. The man who had first 
 spoken, and who seemed to be their leader, 
 wore the virgin unshaven beard, mustache, 
 and flowing hair of the Californian pioneer, 
 and might have been the eldest ; the second 
 speaker was close shaven, thin, and ener- 
 getic ; the third, with the pleasant voice, in 
 height, litheness, and suppleness of figure 
 appeared to be the youngest of the party. 
 The trail had now become a grayish streak 
 along the level table-land they were follow- 
 ing, which also had the singular effect of 
 appearing lighter than the surrounding land- 
 scape, yet of plunging into utter darkness 
 on either side of its precipitous walls. 
 Nevertheless, at the end of an hour the 
 leader rose in his stirrups with a sigh of 
 satisfaction.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 9 
 
 "There's the light in Collinson's Mill! 
 There 's nothing gaudy and spectacular 
 about that, boys, eh? No, sir! it 's a square, 
 honest beacon that a man can steer by. 
 We '11 be there in twenty minutes." He 
 was pointing into the darkness below the 
 already descending trail. Only a pioneer's 
 eye could have detected the few pin-pricks 
 of light in the impenetrable distance, and it 
 was a signal proof of his leadership that the 
 others accepted it without seeing it. " It 's 
 just ten o'clock," he continued, holding a 
 huge silver watch to his eye ; " we 've wasted 
 an hour on those blamed spooks yonder ! " 
 
 " We were n't off the trail more than ten 
 minutes, Uncle Dick," protested the plea- 
 sant voice. 
 
 " All right, my son ; go down there if you 
 like and fetch out your Witch of Endor, but 
 as for me, I 'm going to throw myself the 
 other side of Collinson's lights. They're 
 good enough for me, and a blamed sight 
 more stationary ! " 
 
 The grade was very steep, but they took 
 it, California fashion, at a gallop, being gen- 
 uinely good riders, and using their brains as 
 well as their spurs in the understanding of
 
 10 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 their horses, and of certain natural laws, which 
 the more artificial riders of civilization are 
 apt to overlook. Hence there was no hesi- 
 tation or indecision communicated to the 
 nervous creatures they bestrode, who swept 
 over crumbling stones and slippery ledges 
 with a momentum that took away half their 
 weight, and made a stumble or false step, 
 or indeed anything but an actual collision, 
 almost impossible. Closing together they 
 avoided the latter, and holding each other 
 well up, became one irresistible wedge-shaped 
 mass. At times they yelled, not from con- 
 sciousness nor bravado, but from the purely 
 animal instinct of warning and to combat 
 the breathlessness of their descent, until, 
 reaching the level, they charged across the 
 gravelly bed of a vanished river, and pulled 
 up at Collinson's Mill. The mill itself had 
 long since vanished with the river, but the 
 building that had once stood for it was used 
 as a rude hostelry for travelers, which, 
 however, bore no legend or invitatory sign. 
 Those who wanted it, knew it ; those who 
 passed it by, gave it no offense. 
 
 Collinson himself stood by the door, smok- 
 ing a contemplative pipe. As they rode up,
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 11 
 
 he disengaged himself from the doorpost list- 
 lessly, walked slowly towards them, said re- 
 flectively to the leader, " I 've been thinking 
 with you that a vote for Thompson is a vote 
 thrown away," and prepared to lead the 
 horses towards the water tank. He had 
 parted with them over twelve hours before, 
 but his air of simply renewing a recently 
 interrupted conversation was too common a 
 circumstance to attract their notice. They 
 knew, and he knew, that no one else had 
 passed that way since he had last spoken ; 
 that the same sun had swung silently above 
 him and the unchanged landscape, and there 
 had been no interruption nor diversion to his 
 monotonous thought. The wilderness anni- 
 hilates time and space with the grim pathos 
 of patience. 
 
 Nevertheless he smiled. " Ye don't seem 
 to have got through coming down yet," he 
 continued, as a few small boulders, loosened 
 in their rapid descent, came more deliberately 
 rolling and plunging after the travelers 
 along the gravelly bottom. Then he turned 
 away with the horses, and, after they were 
 watered, he reentered the house. His guests 
 had evidently not waited for his ministration.
 
 12 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 They had already taken one or two bottles 
 from the shelves behind a wide bar and 
 helped themselves, and, glasses in hand, were 
 now satisfying the more imminent cravings 
 of hunger with biscuits from a barrel and 
 slices of smoked herring from a box. Their 
 equally singular host, accepting their conduct 
 as not unusual, joined the circle they had 
 comfoi-tably drawn round the fireplace, and 
 meditatively kicking a brand back at the 
 fire, said, without looking at them : 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well!" returned the leader, leaning 
 back in his chair after carefully unloosing 
 the buckle of his belt, but with his eyes also 
 on the fire, " well ! we 've prospected every 
 yard of outcrop along the Divide, and there 
 ain't the ghost of a silver indication any- 
 where." 
 
 "Not a smell," added the close-shaven 
 guest, without raising his eyes. 
 
 They all remained silent, looking at the 
 fire, as if it were the one thing they had 
 taken into their confidence. Collinson also 
 addressed himself to the blaze as he said 
 presently : " It allus seemed to me that thar 
 was something shiny about that ledge just
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 13 
 
 round the shoulder of the spur, over the 
 long canon." 
 
 The leader ejaculated a short laugh. 
 " Shiny, eh ? shiny ! Ye think that a sign ? 
 Why, you might as well reckon that because 
 Key's head, over thar, is gray and silvery 
 that he's got sabe and experience." As he 
 spoke he looked towards the man with a 
 pleasant voice. The fire shining full upon 
 him revealed the singular fact that while his 
 face was still young, and his mustache quite 
 dark, his hair was perfectly gray. The 
 object of this attention, far from being dis- 
 concerted by the comparison, added with a 
 smile : 
 
 " Or that he had any silver in his pocket." 
 
 Another lapse of silence followed. The 
 wind tore round the house and rumbled in 
 the short, adobe chimney. 
 
 " No, gentlemen," said the leader reflec- 
 tively, " this sort o' thing is played out. I 
 don't take no more stock in that cock-and- 
 bull story about the lost Mexican mine. I 
 don't catch on to that Sunday-school yarn 
 about the pious, scientific sharp who col- 
 lected leaves and vegetables all over the 
 Divide, all the while he scientifically knew
 
 14 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 that the range was solid silver, only he 
 wouldn't soil his fingers with God-forsaken 
 lucre. I ain't saying anything agin that 
 fine-spun theory that Key believes in about 
 volcanic upheavals that set up on end ar- 
 gentiferous rock, but I simply say that / 
 don't see it with the naked eye. And I 
 reckon it 's about time, boys, as the game 's 
 up, that we handed in our checks, and left 
 the board." 
 
 There was another silence around the fire, 
 another whirl and turmoil without. There 
 was no attempt to combat the opinions of 
 their leader ; possibly the same sense of dis- 
 appointed hopes was felt by all, only they 
 preferred to let the man of greater experi- 
 ence voice it. He went on : 
 
 " We 've had our little game, boys, ever 
 since we left Rawlin's a week ago ; we 've 
 had our ups and downs ; we Ve been starved 
 and parched, snowed up and half drowned, 
 shot at by road-agents and horse-thieves, 
 kicked by mules and played with by grizzlies. 
 We 've had a heap o' fun, boys, for our 
 money, but I reckon the picnic is about over. 
 So we '11 shake hands to-morrow all round 
 and call it square, and go on our ways 
 separately."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 15 
 
 " And what do you think you '11 do, Uncle 
 Dick ? " said his close-shaven companion list- 
 lessly. 
 
 " I '11 make tracks for a square meal, a 
 bed that a man can comfortably take off 
 his boots and die in, and some violet-scented 
 soap. Civilization 's good enough for me ! 
 I even reckon I would n't mind ' the sound 
 of the church-going bell ' ef there was a the- 
 atre handy, as there likely would be. But 
 the wilderness is played out." 
 
 " You '11 be back to it again in six months, 
 Uncle Dick," retorted the other quickly. 
 
 Uncle Dick did not reply. It was a 
 peculiarity of the party that in their isolated 
 companionship they had already exhausted 
 discussion and argument. A silence fol- 
 lowed, in which they all looked at the fire as 
 if it was its turn to make a suggestion. 
 
 " Collinson," said the pleasant voice ab- 
 ruptly, " who lives in the hollow this side 
 of the Divide, about two miles from the first 
 spur above the big canon ? " 
 
 " Nary soul ! " 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Sartin ! Thar ain't no one but me 
 betwixt Bald Top and Skinner's twenty- 
 five miles."
 
 16 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " Of course, you 'd know if any one had 
 come there lately ? " persisted the pleasant 
 voice. 
 
 "I reckon. It ain't a week ago that I 
 tramped the whole distance that you fellers 
 just rode over." 
 
 " There ain't," said the leader deliberately, 
 " any enchanted castle or cabin that goes 
 waltzing round the road with revolving win- 
 dows and fairy princesses looking out of 
 'em?" 
 
 But Collinson, recognizing this as purely 
 irrelevant humor, with possibly a trap or 
 pitfall in it, moved away from the fireplace 
 without a word, and retired to the adjoining 
 kitchen to prepare supper. Presently he 
 reappeared. 
 
 " The pork bar'l 's empty, boys, so I '11 
 hev to fix ye up with jerked beef, potatoes, 
 and flapjacks. Ye see, thar ain't anybody 
 ben over from Skinner's store for a week." 
 
 " All right ; only hurry up ! " said Uncle 
 Dick cheerfully, settling himself back in his 
 chair. " I reckon to turn in as soon as I 've 
 rastled with your hash, for I Ve got to turn 
 out agin and be off at sun-up." 
 
 They were all very quiet again, so quiet
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 17 
 
 that they could not help noticing that the 
 sound of Collinson's preparations for their 
 supper had ceased too. Uncle Dick arose 
 softly and walked to the kitchen door. Col- 
 linson was sitting before a small kitchen 
 stove, with a fork in his hand, gazing ab- 
 stractedly before him. At the sound of 
 his guest's footsteps he started, and the noise 
 of preparation recommenced. Uncle Dick 
 returned to his chair by the fire. Leaning 
 towards the chair of the close-shaven man, he 
 said in a lower voice : 
 " He was off agin I " 
 "What?" 
 
 " Thinkin' of that wife of his." 
 "What about his wife?" asked Key, 
 lowering his voice also. 
 
 The three men's heads were close together., 
 " When Collinson fixed up this mill he 
 sent for his wife in the States," said Uncle 
 Dick, in a half whisper, " waited a year for 
 her, hanging round and boarding every emi- 
 grant wagon that came through the Pass. 
 She did n't come only the news that she 
 was dead." He paused and nudged his 
 chair still closer the heads were almost 
 touching. " They say, over in the Bar "
 
 18 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 his voice had sunk to a complete whisper 
 
 " that it was a lie ! That she ran away 
 with the man that was fetchin' her out. 
 Three thousand miles and three weeks with 
 another man upsets some women. But he 
 knows nothing about it, only he sometimes 
 kinder goes off looney-like, thinking of her." 
 He stopped, the heads separated ; Colliiison 
 had appeared at the doorway, his melancholy 
 patience apparently unchanged. 
 
 " Grub 's on, gentlemen ; sit by and eat." 
 The humble meal was dispatched with 
 zest and silence. A few interjectional re- 
 marks about the uncertainties of prospecting 
 only accented the other pauses. In ten 
 minutes they were out again by the fireplace 
 with their lit pipes. As there were only 
 three chairs, Collinson stood beside the 
 chimney. 
 
 " Collinson," said Uncle Dick, after the 
 usual pause, taking his pipe from his lips, 
 " as we 've got to get up and get at sun-up, 
 we might as well tell you now that we 're 
 dead broke. We Ve been living for the 
 last few weeks on Preble Key's loose change 
 
 and that 's gone. You '11 have to let this 
 little account and damage stand over."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 19 
 
 Collinson's brow slightly contracted, with- 
 out, however, altering his general expression 
 of resigned patience. 
 
 " I 'm sorry for you, boys," he said slowly, 
 " and " (diffidently) " kinder sorry for my- 
 self, too. You see, I reckoned on goin' over 
 to Skinner's to-morrow, to fill up the pork 
 bar'l and vote for Mesick and the wagon- 
 road. But Skinner can't let me have 
 anything more until I've paid suthin' on 
 account, as he calls it." 
 
 " D' ye mean to say thar 's any mountain 
 man as low flung and mean as that ? " said 
 Uncle Dick indignantly. 
 
 " But it is n't his fault," said Collinson 
 gently; "you see, they won't send hinj 
 goods from Sacramento if he don't pay up, 
 and he can't if I don't. Sabe ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that 's another thing. They are 
 mean in Sacramento," said Uncle Dick, 
 somewhat mollified. 
 
 The other guests murmured an assent to 
 this general proposition. Suddenly Uncle 
 Dick's face brightened. 
 
 " Look here ! I know Skinner, and I '11 
 stop there No, blank it all ! I can't, for 
 it 's off my route ! Well, then, we '11 fix it 
 Bret Harte 10 V. 6
 
 20 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 this way. Key will go there and tell Skin- 
 ner that / say that Pll send the money to 
 that Sacramento hound. That '11 fix it ! " 
 
 Collinson's brow cleared ; the solution of 
 the difficulty seemed to satisfy everybody, 
 and the close-shaven man smiledo 
 
 " And I '11 secure it," he said, " and give 
 Collinson a sight draft on myself at San 
 Francisco." 
 
 " What 's that for ? " said Collinson, with 
 a sudden suffusion on each cheek. 
 
 " In case of accident." 
 
 " Wot accident ? " persisted Collinson, 
 with a dark look of suspicion on his usually 
 placid face. 
 
 " In case we should forget it," said the 
 close-shaven man, with a laugh. 
 
 " And do you suppose that if you boys 
 went and forgot it that I 'd have anything 
 to do with your d d paper?" said Collin- 
 son, a murky cloud coming into his eyes. 
 
 " Why, that 's only business, Colly," in- 
 terposed Uncle Dick quickly ; " that 's all 
 Jim Parker means ; he 's a business man, 
 don't you see. Suppose we got killed ! 
 You 've that draft to show." 
 
 " Show who ? " growled Collinson.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 21 
 
 " Why, hang it ! our friends, our 
 heirs, our relations to get your money," 
 hesitated Uncle Dick. 
 
 " And do you kalkilate," said Collinson, 
 with deeply laboring breath, " that if you 
 got killed, that I 'd be coming on your folks 
 for the worth of the d d truck I giv ye ? 
 Go 'way ! Lemme git out o' this. You 're 
 makin' me tired." He stalked to the door, 
 lit his pipe, and began to walk up and down 
 the gravelly river-bed. Uncle Dick followed 
 him. From time to time the two other 
 guests heard the sounds of alternate protest 
 and explanation as they passed and repassed 
 the windows. Preble Key smiled, Parker 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " He '11 be thinkin' you 've begrudged him 
 your grub if you don't that's the way 
 with these business men," said Uncle Dick's 
 voice in one of these intervals. Presently 
 they reentered the house, Uncle Dick say- 
 ing casually to Parker, " You can leave that 
 draft on the bar when you 're ready to go 
 to-morrow ; " and the incident was presumed 
 to have ended. But Collinson did not glance 
 in the direction of Parker for the rest of the 
 evening ; and, indeed, standing with his back
 
 22 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 to the chimney, more than once fell into that 
 stolid abstraction which was supposed to be 
 the contemplation of his absent wife. 
 
 From this silence, which became infec- 
 tious, the three guests were suddenly aroused 
 by a furious clattering down the steep de- 
 scent of the mountain, along the trail they 
 had just ridden ! It came near, increasing 
 in sound, until it even seemed to scatter the 
 fine gravel of the river-bed against the sides 
 of the house, and then passed in a gust of 
 wind that shook the roof and roared in the 
 chimney. With one common impulse the 
 three travelers rose and went to the door. 
 They opened it to a blackness that seemed 
 to stand as another and an iron door before 
 them, but to nothing else. 
 
 " Somebody went by then," said Uncle 
 Dick, turning to Collinson. " Did n't you 
 hear it?" 
 
 " Nary," said Collinson patiently, without 
 moving from the chimney. 
 
 " What in God's name was it, then ? " 
 
 " Only some of them boulders you loosed 
 coming down. It 's touch and go with them 
 for days after. When I first came here I 
 used to start up and rush out into the road
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 23 
 
 like as you would yellin' and screechin' 
 after folks that never was there and never 
 went by. Then it got kinder monotonous, 
 and I 'd lie still and let 'em slide. Why, 
 one night I 'd 'a' sworn that some one pulled 
 up with a yell and shook the door. But I 
 sort of allowed to myself that whatever it 
 was, it was n't wantin' to eat, drink, sleep, 
 or it would come in, and I had n't any 
 call to interfere. And in the mornin' I 
 found a rock as big as that box, lying chock- 
 a-block agin the door. Then I knowed I 
 was right." 
 
 Preble Key remained looking from the 
 door. 
 
 " There 's a glow in the sky over Big 
 Canon," he said, with a meaning glance at 
 Uncle Dick. 
 
 "Saw it an hour ago," said Collinson. 
 " It must be the woods afire just round the 
 bend above the canon. Whoever goes to 
 Skinner's had better give it a wide berth." 
 
 Key turned towards Collinson as if to 
 speak, but apparently changed his mind, and 
 presently joined his companions, who were 
 already rolling themselves in their blankets, 
 in a series of wooden bunks or berths,
 
 24 IZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 ranged as in a ship's cabin, around the walls 
 of a resinous, sawdusty apartment that had 
 been the measuring room of the mill. Col- 
 linson disappeared, no one knew or seemed 
 to care where, and, in less than ten min- 
 utes from the time that they had returned 
 from the door, the hush of sleep and rest 
 seemed to possess the whole house. There 
 was no light but that of the fire in the front 
 room, which threw flickering and gigantic 
 shadows on the walls of the three empty 
 chairs before it. An hour later it seemed 
 as if one of the chairs were occupied, and a 
 grotesque profile of Collinson's slumbering 
 or meditating face and figure was pro- 
 jected grimly on the rafters as though it 
 were the hovering guardian spirit of the 
 house. But even that passed presently and 
 faded out, and the beleaguering darkness 
 that had encompassed the house all the even- 
 ing began to slowly creep in through every 
 chink and cranny of the rambling, ill-jointed 
 structure, until it at last obliterated even the 
 faint embers on the hearth. The cool fra- 
 grance of the woodland depths crept in with 
 it until the steep of human warmth, the reek 
 of human clothing, and the lingering odors
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 25 
 
 of stale human victual were swept away in 
 that incorruptible and omnipotent breath. 
 An hour later and the wilderness had re- 
 possessed itself of all. 
 
 Key, the lightest sleeper, awoke early, 
 so early that the dawn announced itself only 
 in two dim squares of light that seemed to 
 grow out of the darkness at the end of the 
 room where the windows looked out upon 
 the valley. This reminded him of his wood- 
 land vision of the night before, and he lay 
 and watched them until they brightened and 
 began to outline the figures of his still 
 sleeping companions. But there were faint 
 stirrings elsewhere, the soft brushing of a 
 squirrel across the shingled roof, the tiny 
 flutter of invisible wings in the rafters, the 
 " peep " and " squeak " of baby life below 
 the floor. And then he fell into a deeper 
 sleep, and awoke only when it was broad 
 day. 
 
 The sun was shining upon the empty 
 bunks ; his companions were already up 
 and gone. They had separated as they 
 had come together, with the light-hearted 
 irresponsibility of animals, without regret, 
 and scarcely reminiscence; bearing, with
 
 26 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 cheerful philosophy and the hopefulness of 
 a future unfettered by their past, the final 
 disappointment of their quest. If they ever 
 met again, they would laugh and remember ; 
 if they did not, they would forget without a 
 sigh. He hurriedly dressed himself, and 
 went outside to dip his face and hands in 
 the bucket that stood beside the door ; but 
 the clear air, the dazzling sunshine, and the 
 unexpected prospect half intoxicated him. 
 
 The abandoned mill stretched beside him 
 in all the pathos of its premature decay. 
 The ribs of the water-wheel appeared amid 
 a tangle of shrubs and driftwood, and were 
 twined with long grasses and straggling 
 vines ; mounds of sawdust and heaps of 
 " brush " had taken upon themselves a vel- 
 vety moss where the trickling slime of the 
 vanished river lost itself in sluggish pools, 
 discolored with the dyes of redwood. But 
 on the other side of the rocky ledge dropped 
 the whole length of the valley, alternately 
 bathed in sunshine or hidden in drifts of 
 white and clinging smoke. The upper end 
 of the long canon, and the crests of the 
 ridge above him, were lost in this fleecy 
 cloud, which at times seemed to overflow
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 27 
 
 the summits and fall in slow leaps like lazy 
 cataracts down the mountain-side. Only the 
 range before the ledge was clear ; there the 
 green pines seemed to swell onward and up- 
 ward in long mounting billows, until at last 
 they broke against the sky. 
 
 In the keen stimulus of the hour and the 
 air Key felt the mountaineer's longing for 
 action, and scarcely noticed that Collinson 
 had pathetically brought out his pork barrel 
 to scrape together a few remnants for his last 
 meal. It was not until he had finished his 
 coffee, and Collinson had brought up his 
 horse, that a slight sense of shame at his own 
 and his comrades' selfishness embarrassed 
 his parting with his patient host. He him- 
 self was going to Skinner's to plead for him ; 
 he knew that Parker had left the draft, 
 he had seen it lying in the bar, but a new 
 sense of delicacy kept him from alluding to 
 it now. It was better to leave Collinson 
 with his own peculiar ideas of the respon- 
 sibilities of hospitality unchanged. Key 
 shook his hand warmly, and galloped up 
 the rocky slope. But when he had finally 
 reached the higher level, and fancied he 
 could even now see the dust raised by his
 
 28 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 departing comrades on their two diverging 
 paths, although he knew that they had al- 
 ready gone their different ways, perhaps 
 never to meet again, his thoughts and his 
 eyes reverted only to the ruined mill below 
 him and its lonely occupant. 
 
 He could see him quite distinctly in that 
 clear air, still standing before his door. And 
 then he appeared to make a parting gesture 
 : with his hand, and something like snow flut- 
 tered in the air above his head. It was 
 only the torn fragments of Parker's draft, 
 which this homely gentleman of the Sierras, 
 standing beside his empty pork barrel, had 
 scattered to the four winds.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 KEY'S attention was presently directed to 
 something more important to his present 
 purpose. The keen wind which he had 
 faced in mounting the grade had changed, 
 and was now blowing at his back. His ex- 
 perience of forest fires had already taught 
 him that this was too often only the cold air 
 rushing in to fill the vacuum made by the 
 conflagration, and it needed not his sensa- 
 tion of an acrid smarting in his eyes, and 
 an unaccountable dryness in the air which 
 he was now facing, to convince him that the 
 fire was approaching him. It had evidently 
 traveled faster than he had expected, or 
 had diverged from its course. He was dis- 
 appointed, not because it would oblige him 
 to take another route to Skinner's, as Col- 
 linson had suggested, but for a very differ- 
 ent reason. Ever since his vision of the 
 preceding night, he had resolved to revisit 
 the hollow and discover the mystery. He
 
 30 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 had kept his purpose a secret, partly be- 
 cause he wished to avoid the jesting remarks 
 of his companions, but particularly because 
 he wished to go alone, from a very singular 
 impression that although they had witnessed 
 the incident he had really seen more than 
 they did. To this was also added the haunt- 
 ing fear he had felt during the night that 
 this mysterious habitation and its occupants 
 were in the track of the conflagration. He 
 had not dared to dwell upon it openly on 
 account of Uncle Dick's evident responsibil- 
 ity for the origin of the fire ; he appeased 
 his conscience with the reflection that the 
 inmates of the dwelling no doubt had ample 
 warning in time to escape. But still, he 
 and his companions ought to have stopped 
 to help them, and then but here he 
 paused, conscious of another reason he could 
 scarcely voice then, or even now. Preble 
 Key had not passed the age of romance, but 
 like other romancists he thought he had 
 evaded it by treating it practically. 
 
 Meantime he had reached the fork where 
 the trail diverged to the right, and he must 
 take that direction if he wished to make 
 a detour of the burning woods to reach
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 31 
 
 Skinner's. His momentary indecision com- 
 municated itself to his horse, who halted. 
 Recalled to himself, he looked down me- 
 chanically, when his attention was attracted 
 by an unfamiliar object lying in the dust of 
 the trail. It was a small slipper so small 
 that at first he thought it must have be- 
 longed to some child. He dismounted and 
 picked it up. It was worn and shaped to 
 the foot. It could not have lain there long, 
 for it was not fillet 1 - nor discolored by the 
 wind-blown dust of the trail, as all other 
 adjacent objects were. If it nad 1/een 
 dropped by a passing traveler, that traveler 
 must have passed Collinson's, going or com- 
 ing, within the last twelve hours. It was 
 scarcely possible that the shoe could have 
 dropped from the foot without the wearer's 
 knowing it, and it must have been dropped 
 in an urgent flight, or it would have been 
 recovered. Thus practically Key treated his 
 romance. And having done so, he instantly 
 wheeled his horse and plunged into the road 
 in the direction of the fire. 
 
 But he was surprised after twenty minutes' 
 riding to find that the course of the fire had 
 evidently changed. It was growing clearer
 
 32 ZZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 before him ; the dry heat seemed to come 
 more from the right, in the direction of the 
 detour he should have taken to Skinner's. 
 This seemed almost providential, and in 
 keeping with his practical treatment of his 
 romance, as was also the fact that in all 
 probability the fire had not yet visited the 
 little hollow which he intended to explore. 
 He knew he was nearing it now ; the local- 
 ity had been strongly impressed upon him 
 even in the darkness of the previous even- 
 ing. He had passed the rocky ledge ; his 
 horse's hoofs no longer rang out clearly; 
 slowly and perceptibly they grew deadened 
 in the springy mosses, and were finally lost 
 in the netted grasses and tangled vines that 
 indicated the vicinity of the densely wooded 
 hollow. Here were already some of the 
 wider spaced vanguards of that wood ; but 
 here, too, a peculiar circumstance struck him. 
 He was already descending the slight decliv- 
 ity; but the distance, instead of deepening 
 in leafy shadow, was actually growing lighter. 
 Here were the outskirting sentinels of the 
 wood but the wood itself was gone ! He 
 spurred his horse through the tall arch be- 
 tween the opened columns, and pulled up in 
 amazement.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 33 
 
 The wood, indeed, was gone, and the whole 
 hollow filled with the already black and 
 dead stumps of the utterly consumed for- 
 est ! More than that, from the indications 
 before him, the catastrophe must have al- 
 most immediately followed his retreat from 
 the hollow on the preceding night. It was 
 evident that the fire had leaped the inter- 
 vening shoulder of the spur in one of the 
 unaccountable, but by no means rare, phe- 
 nomena of this kind of disaster. The cir- 
 cling heights around were yet untouched; 
 only the hollow, and the ledge of rock 
 against which they had blundered with their 
 horses when they were seeking the mysteri- 
 ous window in last evening's darkness, were 
 calcined and destroyed. He dismounted and 
 climbed the ledge, still warm from the spent 
 fire. A large mass of grayish outcrop had 
 evidently been the focus of the furnace 
 blast of heat which must have raged for 
 hours in this spot. He was skirting its 
 crumbling debris when he started suddenly 
 at a discovery which made everything else 
 fade into utter insignificance.- Before him, 
 in a slight depression formed by a fault or 
 lapse in the upheaved strata, lay the charred
 
 34 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 and incinerated remains of a dwelling-house 
 leveled to the earth! Originally half hid- 
 den by a natural abattis of growing myrtle 
 and ceanothus which covered this counter- 
 scarp of rock towards the trail, it must 
 have stood within a hundred feet of them 
 during their halt ! 
 
 Even in its utter and complete oblitera- 
 tion by the furious furnace blast that had 
 swept across it, there was still to be seen an 
 unmistakable ground plan and outline of a 
 four-roomed house. While everything that 
 was combustible had succumbed to that in- 
 tense heat, there was still enough half-fused 
 and warped metal, fractured iron plate, and 
 twisted and broken bars to indicate the 
 kitchen and tool shed. Very little had, evi- 
 dently, been taken away ; the house and its 
 contents were consumed where they stood. 
 With a feeling of horror and desperation 
 Key at last ventured to disturb two or three 
 of the blackened heaps that lay before him. 
 But they were only vestiges of clothing, bed- 
 ding, and crockery there was no human 
 trace that he could detect. Nor was there 
 any suggestion of the original condition 
 and quality of the house, except its size:
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 35 
 
 whether the ordinary unsightly cabin of 
 frontier " partners," or some sylvan cottage 
 there was nothing left but the usual igno- 
 ble and unsavory ruins of burnt-out human 
 habitation. 
 
 And yet its very existence was a mystery. 
 It had been unknown at Collinson's, its 
 nearest neighbor, and it was presumable 
 that it was equally unknown at Skinner's. 
 Neither he nor his companions had detected 
 it in their first journey by day through the 
 hollow, and only the tell-tale window at 
 night had been a hint of what was even 
 then so successfully concealed that they 
 could not discover it when they had blun- 
 dered against its rock foundation. For con- 
 cealed it certainly was, and intentionally so. 
 But for what purpose ? 
 
 He gave his romance full play for a few 
 minutes with this question. Some recluse, 
 preferring the absolute simplicity of nature, 
 or perhaps wearied with the artificialities of 
 society, had secluded himself here with the 
 company of his only daughter. Proficient 
 as a pathfinder, he had easily discovered 
 some other way of provisioning his house 
 from the settlements than by the ordinary
 
 36 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 trails past Collinson's or Skinner's, which 
 would have betrayed his vicinity. But re- 
 cluses are not usually accompanied by young 
 daughters, whose relations with the world, 
 not being as antagonistic, would make them 
 uncertain companions. Why not a wife? 
 His presumption of the extreme youth of 
 the face he had seen at the window was 
 after all only based upon the slipper he had 
 found. And if a wife, whose absolute ac- 
 ceptance of such confined seclusion might 
 be equally uncertain, why not somebody 
 else's wife ? Here was a reason for conceal- 
 ment, and the end of an episode, not un- 
 known even in the wilderness. And here 
 was the work of the Nemesis who had over- 
 taken them in their guilty contentment ! 
 The story, even to its moral, was complete. 
 And yet it did not entirely satisfy him, so 
 superior is the absolutely unknown to the 
 most elaborate theory. 
 
 His attention had been once or twice 
 drawn towards the crumbling wall of out- 
 crop, which during the conflagration must 
 have felt the full force of the fiery blast 
 that had swept through the hollow and spent 
 'its fury upon it. It bore evidence of the
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 37 
 
 intense heat in cracked fissures and the 
 crumbling debris that lay at its feet. Key 
 picked up some of the still warm fragments, 
 and was not surprised that they easily broke 
 in a gritty, grayish powder in his hands. In 
 spite of his preoccupation with the human 
 interest, the instinct of the prospector was 
 still strong upon him, and he almost me- 
 chanically put some of the pieces in his 
 pockets. Then after another careful survey 
 of the locality for any further record of its 
 vanished tenants, he returned to his horse. 
 Here he took from his saddle-bags, half list- 
 lessly, a precious phial encased in wood, and, 
 opening it, poured into another thick glass 
 vessel part of a smoking fluid; he then 
 crumbled some of the calcined fragments 
 into the glass, and watched the ebullition 
 that followed with mechanical gravity. 
 When it had almost ceased he drained off 
 the contents into another glass, which he set 
 down, and then proceeded to pour some 
 water from his drinking-flask into the ordi- 
 nary tin cup which formed part of his culi- 
 nary traveling-kit. Into this he put three 
 or four pinches of salt from his provision 
 store. Then dipping his fingers into the
 
 38 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 salt and water, he allowed a drop to fall into 
 the glass. A white cloud instantly gathered 
 in the colorless fluid, and then fell in a fine 
 film to the bottom of the glass. Key's eyes 
 concentrated suddenly, the listless look left 
 his face. His fingers trembled lightly as he 
 again let the salt water fall into the solu- 
 tion, with exactly the same result ! Again 
 and again he repeated it, until the bottom 
 of the glass was quite gray with the fallen 
 precipitate. And his own face grew as 
 gray. 
 
 His hand trembled no longer as he care- 
 fully poured off the solution so as not to 
 disturb the precipitate at the bottom. Then 
 he drew out his knife, scooped a little of the 
 gray sediment upon its point, and emptying 
 his tin cup, turned it upside down upon his 
 knee, placed the sediment upon it, and be- 
 gan to spread it over the dull surface of its 
 bottom with his knife. He had intended to 
 rub it briskly with his knife blade. But in 
 the very action of spreading it, the first 
 stroke of his knife left upon the sediment 
 and the cup the luminous streak of bur- 
 nished silver ! 
 
 He stood up and drew a long breath to
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 39 
 
 still the beatings of his heart. Then he 
 rapidly re-climbed the rock, and passed over 
 the ruins again, this time plunging hurriedly 
 through, and kicking aside the charred 
 heaps without a thought of what they had 
 contained. Key was not an unfeeling man, 
 he was not an unrefined one : he was a gen- 
 tleman by instinct, and had an intuitive 
 sympathy for others ; but in that instant his 
 whole mind was concentrated upon the cal- 
 cined outcrop ! And his first impulse was 
 to see if it bore any evidence of previous 
 examination, prospecting, or working by its 
 suddenly evicted neighbors and owners. 
 There was none : they had evidently not 
 known it. Nor was there any reason to 
 suppose that they would ever return to their 
 hidden home, now devastated and laid bare 
 to the open sunlight and open trail. They 
 were already far away ; their guilty per- 
 sonal secret would keep them from revisit- 
 ing it. An immense feeling of relief came 
 over the soul of this moral romancer ; a 
 momentary recognition of the Most High 
 in this perfect poetical retribution. He ran 
 back quickly to his saddle-bags, drew out 
 one or two carefully written, formal notices
 
 40 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 of preemption and claim, which he and his 
 former companions had carried in their brief 
 partnership, erased their signatures and left 
 only his own name, with another grateful 
 sense of Divine interference, as he thought 
 of them speeding far away in the distance, 
 and returned to the ruins. With uncon- 
 scious irony, he selected a charred post from 
 the embers, stuck it in the ground a few 
 feet from the debris of outcrop, and finally 
 affixed his " Notice." Then, with a con- 
 scientiousness born possibly of his new 
 religious convictions, he dislodged with his 
 pickaxe enough of the brittle outcrop to 
 constitute that presumption of " actual 
 work " upon the claim which was legally 
 required for its maintenance, and returned 
 to his horse. In replacing his things in 
 his saddle-bags he came upon the slipper, 
 and for an instant so complete was his pre- 
 occupation in his later discovery, that he 
 was about to throw it away as useless im- 
 pedimenta, until it occurred to him, albeit 
 vaguely, that it might be of service to him 
 in its connection with that discovery, in 
 the way of ref uting possible false claimants. 
 v He was not aware of any faithlessness to his
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 41 
 
 momentary romance, any more than he was 
 conscious of any disloyalty to his old com- 
 panions, in his gratification that his good 
 fortune had come to him alone. This sin- 
 gular selection was a common experience 
 of prospecting. And there was something 
 about the magnitude of his discovery that 
 seemed to point to an individual achieve- 
 ment. He had made a rough calculation of 
 the richness of the lode from the quantity of 
 precipitate in his rude experiment ; he had 
 estimated its length, breadth, and thickness 
 from his slight knowledge of geology and 
 the theories then ripe ; and the yield would 
 be colossal ! Of course, he would require 
 capital to work it, he would have to " let 
 in " others to his scheme and his prosperity ; 
 but the control of it would always be his 
 own. 
 
 Then he suddenly started as he had never 
 in his life before started at the foot of man ! 
 For there .was a footfall in the charred brush; 
 and not twenty yards from him stood Collin- 
 son, who had just dismounted from a mule. 
 The blood rushed to Key's pale face. 
 
 " Prospectin' agin ? " said the proprietor 
 of the mill, with his weary smile.
 
 42 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " No," said Key quickly, " only straight- 
 ening my pack." The blood deepened in 
 his cheek at his instinctive lie. Had he 
 carefully thought it out before, he would 
 have welcomed Collinson, and told him all. 
 But now a quick, uneasy suspicion flashed 
 upon him. Perhaps his late host had lied, 
 and knew of the existence of the hidden 
 house. Perhaps he had spoken of some 
 " silvery rock " the night before he even 
 knew something of the lode itself. He turned 
 upon him with an aggressive face. But Col- 
 linson's next words dissipated the thought. 
 
 " I 'm glad I found ye, anyhow," he 
 said. " Ye see, arter you left, I saw ye turn 
 off the trail and make for the burning woods 
 instead o' goin' round. I sez to myself, ' That 
 fellow is making straight for Skinner's. 
 He 's sorter worried about me and that 
 empty pork bar'l,' I had n't oughter spoke 
 that away afore you boys, anyhow, ' and 
 he 's takin' risks to help me.' So I reckoned 
 I 'd throw my leg over Jenny here, and look 
 arter ye and go over to Skinner's myself 
 and vote." 
 
 " Certainly," said Key with cheerful 
 alacrity, and the one thought of getting Col-
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 43 
 
 linson away ; " we '11 go together, and we '11 
 see that that pork barrel is filled ! " He 
 glowed quite honestly with this sudden idea 
 of remembering Collinson through his good 
 fortune. " Let 's get on quickly, for we 
 may find the fire between us on the outer 
 trail." He hastily mounted his horse. 
 
 " Then you did n't take this as a short 
 cut," said Collinson, with dull perseverance 
 in his idea. " Why not ? It looks all clear 
 
 " Yes," said Key hurriedly, " but it 's 
 been only a leap of the fire, it 's still raging 
 round the bend. We must go back to 
 the cross-trail." His face was still flushing 
 with his very equivocating, and his anxiety 
 to get his companion away. Only a few 
 steps further might bring Collinson before 
 the ruins and the " Notice," and that discov- 
 ery must not be made by him until Key's 
 plans were perfected. A sudden aversion to 
 the man he had a moment before wished to 
 reward began to take possession of him. 
 " Come on," he added almost roughly. 
 
 But to his surprise, Collinson yielded with 
 his usual grim patience, and even a slight 
 look of sympathy with his friend's annoy-
 
 44 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 ance. " I reckon you 're right, and mebbee 
 you're in a hurry to get to Skinner's all 
 along o' my business, I ought n't hev told 
 you boys what I did." As they rode rapidly 
 away he took occasion to add, when Key had 
 reined in slightly, with a feeling of relief at 
 being out of the hollow, "I was thinkin', 
 too, of what you'd asked about any one 
 livin' here unbeknownst to me." 
 
 " Well," said Key, with a new nervous- 
 ness. 
 
 " Well ; I only had an idea o' proposin' 
 that you and me just took a look around 
 that holler whar you thought you saw 
 suthin' ! " said Collinson tentatively. 
 
 " Nonsense," said Key hurriedly. " We 
 really saw nothing it was all a fancy ; and 
 Uncle Dick was joking me because I said I 
 thought I saw a woman's face," he added 
 with a forced laugh. 
 
 Collinson glanced at him, half sadly. 
 " Oh ! You were only funnin', then. I 
 oughter guessed that. I oughter have 
 knowed it from Uncle Dick's talk ! " They 
 rode for some moments in silence ; Key pre- 
 occupied and feverish, and eager only to 
 reach Skinner's. Skinner was not only
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 45 
 
 postmaster but "registrar" of the district, 
 and the new discoverer did not feel entirely 
 safe until he had put his formal notification 
 and claims " on record." This was no pub- 
 lication of his actual secret, nor any indica- 
 tion of success, but was only a record that 
 would in all probability remain unnoticed 
 and unchallenged amidst the many other 
 hopeful dreams of sanguine prospectors. 
 But he was suddenly startled from his pre- 
 occupation. 
 
 "Ye said ye war straightenin' up yer 
 pack just now," said Collinson slowly. 
 
 " Yes ! " said Key almost angrily, " and I 
 
 " Ye did n't stop to straighten it up down 
 at the forks of the trail, did ye ? " 
 
 " I may have," said Key nervously. " But 
 why ? " 
 
 " Ye won't mind my axin' ye another 
 question, will ye ? Ye ain't carryin' round 
 with ye no woman's shoe ? " 
 
 Key felt the blood drop from his cheeks. 
 " What do you mean ? " he stammered, 
 scarcely daring to lift his conscious eyelids 
 to his companion's glance. But when he 
 did so he was amazed to find that Collin-
 
 46 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 son's face was almost as much disturbed as 
 his own. 
 
 " I know it ain't the square thing to ask 
 ye, but this is how it is," said Collinson hesi- 
 tatingly. "Ye see just down by the fork of 
 the trail where you came I picked up a 
 woman's shoe. It sorter got me ! For I 
 sez to myself, ' Thar ain't no one bin by my 
 shanty, comin' or goin', for weeks but you 
 boys, and that shoe, from the looks of it, 
 ain't bin there as many hours.' I knew 
 there was n't any wimin hereabouts. I reck- 
 oned it could n't hev bin dropped by Uncle 
 Dick or that other man, for you would have 
 seen it on the road, So I allowed it might 
 have bin you. And yer it is." He slowly 
 drew from his pocket what Key was fully 
 prepared to see the mate of the slipper 
 Key had in his saddle-bags ! The fair fugi- 
 tive had evidently lost them both. 
 
 But Key was better prepared now (per- 
 haps this kind of dissimulation is progres- 
 sive), and quickly alive to the necessity of 
 throwing Collinson off this unexpected scent. 
 And his companion's own suggestion was 
 right to his hand, and, as it seemed, again 
 quite providential! He laughed, with a
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 47 
 
 quick color, which, however, appeared to 
 help his lie, as he replied half hysterically, 
 " You 're right, old man, I own up, it 's 
 mine ! It 's d d silly, I know but then, 
 we 're all fools where women are concerned 
 and I would n't have lost that slipper for 
 a mint of money." 
 
 He held out his hand gayly, but Collin- 
 son retained the slipper while he gravely 
 examined it. 
 
 " You would n't mind telling me where 
 you mought hev got that? " he said medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 "Of course I should mind," said Key 
 with a well-affected mingling of mirth and 
 indignation. " What are you thinking of, 
 you old rascal? What do you take me 
 for?" 
 
 But Collinson did not laugh. " You 
 would n't mind givin' me the size and shape 
 and general heft of her as wore that shoe ? " 
 
 " Most decidedly I should do nothing 
 of the kind ! " said Key half impatiently. 
 " Enough, that it was given to me by a very 
 pretty girl. There! that's all you will 
 know." 
 
 " Given to you ? " said Collinson, lifting
 
 48 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " Yes," returned Key sharply. 
 
 Collinson handed him the slipper gravely. 
 " I only asked you," he said slowly, but 
 with a certain quiet dignity which Key had 
 never before seen in his face, " because thar 
 was suthin' about the size, and shape, and 
 fillin' out o' that shoe that kinder reminded 
 me of some 'un ; but that some 'un her as 
 mought hev stood up in that shoe ain't o' 
 that kind as would ever stand in the shoes 
 of her as you know at all." The rebuke, if 
 such were intended, lay quite as much in the 
 utter ignoring of Key's airy gallantry and 
 levity as in any conscious slur upon the fair 
 fame of his invented Dulcinea. Yet Key 
 oddly felt a strong inclination to resent the 
 aspersion as well as Collinson's gratuitous 
 morality ; and with a mean recollection of 
 Uncle Dick's last evening's scandalous gos- 
 sip, he said sarcastically, " And, of course, 
 that some one you were thinking of was your 
 lawful wife." 
 
 " It war ! " said Collinson gravely. 
 
 Perhaps it was something in Collinson's 
 manner, or his own preoccupation^ but he 
 did not pursue the subject, and the conver- 
 sation lagged. They were nearing, too, the
 
 tN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 49 
 
 outer edge of the present conflagration, and 
 the smoke, lying low in the unburnt woods, 
 or creeping like an actual exhalation of the 
 soil, blinded them so that at times they lost 
 the trail completely. At other times, from 
 the intense heat, it seemed as if they were 
 momentarily impinging upon the burning 
 area, or were being caught in a closing circle. 
 It was remarkable that with his sudden ac- 
 cession of fortune Key seemed to lose his 
 usual frank and careless fearlessness, and 
 impatiently questioned his companion's wood- 
 craft. There were intervals when he re- 
 gretted his haste to reach Skinner's by this 
 shorter cut, and began to bitterly attribute 
 it to his desire to serve Collinson. Ah, yes ! 
 it would be fine indeed, if just as he were 
 about to clutch the prize he should be sacri- 
 ficed through the ignorance and stupidity of 
 this heavy-handed moralist at his side ! But 
 it was not until, through that moralist's 
 guidance, they climbed a steep acclivity to a 
 second ridge, and were comparatively safe, 
 that he began to feel ashamed of his surly 
 silence or surlier interruptions. And Col- 
 linson, either through his unconquerable 
 patience, or possibly in a fit of his usual
 
 50 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 uxorious abstraction, appeared to take no 
 notice of it. 
 
 A sloping table-land of weather-beaten 
 boulders now effectually separated them from 
 the fire on the lower ridge. They presently 
 began to descend on the further side of the 
 crest, and at last dropped upon a wagon- 
 road, and the first track of wheels that Key 
 had seen for a fortnight. Rude as it was, it 
 seemed to him the highway to fortune, for he 
 knew that it passed Skinner's and then joined 
 the great stage-road to Marysville, now his 
 ultimate destination. A few rods further on 
 they came in view of Skinner's, lying like 
 a dingy forgotten winter snowdrift on the 
 mountain shelf. 
 
 It contained a post-office, tavern, black- 
 smith's shop, " general store," and express- 
 office, scarcely a dozen buildings in all, but 
 all differing from Collinson's Mill in some 
 vague suggestion of vitality, as if the daily 
 regular pulse of civilization still beat, albeit 
 languidly, in that remote extremity. There 
 was anticipation and accomplishment twice 
 a day ; and as Key and Collinson rode up 
 to the express-office, the express-wagon was 
 standing before the door ready to start to
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 51 
 
 meet the stagecoach at the cross-roads three 
 miles away. This again seemed a special 
 providence to Key. He had a brief official 
 communication with Skinner as registrar, 
 and duly recorded his claim ; he had a hasty 
 and confidential aside with Skinner as gen- 
 eral storekeeper, and such was the uncon- 
 scious magnetism developed by this embryo 
 millionaire that Skinner extended the neces- 
 sary credit to Collinson on Key's word alone. 
 That done, he rejoined Collinson in high 
 spirits with the news, adding cheerfully, 
 " And I dare say, if you want any further 
 advances Skinner will give them to you on 
 Parker's draft." 
 
 " You mean that bit o' paper that chap 
 left," said Collinson gravely. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I tore it up." 
 
 " You tore it up ? " ejaculated Key. 
 
 " You hear me ? Yes ! " said Collinson. 
 
 Key stared at him. Surely it was again 
 providential that he had not intrusted his 
 secret to this utterly ignorant and prejudiced 
 man ! The slight twinges of conscience that 
 his lie about the slippers had caused him 
 disappeared at once. He could not have 
 Bret Harte 11 V. 6
 
 52 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 trusted him even in that ; it would have been 
 like this stupid fanatic to have prevented 
 Key's preemption of that claim, until he, 
 Collinson, had satisfied himself of the where- 
 abouts of the missing proprietor. Was he 
 quite sure that Collinson would not revisit 
 the spot when he had gone ? But he was 
 ready for the emergency. 
 
 He had intended to leave his horse with 
 Skinner as security for Collinson's provisions, 
 but Skinner's liberality had made this un- 
 necessary, and he now offered it to Collinson 
 to use and keep for him until called for. 
 This would enable his companion to " pack" 
 his goods on the mule, and oblige him to 
 return to the mill by the wagon-road and 
 " outside trail," as more commodious for the 
 two animals. 
 
 " Ye ain't afeared o' the road agents ? " 
 suggested a bystander ; " they just swarm on 
 Galloper's Ridge, and they ' held up ' the 
 down stage only last week." 
 
 "They're not so lively since the deputy- 
 sheriff 's got a new idea about them, and 
 has been lying low in the brush near Bald 
 Top," returned Skinner. " Anyhow, they 
 don't stop teams nor ' packs ' unless there 's
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 53 
 
 a chance of their getting some fancy horse- 
 flesh by it ; and I reckon thai' ain't much to 
 tempt them thar," he added, with a satirical 
 side glance at his customer's cattle. But 
 Key was already standing in the express- 
 wagon, giving a farewell shake to his pa- 
 tient companion's hand, and this ingenuous 
 pleasantry passed unnoticed. Nevertheless, 
 as the express-wagon rolled away, his active 
 fancy began to consider this new danger 
 that might threaten the hidden wealth of 
 his claim. But he reflected that for a time, 
 at least, only the crude ore would be taken 
 out and shipped to Marysville in a shape 
 that offered no profit to the highwaymen. 
 Had it been a gold mine ! but here again 
 was the interposition of Providence ! 
 
 A week later Preble Key returned to 
 Skinner's with a foreman and ten men, and 
 an unlimited credit to draw upon at Marys- 
 ville ! Expeditions of this kind created no 
 surprise at Skinner's. Parties had before 
 this entered the wilderness gayly, none knew 
 where or what for; the sedate and silent 
 woods had kept their secret while there ; they 
 had evaporated, none knew when or where 
 often, alas! with an unpaid account at
 
 54 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 Skinner's. Consequently, there was nothing 
 in Key's party to challenge curiosity. In 
 another week a rambling, one-storied shed 
 of pine logs occupied the site of the mysteri- 
 ous ruinSj and contained the party ; in two 
 weeks excavations had been made, and the 
 whole face of the outcrop was exposed ; in 
 three weeks every vestige of former tenancy 
 which the fire had not consumed was trampled 
 out by the alien feet of these toilers of the 
 "Sylvan Silver Hollow Company." None 
 of Key's former companions would have 
 recognized the hollow in its blackened level- 
 ing and rocky foundation; even Collinson 
 would not have remembered this stripped 
 and splintered rock, with its heaps of fresh 
 debris, as the place where he had overtaken 
 Key. And Key himself had forgotten, in 
 his triumph, everything but the chance ex- 
 periment that had led to his success. 
 
 Perhaps it was well, therefore, that one 
 night, when the darkness had mercifully 
 fallen upon this scene of sylvan desolation, 
 and its still more incongruous and unsavory 
 human restoration, and the low murmur of 
 the pines occasionally swelled up from the 
 unscathed mountain-side, a loud shout and
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 55 
 
 the trampling of horses' feet awoke the dwell- 
 ers in the shanty. Springing to their feet, 
 they hurriedly seized their weapons and 
 rushed out, only to be confronted by a dark, 
 motionless ring of horsemen, two flaming 
 torches of pine knots, and a low but distinct 
 voice of authority. In their excitement, 
 half-awakened suspicion, and confusion, they 
 were affected by its note of calm preparation 
 and conscious power. 
 
 " Drop those guns hold up your hands ! 
 We 've got every man of you covered." 
 
 Key was no coward ; the men, though 
 flustered, were not cravens : but they obeyed. 
 
 " Trot out your leader ! Let him stand 
 out there, clear, beside that torch ! " 
 
 One of the gleaming pine knots disengaged 
 itself from the dark circle and moved to the 
 centre, as Preble Key, cool and confident, 
 stepped beside it. 
 
 " That will do," said the immutable voice. 
 " Now, we want Jack Riggs, Sydney Jack, 
 French Pete, and One-eyed Charley." 
 
 A vivid reminiscence of the former night 
 scene in the hollow of his own and his 
 companions' voices raised in the darkness 
 flashed across Key. With an instinctive
 
 56 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 premonition that this invasion had some- 
 thing to do with the former tenant, he said 
 calmly : 
 
 " Who wants them ? " 
 " The State of California," said the voice. 
 " The State of California must look 
 further," returned Key in his old pleasant 
 voice ; " there are no such names among my 
 party." 
 
 " Who are you? " 
 
 " The manager of the ' Sylvan Silver 
 Hollow Company,' and these are my work- 
 men." 
 
 There was a hurried movement, and the 
 sound of whispering in the hitherto dark and 
 silent circle, and then the voice rose again : 
 " You have the papers to prove that ? " 
 " Yes, in the cabin. And you ? " 
 " I 've a warrant to the sheriff of Sierra." 
 There was a pause, and the voice went on 
 less confidently : 
 
 " How long have you been here? " 
 " Three weeks. I came here the day of 
 the fire and took up this claim." 
 " There was no other house here ? " 
 " There were ruins, you can see them 
 still. It may have been a burnt-up cabin."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 57 
 
 The voice disengaged itself from the vague 
 background and came slowly forwards : 
 
 "It was a den of thieves. It was the 
 hiding-place of Jack Riggs and his gang of 
 road agents. I 've been hunting this spot 
 for three weeks. And now the whole thing 's 
 up!" 
 
 There was a laugh from Key's men, but 
 it was checked as the owner of the voice 
 slowly ranged up beside the burning torch 
 and they saw his face. It was dark and set 
 with the defeat of a brave man. 
 
 " Won't you come in and take some- 
 thing ? " said Key kindly. 
 
 " No. It 's enough fool work for me to 
 have routed ye out already. But I suppose 
 it's all in my d d day's work! Good- 
 night ! Forward there ! Get ! " 
 
 The two torches danced forwards, with 
 the trailing off of vague shadows in dim pro- 
 cession ; there was a clatter over the rocks 
 and they were gone. Then, as Preble Key 
 gazed after them, he felt that with them had 
 passed the only shadow that lay upon his 
 great fortune ; and with the last tenant of 
 the hollow a proscribed outlaw and fugitive, 
 he was henceforth forever safe in his claim
 
 58 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 and his discovery. And yet, oddly enough, 
 at that moment, as he turned away, for the 
 first time in three weeks there passed be- 
 fore his fancy with a stirring of reproach 
 a vision of the face that he had seen at the 
 window.
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 OF the great discovery in Sylvan Silver 
 Hollow it would seem that Collinson as yet 
 knew nothing. In spite of Key's fears that 
 he might stray there on his return from 
 Skinner's, he did not, nor did he afterwards 
 revisit the locality. Neither the news of the 
 registry of the claim nor the arrival of Key's 
 workmen ever reached him. The few trav- 
 elers who passed his mill came from the val- 
 ley to crosi, the Divide on their way to Skin- 
 ner's, and returned by the longer but easier 
 detour of the stage -road over Galloper's 
 Ridge. He had no chance to participate in 
 the prosperity that flowed from the opening 
 of the mine, which plentifully besprinkled 
 Skinner's settlement ; he was too far away 
 to profit even by the chance custom of Key's 
 Sabbath wandering workmen. His isolation 
 from civilization (for those who came to 
 him from the valley were rude Western emi- 
 grants like himself) remained undisturbed.
 
 60 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 The return of the prospecting party to his 
 humble hospitality that night had been an 
 exceptional case ; in his characteristic sim- 
 plicity he did not dream that it was because 
 they had nowhere else to go in their pen- 
 niless condition. It was an incident to be 
 pleasantly remembered, but whose nonrecur- 
 rence did not disturb his infinite patience. 
 His pork barrel and flour sack had been re- 
 plenished for other travelers ; his own wants 
 were few. 
 
 It was a day or two after the midnight 
 visit of the sheriff to Silver Hollow that 
 Key galloped down the steep grade to 
 Collinson's. He was amused, albeit, in his 
 new importance, a little aggrieved also, to 
 find that Collinson had as usual confounded 
 his descent with that of the generally de- 
 tached boulder, and that he was obliged to 
 add his voice to the general uproar. This 
 brought Collinson to his door. 
 
 " I 've had your hoss hobbled out among 
 the chickweed and clover in the green pas- 
 ture back o' the mill, and he 's picked up 
 that much that he 's lookin' fat and sassy," 
 he said quietly, beginning to mechanically 
 unstrap Key's bridle, even while his guest
 
 72V A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 61 
 
 was in the act of dismounting. " His back 's 
 quite healed up." 
 
 Key could not restrain a shrug of impa- 
 tience. It was three weeks since they had 
 met, three weeks crammed with excite- 
 ment, energy, achievement, and fortune to 
 Key ; and yet this place and this man were 
 as stupidly unchanged as when he had left 
 them. A momentary fancy that this was 
 the reality, that he himself was only awak- 
 ening from some delusive dream, came over 
 him. But Collinson's next words were 
 practical. 
 
 " I reckoned that maybe you 'd write 
 from Marysville to Skinner to send for the 
 hoss, and forward him to ye, for I never 
 kalkilated you 'd come back." 
 
 It was quite plain from this that Collin- 
 son had heard nothing. But it was also 
 awkward, as Key would now have to tell the 
 whole story, and reveal the fact that he had 
 been really experimenting when Collinson 
 overtook him in the hollow. He evaded this 
 by post-dating his discovery of the richness 
 of the ore until he had reached Marysville 
 But he found some difficulty in recount- 
 nig his good fortune : he was naturally no
 
 62 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 boaster, he had no desire to impress Collin- 
 son with his penetration, nor the undaunted 
 energy he had displayed in getting up his 
 company and opening the mine, so that he 
 was actually embarrassed by his own under- 
 statement ; and under the grave, patient eyes 
 of his companion, told his story at best 
 lamely. Collinson's face betrayed neither 
 profound interest nor the slightest resent- 
 ment. When Key had ended his awkward 
 recital, Collinson said slowly : 
 
 " Then Uncle Dick and that other Parker 
 feller ain't got no show in this yer find." 
 
 " No," said Key quickly. " Don't you 
 remember we broke up our partnership 
 that morning and went off our own ways. 
 You don't suppose," he added with a forced 
 half -laugh, " that if Uncle Dick or Parker 
 had struck a lead after they left me, they 'd 
 have put me in it ? " 
 
 "Would n't they?" asked Collinson 
 gravely. 
 
 "Of course not." He laughed a little 
 more naturally, but presently added, with 
 an uneasy smile, " What makes you think 
 they would ? " 
 
 " Nuthin' ! " said Collinson promptly.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 63 
 
 Nevertheless, when they were seated be- 
 fore the fire, with glasses in their hands, 
 Collinson returned patiently to the subject : 
 
 " You wuz saying they went their way, 
 and you went yours. But your way was 
 back on the old way that you 'd all gone 
 together." 
 
 But Key felt himself on firmer ground 
 here, and answered deliberately and truth- 
 fully, "Yes, but I only went back to the 
 hollow to satisfy myself if there really was 
 any house there, and if there was, to warn 
 the occupants of the approaching fire." 
 
 " And there was a house there," said Col- 
 linson thoughtfully. 
 
 " Only the ruins." He stopped and 
 flushed quickly, for he remembered that he 
 had denied its existence at their former 
 meeting. " That is," he went on hurriedly, 
 "I found out from the sheriff, you know, 
 that there had been a house there. But," 
 he added, reverting to his stronger position, 
 " nay going back there was an accident, and 
 my picking up the outcrop was an accident, 
 and had no more to do with our partner- 
 ship prospecting than you had. In fact," 
 he said, with a reassuring laugh, " you 'd
 
 64 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 have had a better right to share in my claim, 
 coming there as you did at that moment, 
 than they. Why, if I 'd have known what 
 the thing was worth, I might have put you 
 in only it wanted capital and some expe- 
 rience." He was glad that he had pitched 
 upon that excuse (it had only just occurred 
 to him), and glanced affably at Collinson. 
 But that gentleman said soberly : 
 
 " No, you would n't nuther." 
 
 " Why not?" said Key half angrily. 
 
 Collinson paused. After a moment he 
 said, " 'Cos I would n't hev took anything 
 outer thet place." 
 
 Key felt relieved. From what he knew 
 of Collinson's vagaries he believed him. He 
 was wise in not admitting him to his con- 
 fidences at the beginning ; he might have 
 thought it his duty to tell others. 
 
 " I 'm not so particular," he returned 
 laughingly, " but the silver in that hole was 
 never touched, nor I dare say even imagined 
 by mortal man before. However, there is 
 something else about the hollow that I want 
 to tell you. You remember the slipper that 
 you picked up ? " 
 
 Yes."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 65 
 
 " Well, I lied to you about that ; I never 
 dropped it. On the contrary, I had picked 
 up the mate of it very near where you found 
 yours, and I wanted to know to whom it be- 
 longed. For I don't mind telling you now, 
 Collinson, that I believe there was a woman 
 in that house, and the same woman whose 
 face I saw at the window. You remember 
 how the boys joked me about it well, per- 
 haps I did n't care that you should laugh at 
 me too, but I 've had a sore conscience over 
 my lie, for I remembered that you seemed to 
 have some interest in the matter too, and I 
 thought that maybe I might have thrown 
 you off the scent. It seemed to me that if 
 you had any idea who it was, we might now 
 talk the matter over and compare notes. I 
 think you said at least, I gathered the 
 idea from a remark of yours," he added 
 hastily, as he remembered that the sugges- 
 tion was his own, and a satirical one 
 " that it reminded you of your wife's slip- 
 per. Of course, as your wife is dead, that 
 would offer no clue, and can only be a 
 chance resemblance, unless " He stopped. 
 
 " Have you got 'em yet ? " 
 
 "Yes, both." He took them from the 
 pocket of his riding- jacket.
 
 66 'IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 As Collinson received them, his face took 
 upon itself an even graver expression. " It 's 
 mighty cur'ous," he said reflectively, " but 
 looking at the two of 'em the likeness is 
 more fetchin'. Ye see, my wife had a 
 straight foot, and never wore reg'lar rights 
 and lefts like other women, but kinder 
 changed about ; ye see, these shoes is reg'lar 
 rights and lefts, but never was worn as 
 sieh ! " 
 
 " There may be other women as peculiar," 
 suggested Key. 
 
 " There must be," said Collinson quietly. 
 
 For an instant Key was touched with the 
 manly security of the reply, for, remember- 
 ing Uncle Dick's scandal, it had occurred to 
 him that the unknown tenant of the robbers' 
 den might be Collinson's wife. He was glad 
 to be relieved on that point, and went on 
 more confidently : 
 
 " So, you see, this woman was undoubtedly 
 in that house 011 the night of the fire. She 
 escaped, and in a mighty hurry too, for she 
 had not time to change her slippers for 
 shoes; she escaped on horseback, for that 
 is how she lost them. Now what was she 
 doing there with those rascals, for the face I 
 saw looked as innocent as a saint's."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 67 
 
 " Seemed to ye sort o' contrairy, jist as I 
 reckoned my wife's foot would have looked 
 in a slipper that you said was giv to ye," 
 suggested Collinson pointedly, but with no 
 implication of reproach in his voice. 
 
 " Yes," said Key impatiently. 
 
 " I 've read yarns afore now about them 
 Eyetalian brigands stealin' women," said 
 Collinson reflectively, " but that ain't Cal- 
 ifornia road-agent style. Great Scott! if 
 one even so much as spoke to a woman, 
 they 'd have been wiped outer the State long 
 ago. No ! the woman as was there came 
 there to stay ! " 
 
 As Key's face did not seem to express 
 either assent or satisfaction at this last 
 statement, Collinson, after a glance at it, 
 went on with a somewhat gentler gravity: 
 " I see wot 's troublin' you, Mr. Key ; 
 you 've bin thinkin' that mebbee that poor 
 woman might hev bin the better for a bit o' 
 that fortin' that you discovered under the 
 very spot where them slippers of hers had 
 often trod. You 're thinkin' that mebbee 
 it might hev turned her and those men from 
 their evil ways." 
 
 Mr. Key had been thinking nothing of
 
 68 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the kind, but for some obscure reason the 
 skeptical jeer that had risen to his lips 
 remained unsaid. He rose impatiently. 
 " ^ell, there seems to be no chance of dis- 
 covering anything now ; the house is burnt, 
 the gang dispersed, and she has probably 
 gone with them." He paused, and then 
 laid three or four large gold pieces on the 
 table. " It 's for that old bill of our party, 
 Collinson," he said. " I '11 settle and collect 
 from each. Some time when you come over 
 to the mine, and I hope you '11 give us a 
 call, you can bring the horse. Meanwhile 
 you can use him ; you '11 find he 's a little 
 quicker than the mule. How is business ? " 
 he added, with a perfunctory glance around 
 the vacant room and dusty bar. 
 
 " Thar ain't much passin' this way," said 
 Collinson with equal carelessness, as he 
 gathered up the money, " 'cept those boys 
 from the valley, and they 're most always 
 strapped when they come here." 
 
 Key smiled as he observed that Collinson 
 offered him no receipt, and, moreover, as 
 he remembered that he had only Collinson's 
 word for the destruction of Parker's draft. 
 But he merely glanced at his unconscious
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 69 
 
 host, and said nothing. After a pause he 
 returned in a lighter tone : " I suppose you 
 are rather out of the world here. Indeed, I 
 had an idea at first of buying out your mill, 
 Collinson, and putting in steam power to get 
 out timber for our new buildings, but you 
 see you are so far away from the wagon- 
 road, that we could n't haul the timber away. 
 That was the trouble, or I 'd have made you 
 a fair offer." 
 
 " I don't reckon to ever sell the mill," 
 said Collinson simply. Then observing the 
 look of suspicion in his companion's face, he 
 added gravely, "You see, I rigged up the 
 whole thing when I expected my wife out 
 from the States, and I calkilate to keep it 
 in memory of her." 
 
 Key slightly lifted his brows. " But you 
 never told us, by the way, how you ever 
 came to put up a mill here with such an un- 
 certain water-supply." 
 
 " It was n't onsartin when I came here, 
 Mr. Key ; it was a full-fed stream straight 
 from them snow peaks. It was the earth- 
 quake did it." 
 
 " The earthquake ! " repeated Key. 
 
 " Yes. Ef the earthquake kin heave up
 
 70 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 that silver-bearing rock that you told us 
 about the first day you kem here, and that 
 you found t' other day, it could play roots 
 with a mere mill-stream, I reckon." 
 
 " But the convulsion I spoke of happened 
 ages on ages ago, when this whole mountain 
 range was being fashioned," said Key with 
 a laugh. 
 
 " Well, this yer earthquake was ten years 
 ago, just after I came. I reckon I oughter 
 remember it. It was a queer sort o' day in 
 the fall, dry and hot as if thar might hev 
 bin a fire in the woods, only thar was n't 
 no wind. Not a breath of air anywhar. 
 The leaves of them alders hung straight as 
 a plumb-line. Except for that thar stream 
 and that thar wheel, nuthin' moved. Thar 
 was n't a bird on the wing over that canon ; 
 thar was n't a squirrel skirmishin' in the 
 hull wood ; even the lizards in the rocks 
 stiffened like stone Chinese idols. It kept 
 gettin' quieter and quieter, ontil I walked 
 out on that ledge and felt as if I 'd have to 
 give a yell just to hear my own voice. Thar 
 was a thin veil over everything, and betwixt 
 and between everything, and the sun was 
 rooted in the middle of it as if it could n't
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 71 
 
 move neither. Everythin' seemed to be 
 waitin', waitin', waitin'. Then all of a 
 suddin suthin' seemed to give somewhar ! 
 Suthin' fetched away with a queer sort of 
 rumblin', as if the peg had slipped outer 
 creation. I looked up and kalkilated to see 
 half a dozen of them boulders come, lickity 
 switch, down the grade. But, darn my skin, 
 if one of 'em stirred ! and yet while I was 
 looking, the whole face o' that bluff bowed 
 over softly, as if saying ' Good-by,' and 
 got clean away somewhar before I knowed 
 it. Why, you see that pile agin the side o' 
 the canon ! Well, a thousand feet under 
 that there 's trees, three hundred feet high, 
 still upright and standin'. You know how 
 them pines over on that far mountain-side 
 always seem to be climbin' up, up, up, over 
 each other's heads to the very top? Well, 
 Mr. Key, / saw 'em climbin' ! And when I 
 pulled myself together and got back to the 
 mill, everything was quiet ; and, by G d, 
 so was the mill-wheel, and there was n't two 
 inches of water in the river ! " 
 
 " And what did you think of it ? " said 
 Key, interested in spite of his impatience. 
 
 " I thought, Mr. Key No ! I must n't
 
 72 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 say I thought, for I knowed it. I knowed 
 that suthin' had happened to my wife ! " 
 
 Key did not smile, but even felt a faint 
 superstitious thrill as he gazed at him. 
 After a pause Collinson resumed : "I heard 
 a month after that she had died about that 
 tune o' yaller fever in Texas with the party 
 she was comin' with. Her folks wrote that 
 they died like flies, and wuz all buried to- 
 gether, unbeknownst and promiscuous, and 
 thar was n't no remains. She slipped away 
 from me like that bluff over that canon, and 
 that was the end of it." 
 
 " But she might have escaped," said Key 
 quickly, forgetting himself in his eagerness. 
 
 But Collinson only shook his head. " Then 
 she 'd have been here," he said gravely. 
 
 Key moved towards the door still ab- 
 stractedly, held out his hand, shook that of 
 his companion warmly, and then, saddling 
 his horse himself, departed. A sense of 
 disappointment in which a vague dissatis- 
 faction with himself was mingled was all 
 that had come of his interview. He took 
 himself severely to task for following his ro- 
 mantic quest so far. It was unworthy of 
 the president of the Sylvan Silver Hollow
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 73 
 
 Company, and he was not quite sure but 
 that his confidences with Collinson might 
 have imperiled even the interests of the 
 company. To atone for this momentary ab- 
 erration, and correct his dismal fancies, he 
 resolved to attend to some business at Skin- 
 ner's before returning, and branched off on 
 a long detour that would intersect the trav- 
 eled stage-road. But here a singular inci- 
 dent overtook him. As he wheeled into the 
 turnpike, he heard the trampling hoof-beats 
 and jingling harness of the oncoming coach 
 behind him. He had barely time to draw 
 up against the bank before the six galloping 
 horses and swinging vehicle swept heavily 
 by. He had a quick impression of the heat 
 and steam of sweating horse-hide, the reek 
 of varnish and leather, and the momentary 
 vision of a female face silhouetted against 
 the glass window of the coach! But even 
 in that flash of perception he recognized the 
 profile that he had seen at the window of 
 the mysterious hut ! 
 
 He halted for an instant dazed and be- 
 wildered in the dust of the departing wheels,, 
 Then, as the bulk of the vehicle reappeared, 
 already narrowing in the distance, without a
 
 74 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 second thought he dashed after it. His dis- 
 appointment, his self-criticism, his practical 
 resolutions were forgotten. He had but one 
 idea now the vision was providential ! 
 The clue to the mystery was before him 
 he must follow it ! 
 
 Yet he had sense enough to realize that 
 the coach would not stop to take up a pas- 
 senger between stations, and that the next 
 station was the one three miles below Skin- 
 ner's. It would not be difficult to reach 
 this by a cut-off in time, and although the 
 vehicle had appeared to be crowded, he could 
 no doubt obtain a seat on top. 
 
 His eager curiosity, however, led him to 
 put spurs to his horse, and range up along- 
 side of the coach as if passing it, while he 
 examined the stranger more closely. Her 
 face was bent listlessly over a book ; there 
 was unmistakably the same profile that he 
 had seen, but the full face was different in 
 outline and expression. A strange sense of 
 disappointment that was almost a revulsion 
 of feeling came over him; he lingered, he 
 glanced again ; she was certainly a very 
 pretty woman : there was the beautifully 
 rounded chin, the short straight nose, and
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 75 
 
 delicately curved upper lip, that he had seen 
 in the profile, and yet yet it was not 
 the same face he had dreamt of. With an 
 odd, provoking sense of disillusion, he swept 
 ahead of the coach, and again slackened his 
 speed to let it pass. This time the fair un- 
 known raised her long lashes and gazed sud- 
 denly at this persistent horseman at her side, 
 and an odd expression, it seemed to him 
 almost a glance of recognition and expecta- 
 tion, came into her dark, languid eyes. The 
 pupils concentrated upon him with a sin- 
 gular significance, that was almost, he even 
 thought, a reply to his glance, and yet it 
 was as utterly unintelligible. A moment 
 later, however, it was explained. He had 
 fallen slightly behind in a new confusion of 
 hesitation, wonder, and embarrassment, when 
 from a wooded trail to the right, another 
 horseman suddenly swept into the road be- 
 fore him. He was a powerfully built man, 
 mounted on a thoroughbred horse of a quality 
 far superior to the ordinary roadster. With- 
 out looking at Key he easily ranged up be- 
 side the coach as if to pass it, but Key, with 
 a sudden resolution, put spurs to his own 
 horse and ranged also abreast of him, in
 
 76 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 time to see his fair unknown start at the ap- 
 parition of this second horseman and unmis- 
 takably convey some signal to him, a sig- 
 nal that to Key's fancy now betrayed some 
 warning of himself. He was the more con- 
 vinced as the stranger, after continuing a 
 few paces ahead of the coach, allowed it to 
 pass him at a curve of the road, and slack- 
 ened his pace to permit Key to do the same. 
 Instinctively conscious that the stranger's 
 object was to scrutinize or identify him, he 
 determined to take the initiative, and fixed 
 his eyes upon him as they approached. But 
 the stranger, who wore a loose brown linen 
 duster over clothes that appeared to be 
 superior in fashion and material, also had 
 part of his face and head draped by a white 
 silk handkerchief worn under his hat, osten- 
 sibly to keep the sun and dust from his head 
 and neck, and had the advantage of him. 
 He only caught the flash of a pair of steel- 
 gray eyes, as the newcomer, apparently hav- 
 ing satisfied himself, gave rein to his spirited 
 steed and easily repassed the coach, disap- 
 pearing in a cloud of dust before it. But 
 Key had by this time reached the " cut-onV' 
 which the stranger, if he intended to follow
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 77 
 
 the coach, either disdained or was ignorant 
 of, and he urged his horse to its utmost 
 speed. Even with the stranger's advantages 
 it would be a close race to the station. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he dashed on, he was by 
 no means insensible to the somewhat quix- 
 otic nature of his undertaking. If he was 
 right in his suspicion that a signal had been 
 given by the lady to the stranger, it was ex- 
 ceedingly probable that he had discovered 
 not only the fair inmate of the robbers' den, 
 but one of the gang itself, or at least a con- 
 federate and ally. Yet far from deterring 
 him, in that ingenious sophistry with which 
 he was apt to treat his romance, he now 
 looked upon his adventure as a practical 
 pursuit in the interests of law and justice. 
 It was true that it was said that the band of 
 road agents had been dispersed | it was a 
 fact that there had been 110 spoliation of 
 coach or teams for three weeks ; but none of 
 the depredators had ever been caught, and 
 their booty, which was considerable, was 
 known to be still intact. It was to the in- 
 terest of the mine, his partners, and his 
 workmen that this clue to a danger which 
 threatened the locality should be followed to
 
 78 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the end. As to the lady, in spite of the 
 disappointment that still rankled in his 
 breast, he could be magnanimous ! She 
 might be the paramour of the strange horse- 
 man, she might be only escaping from some 
 hateful companionship by his aid. And yet 
 one thing puzzled him : she was evidently 
 not acquainted with the personality of the 
 active gang, for she had, without doubt, at 
 first mistaken him for one of them, and after 
 recognizing her real accomplice had commu- 
 nicated her mistake to him. 
 
 It was a great relief to him when the 
 rough and tangled " cut-off " at last broad- 
 ened and lightened into the turnpike road 
 again, and he beheld, scarcely a quarter of 
 a mile before him, the dust cloud that over- 
 hung the coach as it drew up at the lonely 
 wayside station. He was in time, for he 
 knew that the horses were changed there; 
 but a sudden fear that the fair unknown 
 might alight, or take some other conveyance, 
 made him still spur his jaded steed forward. 
 As he neared the station he glanced eagerly 
 around for the other horseman, but he was 
 nowhere to be seen. He had evidently eithei 
 abandoned the chase or ridden ahead.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 79 
 
 It seemed equally a part of what he be- 
 lieved was a providential intercession, that 
 on arriving at the station he found there 
 was a vacant seat inside the coach. It was 
 diagonally opposite that occupied by the 
 lady, and he was thus enabled to study her 
 face as it was bent over her book, whose 
 pages, however, she scarcely turned. After 
 her first casual glance of curiosity at the 
 new passenger, she seemed to take no more 
 notice of him, and Key began to wonder if 
 he had not mistaken her previous interrogat- 
 ing look. Nor was it his only disturbing 
 query ; he was conscious of the same disap- 
 pointment now that he could examine her 
 face more attentively, as in his first cursory 
 glance. She was certainly handsome; if 
 there was no longer the freshness of youth, 
 there was still the indefinable charm of the 
 woman of thirty, and with it the delicate 
 curves of matured muliebrity and repose. 
 There were lines, particularly around the 
 mouth and fringed eyelids, that were deep- 
 ened as by pain ; and the chin, even in its 
 rounded fullness, had the angle of deter- 
 mination. From what was visible, below 
 the brown linen duster that she wore, she
 
 80 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 appeared to be tastefully although not richly 
 dressed. 
 
 As the coach at last drove away from the 
 station, a grizzled, farmer-looking man seated 
 beside her uttered a sigh of relief, so pal- 
 pable as to attract the general attention. 
 Turning to his fair neighbor with a smile 
 of uncouth but good-humored apology, he 
 said in explanation : 
 
 *' You '11 excuse me, miss ! I don't know 
 ezactly how you Ve feelin', for judging 
 from your looks and gin'ral gait, you 're a 
 stranger in these parts, but ez for me, I 
 don't mind sayin' that I never feel ezactly 
 safe from these yer road agents and stage 
 robbers ontil arter we pass Skinner's station. 
 All along thet Galloper's Ridge it's jest 
 tech and go like; the woods is swarmin' 
 with 'em. But once past Skinner's, you 're 
 all right. They never dare go below that. 
 So ef you don't mind, miss, for it 's bein' 
 in your presence, I '11 jest pull off my butes 
 and ease my feet for a spell." 
 
 Neither the inconsequence of this singu- 
 lar request, nor the smile it evoked on the 
 faces of the other passengers, seemed to dis- 
 turb the lady's abstraction. Scarcely lifting
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 81 
 
 her eyes from her book, she bowed a grave 
 assent. 
 
 "You see, miss," lie continued, "and 
 you gents," he added, taking the whole 
 coach into his confidence, " I 've got over 
 forty ounces of clean gold dust in them 
 butes, between the upper and lower sole, 
 and it 's mighty tight packing for my feet. 
 Ye kin heft it," he said, as he removed one 
 boot and held it up before them. " I put 
 the dust there for safety kalkilatin' that 
 while these road gentry allus goes for a 
 man's pockets and his body belt, they never 
 thinks of his butes, or haven't time to go 
 through 'em." He looked around him with 
 a smile of self-satisfaction. 
 
 The murmur of admiring comment was, 
 nowever, broken by a burly-bearded miner 
 who sat in the middle seat. " Thet 's pretty 
 fair, as far as it goes," he said smilingly, 
 " but I reckon it would n't go far ef you 
 started to run. I've got a simpler game 
 than that, gentlemen, and ez we 're all 
 friends here, and the danger 's over, I don't 
 mind tellin' ye. The first thing these yer 
 road agents do, after they 've covered the 
 driver with their shot guns, is to make the
 
 82 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 passengers get out and hold up their hands. 
 That, ma'am," explanatorily to the lady, 
 who betrayed only a languid interest, "is 
 to keep 'em from drawing their revolvers. 
 A revolver is the last thing a road agent 
 wants, either in a man's hand or in his 
 holster. So I sez to myself, ' Ef a six- 
 shooter ain't of no account, wot 's the use 
 of carry in' it ? ' So I just put my shooting- 
 iron in my valise when I travel, and fill 
 my holster with my gold dust, so ! It 's a 
 deuced sight heavier than a revolver, but 
 they don't feel its weight, and don't keer to 
 come nigh it. And I 've been ' held up ' 
 twice on t' other side of the Divide this 
 year, and I passed free every time ! " 
 
 The applause that followed this revelation 
 and the exhibition of the holster not only 
 threw the farmer's exploits into the shade, 
 but seemed to excite an emulation among 
 the passengers. Other methods of securing 
 their property were freely discussed ; but 
 the excitement culminated in the leaning 
 forward of a passenger who had, up to that 
 moment, maintained a reserve almost equal 
 to the fair unknown. His dress and gen- 
 eral appearance were those of a professional
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS- 83 
 
 man; his voice and manner corroborated 
 the presumption. 
 
 " I don't think, gentlemen," he began 
 with a pleasant smile, " that any man of us 
 here would like to be called a coward ; but 
 in fighting with an enemy who never at- 
 tacks, or even appears, except with a delib- 
 erately prepared advantage on his side, it 
 is my opinion that a man is not only justi- 
 fied in avoiding an unequal encounter with 
 him, but in circumventing by every means 
 the object of his attack. You have all been 
 frank in telling your methods. I will be 
 equally so in telling mine, even if I have 
 perhaps to confess to a little more than you 
 have ; for I have not only availed myself 
 of a well-known rule of the robbers who 
 infest these mountains, to exempt all women 
 and children from their spoliation, a rule 
 which, of course, they perfectly understand 
 gives them a sentimental consideration with 
 all Californians, but I have, I confess, 
 also availed myself of the innocent kindness 
 of one of that charming and justly exempted 
 sex." He paused and bowed courteously to 
 the fair unknown. " When I entered this 
 coach I had with me a bulky parcel which 
 Bret Harte 12 V. 6
 
 84 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 was manifestly too large for my pockets, 
 yet as evidently too small and too valuable 
 to be intrusted to the ordinary luggage. 
 Seeing my difficulty, our charming compan- 
 ion opposite, out of the very kindness and 
 innocence of her heart, offered to make a 
 place for it in her satchel, which was not 
 full. I accepted the offer joyfully. When 
 I state to you, gentlemen, that that package 
 contained valuable government bonds to a 
 considerable amount, I do so, not to claim 
 your praise for any originality of my own, 
 but to make this public avowal to our fair 
 fellow passenger for securing to me this 
 most perfect security and immunity from 
 the road agent that has been yet recorded." 
 With his eyes riveted on the lady's face, 
 Key saw a faint color rise to her other- 
 wise impassive face, which might have been 
 called out by the enthusiastic praise that 
 followed the lawyer's confession. But he 
 was painfully conscious of what now seemed 
 to him a monstrous situation I Here was, 
 he believed, the actual accomplice of the 
 road agents calmly receiving the complacent 
 and puerile confessions of the men who 
 were seeking to outwit them. Could he, in
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 85 
 
 ordinary justice to them, to himself, or the 
 mission he conceived he was pursuing, re- 
 frain from exposing her, or warning them 
 privately? But was he certain? Was a 
 vague remembrance of a profile momenta- 
 rily seen and, as he must even now admit, 
 inconsistent with the full face he was gaz- 
 ing at sufficient for such an accusation? 
 More than that, was the protection she had 
 apparently afforded the lawyer consistent 
 with the function of an accomplice ! 
 
 " Then if the danger 's over," said the 
 lady gently, reaching down to draw her 
 satchel from under the seat, " I suppose I 
 may return it to you." 
 
 " By no means ! Don't trouble yourself ! 
 Pray allow me to still remain your debtor, 
 at least as far as the next station," said the 
 lawyer gallantly. 
 
 The lady uttered a languid sigh, sank 
 back in her seat, and calmly settled herself 
 to the perusal of her book. Key felt his 
 cheeks beginning to burn with the embar- 
 rassment and shame of his evident miscon- 
 ception. And here he was on his way to 
 Marysville, to follow a woman for whom 
 he felt he no longer cared, and for whose
 
 86 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 pursuit he had no longer the excuse of 
 justice. 
 
 " Then I understand that you have twice 
 seen these road agents," said the profes- 
 sional man, turning to the miner. " Of 
 course, you could be able to identify them ? " 
 
 " Nary a man ! You see they 're all 
 masked, and only one of 'em ever speaks." 
 
 "The leader or chief?" 
 
 " No, the orator." 
 
 " The orator ? " repeated the professional 
 man in amazement. 
 
 " Well, you see, / call him the orator, 
 for he 's mighty glib with his tongue, and 
 reels off all he has to say like as if he had 
 it by heart. He 's mighty rough on you, 
 too, sometimes, for all his high-toned style. 
 Ef he thinks a man is hidin' anything he 
 jest scalps him with his tongue, and blamed 
 if I don't think he likes the chance of doin' 
 it. He 's got a regular set speech, and he 's 
 bound to go through it all, even if he makes 
 everything wait, and runs the risk of cap- 
 ture. Yet he ain't the chief, and even 
 I 've heard folks say ain't got any responsi- 
 bility if he is took, for he don't tech any- 
 body or anybody's money, and could n't
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 87 
 
 be prosecuted. I reckon he 's some sort of 
 a broken-down lawyer d' ye see ? " 
 
 " Not much of a lawyer, I imagine," said 
 the professional man, smiling, " for he '11 
 find himself quite mistaken as to his share 
 of responsibility. But it 's a rather clever 
 way of concealing the identity of the real 
 leader." 
 
 " It 's the smartest gang that was ever 
 started in the Sierras. They fooled the 
 sheriff of Sierra the other day. They gave 
 him a sort of idea that they had a kind of 
 hidin'-place in the woods whar they met 
 and kept their booty, and, by jinks! he 
 goes down thar with his hull posse, just 
 spilin' for a fight, and only lights upon 
 a gang of innocent greenhorns, who were 
 boring for silver on the very spot where he 
 allowed the robbers had their den ! He 
 ain't held up his head since." 
 
 Key cast a quick glance at the lady to see 
 the effect of this revelation. But her face 
 if the same profile he had seen at the 
 window betrayed neither concern nor 
 curiosity. He let his eyes drop to the smart 
 boot that peeped from below her gown, and 
 the thought of his trying to identify it with
 
 88 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the slipper he had picked up seemed to him 
 as ridiculous as his other misconceptions. 
 He sank back gloomily in his seat; by 
 degrees the fatigue and excitement of the 
 day began to mercifully benumb his senses ; 
 twilight had fallen and the talk had ceased. 
 The lady had allowed her book to drop in 
 her lap as the darkness gathered, and had 
 closed her eyes ; he closed his own, and 
 slipped away presently into a dream, in which 
 he saw the profile again as he had seen it in 
 the darkness of the hollow, only that this 
 time it changed to a full face, unlike the 
 lady's or any one he had ever seen. Then 
 the window seemed to open with a rattle, and 
 he again felt the cool odors of the forest ; but 
 he awoke to find that the lady had only 
 opened her window for a breath of fresh air. 
 It was nearly eight o' clock ; it would be an 
 hour yet before the coach stopped at the 
 next station for supper ; the passengers were 
 drowsily nodding ; he closed his eyes and 
 fell into a deeper sleep, from which he awoke 
 with a start. 
 
 The coach had stopped !
 
 CHAPTER IVo 
 
 "!T can't be Three Pines yet," said a 
 passenger's voice, in which the laziness of 
 sleep still lingered, " or else we 've snoozed 
 over five mile. I don't see no lights ; wot 
 are we stoppin' for ? " The other passengers 
 struggled to an upright position. One near- 
 est the window opened it; its place was 
 instantly occupied by the double muzzle of 
 a shot-gun ! No one moved. In the awe- 
 stricken silence the voice of the driver rose 
 in drawling protestation. 
 
 "It ain't no business o' mine, but it 
 sorter strikes me that you chaps are a-playin' 
 it just a little too fine this time I It ain't 
 three miles from Three Pine Station and 
 forty men Of course, that 's your lookout, 
 not mine ! " 
 
 The audacity of the thing had evidently 
 struck even the usually taciturn and phleg- 
 matic driver into his first expostulation on 
 record.
 
 90 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " Your thoughtful consideration does you 
 great credit," said a voice from the dark- 
 ness, " and shall be properly presented to 
 our manager ; but at the same time we wish 
 it understood that we do not hesitate to take 
 any risks in strict attention to our business 
 and our clients. In the mean time you will 
 expedite matters, and give your passengers 
 a chance to get an early tea at Three Pines, 
 by handing down that treasure-box and mail- 
 pouch. Be careful in handling that blun- 
 derbuss you keep beside it ; the last time 
 it unfortunately went off, and I regret to 
 say slightly wounded one of your passengers. 
 Accidents of this kind, interfering, as they 
 do, with the harmony and pleasure of our 
 chance meetings, cannot be too highly de- 
 plored." 
 
 " By gosh ! " ejaculated an outside pas- 
 senger in an audible whisper. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said the voice quietly ; 
 " but as I overlooked you, I will trouble you 
 now to descend with the others." 
 
 The voice moved nearer ; and, by the light 
 of a flaming bull's-eye cast upon the coach, it 
 could be seen to come from a stout, medium- 
 sized man with a black mask, which, however,
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 91 
 
 showed half of a smooth, beardless face, and 
 an affable yet satirical mouth. The speaker 
 cleared his throat with the slight preparatory 
 cough of the practiced orator, and, approach- 
 ing the window, to Key's intense surprise, 
 actually began in the identical professional 
 and rhetorical style previously indicated by 
 the miner. 
 
 " Circumstances over which we have no 
 control, gentlemen, compel us to oblige you 
 to alight, stand in a row on one side, and 
 hold up your hands. You will find the atti- 
 tude not unpleasant after your cramped posi- 
 tion in the coach, while the change from its 
 confined air to the wholesome night-breeze 
 of the Sierras cannot but prove salutary 
 and refreshing. It will also enable us to 
 relieve you of such so-called valuables and 
 treasures in the way of gold dust and coin, 
 which I regret to say too often are misap- 
 plied in careless hands, and which the teach- 
 ings of the highest morality distinctly denom- 
 inate as the root of all evil I I need not 
 inform you, gentlemen, as business men, that 
 promptitude and celerity of compliance will 
 insure dispatch, and shorten an interview 
 which has been sometimes needlessly, and, 
 I regret to say, painfully protracted."
 
 92 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 He drew back deliberately with the same 
 monotonous precision of habit, and disclosed 
 the muzzles of his confederates' weapons 
 still leveled at the passengers. In spite of 
 their astonishment, indignation, and discom- 
 fiture, his practiced effrontery and deliberate 
 display appeared in some way to touch their 
 humorous sense, and one or two smiled 
 hysterically, as they rose and hesitatingly 
 filed out of the vehicle. It is possible, how- 
 ever, that the leveled shot-guns contributed 
 more or less directly to this result. 
 
 Two masks began to search the passengers 
 under the combined focus of the bull's-eyes, 
 the shining gun-barrels, and a running but 
 still carefully prepared commentary from the 
 spokesman. " It is to be regretted that busi- 
 ness men, instead of intrusting their property 
 to the custody of the regularly constituted 
 express agent, still continue to secrete it 
 on their persons ; a custom that, without 
 enhancing its security, is not only an injus- 
 tice to the express company, but a great 
 detriment to dispatch. We also wish to 
 point out that while we do not as a rule 
 interfere with the possession of articles of 
 ordinary personal use or adornment, such as
 
 ZZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 93 
 
 simple jewelry or watches, we reserve our 
 right to restrict by confiscation the vulgarity 
 and unmanliness of diamonds and enormous 
 fob. chains." 
 
 The act of spoliation was apparently com- 
 plete, yet it was evident that the orator was 
 restraining himself for a more effective cli- 
 max. Clearing his throat again and step- 
 ping before the impatient but still mystified 
 file of passengers, he reviewed them gravely 
 Then in a perfectly pitched tone of mingle^ 
 pain and apology, he said slowly : 
 
 " It would seem that, from no wish of oui 
 own, we are obliged on this present occasion 
 to suspend one or two of our usual rules. 
 We are not in the habit of interfering with 
 the wearing apparel of our esteemed clients ; 
 but in the interests of ordinary humanity we 
 are obliged to remove the boots of the gen- 
 tleman on the extreme left, which evidently 
 give him great pain and impede his locomo- 
 tion. We also seldom deviate from our rule 
 of obliging our clients to hold up their hands 
 during this examination ; but we gladly make 
 an exception in favor of the gentleman next 
 to him, and permit him to hand us the alto- 
 gether too heavily weighted holster which
 
 94 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 presses upon his hip. Gentlemen," said 
 the orator, slightly raising his voice, with 
 a deprecating gesture, "you need not be 
 alarmed ! The indignant movement of our 
 friend, just now, was not to draw his revolver, 
 for it is n't there ! " He paused while his 
 companions speedily removed the farmer's 
 boots and the miner's holster, and with a 
 still more apologetic air approached the 
 coach, where only the lady remained erect 
 and rigid in her corner. " And now," he 
 said with simulated hesitation, " we come to 
 the last and to us the most painful suspension 
 of our rules. On these very rare occasions, 
 when we have been honored with the pres- 
 ence of the fair sex, it has been our invari- 
 able custom not only to leave them in the 
 undisturbed possession of their property, but 
 even of their privacy as well. It is with 
 deep regret that on this occasion we are 
 obliged to make an exception. For in the 
 present instance, the lady, out of the gentle- 
 ness of her heart and the politeness of her 
 sex, has burdened herself not only with the 
 weight but the responsibility of a package 
 forced upon her by one of the passengers. 
 We feel, and we believe, gentlemen, that
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 95 
 
 most of you will agree with us, that so scan- 
 dalous and unmanly an attempt to evade our 
 rules and violate the sanctity of the lady's im- 
 munity will never be permitted. For your 
 own sake, madam, we are compelled to ask 
 you for the satchel under your seat. It 
 will be returned to you when the package is 
 removed." 
 
 " One moment," said the professional 
 man indignantly, "there is a man here 
 whom you have spared, a man who lately 
 joined us. Is that man," pointing to the 
 astonished Key, " one of your confederates ? " 
 
 " That man," returned the spokesman 
 with a laugh, " is the owner of the Sylvan 
 Hollow Mine. We have spared him because 
 we owe him some consideration for having 
 been turned out of his house at the dead of 
 night while the sheriff of Sierra was seek- 
 ing us." He stopped, and then in an entirely 
 different voice, and in a totally changed 
 manner, said roughly, ' fe Tumble in there, all 
 of you, quick! And you, sir" (to Key), 
 " I 'd advise you to ride outside. Now, 
 driver, raise so much as a rein or a whip- 
 lash until you hear the signal and by God ! 
 you '11 know what next." He stepped back,
 
 96 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 and seemed to be instantly swallowed up 
 in the darkness ; but the light of a solitary 
 bull's-eye the holder himself invisible 
 still showed the muzzles of the guns covering 
 the driver. There was a momentary stir of 
 voices within the closed coach, but an angry 
 roar of "Silence!" from the darkness 
 hushed it. 
 
 The moments crept slowly by; all now 
 were breathless. Then a clear whistle rang 
 from the distance, the light suddenly was 
 extinguished, the leveled muzzles vanished 
 with it, the driver's lash fell simultaneously 
 on the backs of his horses, and the coach 
 leaped forward. 
 
 The jolt nearly threw Key from the top, 
 but a moment later it was still more difficult 
 to keep his seat in the headlong fury of 
 their progress. Again and again the lash 
 descended upon the maddened horses, until 
 the whole coach seemed to leap, bound, and 
 swerve with every stroke. Cries of protest 
 and even distress began to come from the 
 interior, but the driver heeded it not. A 
 window was suddenly let down ; the voice of 
 the professional man saying, " What 's the 
 matter? We're not followed. You are.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 97 
 
 imperiling our lives by this speed," was 
 answered only by, " Will some of ye throt- 
 tle that d d fool?" from the driver, and 
 the renewed fall of the lash. The wayside 
 trees appeared a solid plateau before them, 
 opened, danced at their side, closed up again 
 behind them, but still they sped along. 
 Rushing down grades with the speed of an 
 avalanche, they ascended again without draw- 
 ing rein, and as if by sheer momentum; 
 for the heavy vehicle now seemed to have 
 a diabolical energy of its own. It ground 
 scattered rocks to powder with its crushing 
 wheels, it swayed heavily on ticklish corners, 
 recovering itself with the resistless forward 
 propulsion of the straining teams, until the 
 lights of Three Pine Station began to glitter 
 through the trees. Then a succession of 
 yells broke from the driver, so strong and 
 dominant that they seemed to outstrip even 
 the speed of the unabated cattle. Lesser 
 lights were presently seen running to and 
 fro, and on the outermost fringe of the settle- 
 ment the stage pulled up before a crowd of 
 wondering faces, and the driver spoke. 
 
 " We 've been held up on the open road, 
 by G d, not three miles from whar ye
 
 98 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 men are sittin' here yawpin' ! If thar 's a 
 man among ye that has n't got the soul of 
 a skunk, he '11 foller and close in upon 'em 
 before they have a chance to get into the 
 brush." Having thus relieved himself of 
 his duty as an enforced noncombatant, and 
 allowed all further responsibility to devolve 
 upon his recreant fellow employees, he re- 
 lapsed into his usual taciturnity, and drove 
 a trifle less recklessly to the station, where 
 he grimly set down his bruised and dis- 
 comfited passengers. As Key mingled with 
 them, he could not help perceiving that 
 neither the late " orator's " explanation of 
 his exemption from their fate, nor the driv- 
 er's surly corroboration of his respecta- 
 bility, had pacified them. For a time this 
 amused him, particularly as he could not 
 help remembering that he first appeared to 
 them beside the mysterious horseman who 
 some one thought had been identified as one 
 of the masks. But he was not a little piqued 
 to find that the fair unknown appeared to 
 participate in their feelings, and his first 
 civility to her met with a chilling response. 
 Even then, in the general disillusion of his 
 romance regarding her, this would have
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 99 
 
 been only a momentary annoyance ; but it 
 strangely revived all his previous suspicions, 
 and set him to thinking. Was the singular 
 sagacity displayed by the orator in his search 
 purely intuitive ? Could any one have dis- 
 closed to him the secret of the passengers' 
 hoards ? Was it possible -for her while sit- 
 ting alone in the coach to have communicated 
 with the band ? Suddenly the remembrance 
 flashed across him of her opening the window 
 for fresh air ! She could have easily then 
 dropped some signal. If this were so, 
 and she really was the culprit, it was quite 
 natural for her own safety that she should 
 encourage the passengers in the absurd sus- 
 picion of himself ! His dying interest re- 
 vived ; a few moments ago he had half 
 resolved to abandon his quest and turn back 
 at Three Pines. Now he determined to 
 follow her to the end. But he did not 
 indulge in any further sophistry regarding 
 his duty ; yet, in a new sense of honor, he 
 did not dream of retaliating upon her by 
 communicating his suspicions to his fellow 
 passengers. When the coach started again, 
 he took his seat on the top, and remained 
 there until they reached Jamestown in the
 
 100 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 early evening. Here a number of his de- 
 spoiled companions were obliged to wait, to 
 communicate with their friends. Happily, 
 the exemption that had made them indignant 
 enabled him to continue his journey with 
 a full purse. But he was content with a 
 modest surveillance of the lady from the top 
 of the coach. 
 
 On arriving at Stockton this surveillance 
 became less easy. It was the terminus of 
 the stage-route, and the divergence of others 
 by boat and rail. If he were lucky enough 
 to discover which one the lady took, his pres- 
 ence now would be more marked, and might 
 excite her suspicion. But here a circum- 
 stance, which he also believed to be provi- 
 dential, determined him. As the luggage 
 was being removed from the top of the coach, 
 he overheard the agent tell the expressman 
 to check the " lady's " trunk to San Luis. 
 Key was seized with an idea which seemed to 
 solve the difficulty, although it involved a 
 risk of losing the clue entirely. There were 
 two routes to San Luis, one was by stage, and 
 direct, though slower ; the other by steam- 
 boat and rail, via San Francisco. If he 
 took the boat, there was less danger of her
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 101 
 
 discovering him, even if she chose the same 
 conveyance ; if she took the direct stage, 
 and he trusted to a woman's avoidance of the 
 hurry of change and transshipment for that 
 choice, he would still arrive at San Luis, 
 via San Francisco, an hour before her. He 
 resolved to take the boat ; a careful scrutiny 
 from a stateroom window of the arriving 
 passengers on the gangplank satisfied him 
 that she had preferred the stage. There 
 was still the chance that in losing sight of 
 her she might escape him, but the risk 
 seemed small. And a trifling circumstance 
 had almost unconsciously influenced him 
 after his romantic and superstitious fashion 
 as to this final step. 
 
 He had been singularly moved when he 
 heard that San Luis was the lady's probable 
 destination. It did not seem to bear any 
 relation to the mountain wilderness and the 
 wild life she had just quitted; it was ap- 
 parently the most antipathic, incongruous, 
 and inconsistent refuge she could have 
 taken. It offered no opportunity for the 
 disposal of booty, or for communication with 
 the gang. It was less secure than a crowded 
 town. An old Spanish mission and monas-
 
 102 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 tery college in a sleepy pastoral plain, it 
 had even retained its old-world flavor amidst 
 American improvements and social revolu- 
 tion. He knew it well. From the quaint 
 college cloisters, where the only reposeful 
 years of his adventurous youth had been 
 spent, to the long Alameda, or double ave- 
 nues of ancient trees, which connected it 
 with the convent of Santa Luisa, and some 
 of his youthful " devotions," it had been 
 the nursery of his romance. He was 
 amused at what seemed to be the irony of 
 fate, in now linking it with this folly of his 
 maturer manhood ; and yet he was uneasily 
 conscious of being more seriously affected 
 by it. And it was with a greater anxiety 
 than this adventure had ever yet cost him 
 that he at last arrived at the San Jose hotel,, 
 and from a balcony corner awaited the com-. 
 ing of the coach. His heart beat rapidly 
 as it approached. She was there ! But at 
 her side, as she descended from the coach, 
 was the mysterious horseman of the Sierra 
 road. Key could not mistake the well-built 
 figure, whatever doubt there had been about 
 ^the features, which had been so carefully 
 concealed. With the astonishment of this
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 103 
 
 rediscovery, there flashed across him again 
 the fatefulness of the inspiration which had 
 decided him not to go in the coach. His 
 presence there would have no doubt warned 
 the stranger, and so estopped this convincing 
 denouement. It was quite possible that her 
 companion, by relays of horses and the ad- 
 vantage of bridle cut-offs, could have easily 
 followed the Three Pine coach and joined 
 her at Stockton. But for what purpose? 
 The lady's trunk, which had not been dis- 
 turbed during the first part of the journey, 
 and had been forwarded at Stockton un- 
 touched before Key's eyes, could not have 
 contained booty to be disposed of in this 
 forgotten old town. 
 
 The register of the hotel bore simply the 
 name of "Mrs. Barker," of Stockton, but 
 no record of her companion, who seemed to 
 have disappeared as mysteriously as he came. 
 That she occupied a sitting-room on the same 
 floor as his own in which she was ap- 
 parently secluded during the rest of the day 
 was all he knew. Nobody else seemed 
 to know her. Key felt an odd hesitation, 
 that might have been the result of some 
 vague fear of implicating her prematurely,
 
 104 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLk.. 
 
 in making any marked inquiry, or imper- 
 iling his secret by the bribed espionage 
 of servants. Once when he was passing 
 her door he heard the sounds of laughter, 
 albeit innocent and heart-free, which 
 seemed so inconsistent with the gravity of 
 the situation and his own thoughts that he 
 was strangely shocked. But he was still 
 more disturbed by a later occurrence. In 
 his watchfulness of the movements of his 
 neighbor he had been equally careful of his 
 own, and had not only refrained from regis- 
 tering his name, but had enjoined secrecy 
 upon the landlord, whom he knew. Yet the 
 next morning after his arrival, the porter 
 not answering his bell promptly enough, he 
 so far forgot himself as to walk to the stair- 
 case, which was near the lady's room, and 
 call to the employee over the balustrade. As 
 he was still leaning over the railing, the 
 faint creak of a door, and a singular mag- 
 netic consciousness of being overlooked, 
 caused him to turn slowly, but only in time 
 to hear the rustle of a withdrawing skirt as 
 the door was quickly closed. In an instant 
 he felt the full force of his foolish heedless- 
 ness, but it was too late. Had the mys-
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 105 
 
 terious fugitive recognized him ? Perhaps 
 not ; their eyes had not met, and his face 
 had been turned away. 
 
 He varied his espionage by subterfuges, 
 which his knowledge of the old town made 
 easy,, He watched the door of the hotel, 
 himself unseen, from the windows of a bil- 
 liard saloon opposite, which he had fre- 
 quented in former days. Yet he was sur- 
 prised the same afternoon to see her, from 
 his coigne of vantage, reentering the hotel, 
 where he was sure he had left her a few mo- 
 ments ago. Had she gone out by some other 
 exit, or had she been disguised ? But on 
 entering his room that evening he was con- 
 founded by an incident that seemed to him 
 as convincing of her identity as it was auda- 
 cious. Lying on his pillow were a few dead 
 leaves of an odorous mountain fern, known 
 only to the Sierras. They were tied to- 
 gether by a narrow blue ribbon, and had evi- 
 dently been intended to attract his attention. 
 As he took them in his hand, the distin- 
 guishing subtle aroma of the little sylvan 
 hollow in the hills came to him like a mem- 
 ory and a revelation ! He summoned the 
 chambermaid ; she knew nothing of them, 1
 
 106 17V A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 or indeed of any one who had entered his 
 room. He walked cautiously into the hall ; 
 the lady's sitting-room door was open, the 
 room was empty. " The occupant," said the 
 chambermaid, " had left that afternoon." 
 He held the proof of her identity in his 
 hand, but she herself had vanished ! That 
 she had recognized him there was now no 
 doubt : had she divined the real object of 
 his quest, or had she accepted it as a mere 
 sentimental gallantry at the moment when 
 she knew it was hopeless, and she herself 
 was perfectly safe from pursuit? In either 
 event he had been duped. He did not know 
 whether to be piqued, angry, or relieved of 
 his irresolute quest. 
 
 Nevertheless, he spent the rest of the twi- 
 light and the early evening in fruitlessly 
 wandering through the one long thorough- 
 fare of the town, until it merged into the 
 bosky Alameda, or spacious grove, that con- 
 nected it with Santa Luisa. By degrees his 
 chagrin and disappointment were forgotten 
 in the memories of the past, evoked by the 
 familiar pathway. The moon was slowly 
 riding overhead, and silvering the carriage- 
 way between the straight ebony lines of
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 107 
 
 trees, while the footpaths were diapered with 
 black and white checkers. The faint tink- 
 ling of a tram-car bell in the distance ap- 
 prised him of one of the few innovations of 
 the past. The car was approaching him, 
 overtook him, and was passing, with its 
 faintly illuminated windows, when, glancing 
 carelessly up, he beheld at one of them the 
 profile of the face which he had just thought 
 he had lost forever ! 
 
 He stopped for an instant, not in inde- 
 cision this time, but in a grim resolution 
 to let no chance escape him now. The car 
 was going slowly ; it was easy to board it 
 now, but again the tinkle of the bell indi- 
 cated that it was stopping at the corner of 
 a road beyond* He checked his pace, a 
 lady alighted, it was she ! She turned 
 into the cross - street, darkened with the 
 shadows of some low suburban tenement 
 houses, and he boldly followed. He was 
 fully determined to find out her secret, and 
 even, if necessary, to accost her for that pur- 
 pose. He was perfectly aware what he was 
 doing, and all its risks and penalties ; he 
 knew the audacity of such an introduction, 
 but he felt in his left-hand pocket for the
 
 108 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 sprig of fern which was an excuse for it; 
 he knew the danger of following a possible 
 confidante of desperadoes, but he felt in his 
 right-hand pocket for the derringer that was 
 equal to it. They were both there ; he was 
 ready. 
 
 He was nearing the convent and the old- 
 est and most ruinous part of the town. He 
 did not disguise from himself the gloomy 
 significance of this ; even in the old days the 
 crumbling adobe buildings that abutted on 
 the old garden wall of the convent were the 
 haunts of lawless Mexicans and vagabond 
 peons. As the roadway began to be rough 
 and uneven, and the gaunt outlines of the 
 sagging roofs of tiles stood out against the 
 sky above the lurking shadows of ruined 
 doorways, he was prepared for the worst. 
 As the crumbling but still massive walls of 
 the convent garden loomed ahead, the tall, 
 graceful, black -gowned figure he was fol- 
 lowing presently turned into the shadow 
 of the wall itself. He quickened his pace, 
 lest it should again escape him. Sud- 
 denly it stopped, and remained motionless. 
 He stopped, too. At the same moment 
 it vanished I
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 109 
 
 He ran quickly forward to where it had 
 stood, and found himself before a large iron 
 gate, with a smaller one in the centre, that 
 had just clanged to on its rusty hinges. He 
 rubbed his eyes ! the place, the gate, the 
 wall, were all strangely familiar ! Then he 
 stepped back into the roadway, and looked 
 at it again. He was not mistaken. 
 
 He was standing before the porter's lodge 
 of the Convent of the Sacred Heart.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE day following the great stagecoach 
 robbery found the patient proprietor of 
 Collinson's Mill calm and untroubled in his 
 usual seclusion. The news that had thrilled 
 the length and breadth of Galloper's Ridge 
 had not touched the leafy banks of the 
 dried-up river ; the hue and cry had fol- 
 lowed the stage-road, and no courier had 
 deemed it worth his while to diverge as far 
 as the rocky ridge which formed the only 
 pathway to the mill. That day Collinson's 
 solitude had been unbroken even by the 
 haggard emigrant from the valley, with his 
 old monotonous story of hardship and pri- 
 vation. The birds had flown nearer to the 
 old mill, as if emboldened by the unwonted 
 quiet. That morning there had been the 
 half human imprint of a bear's foot in the 
 ooze beside the mill - wheel ; and coming 
 home with his scant stock from the wood- 
 land pasture, he had found a golden squirrel
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. Ill 
 
 a beautiful, airy embodiment of the 
 brown woods itself calmly seated on his 
 bar-counter, with a biscuit between its baby 
 hands. He was full of his characteristic 
 reveries and abstractions that afternoon ; 
 falling into them even at his wood -pile, 
 leaning on his axe so still that an emer- 
 ald-throated lizard, who had slid upon the 
 log, went to sleep under the forgotten stroke. 
 
 But at nightfall the wind arose, at first 
 as a distant murmur along the hillside, that 
 died away before it reached the rocky ledge ; 
 then it rocked the tops of the tall redwoods 
 behind the mill, but left the mill and the 
 dried leaves that lay in the river-bed undis- 
 turbed. Then the murmur was prolonged, 
 until it became the continuous trouble of 
 some far-off sea, and at last the wind pos- 
 sessed the ledge itself; driving the smoke 
 down the stumpy chimney of the mill, rat- 
 tling the sun-warped shingles on the roof, 
 stirring the inside rafters with cool breaths, 
 and singing over the rough projections of 
 the outside eaves. At nine o'clock he rolled 
 himself up in his blankets before the fire, 
 as was his wont, and fell asleep. 
 
 It was past midnight when he was awak-
 
 112 I7V A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 ened by the familiar clatter of boulders 
 down the grade, the usual simulation of a 
 wild rush from without that encompassed 
 the whole mill, even to that heavy impact 
 against the door, which he had heard once 
 before. In this he recognized merely the 
 ordinary phenomena of his experience, and 
 only turned over to sleep again. But this 
 time the door rudely fell in upon him, and a 
 figure strode over his prostrate body, with a 
 gun leveled at his head. 
 
 He sprang sideways for his own weapon, 
 wiiich stood by the hearth. In another 
 second that action would have been his last, 
 and the solitude of Seth Collinson might 
 have remained henceforward unbroken by 
 any mortal. But the gun of the first figure 
 was knocked sharply upward by a second 
 man, and the one and only shot fired that 
 night sped harmlessly to the roof. With 
 the report he felt his arms gripped tightly 
 behind him ; through the smoke he saw 
 dimly that the room was filled with masked 
 and armed men, and in another moment he 
 was pinioned and thrust into his empty 
 armchair. At a signal three of the men 
 left the room, and he could hear them
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 113 
 
 exploring the other rooms and outhouses. 
 Then the two men who had been standing 
 beside him fell back with a certain disci- 
 plined precision, as a smooth-chinned man 
 advanced from the open door. Going to 
 the bar, he poured out a glass of whiskey, 
 tossed it off deliberately, and, standing in 
 front of Collinson, with his shoulder against 
 the chimney and his hand resting lightly on 
 his hip, cleared his throat. Had Collinson 
 been an observant man, he would have no- 
 ticed that the two men dropped their eyes 
 and moved their feet with a half impatient, 
 perfunctory air of waiting. Had he wit- 
 nessed the stage-robbery, he would have rec- 
 ognized in the smooth-faced man the presence 
 of " the orator." But he only gazed at him 
 with his dull, imperturbable patience. 
 
 " We regret exceedingly to have to use 
 force to a gentleman in his own house," 
 began the orator blandly ; " but we feel it 
 our duty to prevent a repetition of the un- 
 happy incident which occurred as we en- 
 tered. We desire that you should answer 
 a few questions, and are deeply grateful 
 that you are still able to do so, which 
 seemed extremely improbable a moment or
 
 114 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 two ago." He paused, coughed, and leaned 
 back against the chimney. " How many 
 men have you here besides yourself? " 
 
 " Nary one," said Collinson. 
 
 The interrogator glanced at the other 
 men, who had reentered. They nodded 
 significantly. 
 
 " Good! " he resumed. "You have told 
 the truth an excellent habit, and one that 
 expedites business. Now, is there a room 
 in this house with a door that locks ? Your 
 front door does n't." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " No cellar nor outhouse ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " We regret that ; for it will compel us, 
 much against our wishes, to keep you bound 
 as you are for the present. The matter is 
 simply this: circumstances of a very press- 
 ing nature oblige us to occupy this house 
 for a few days, possibly for an indefinite 
 period. We respect the sacred rites of 
 hospitality too much to turn you out of it ; 
 indeed, nothing could be more distasteful to 
 our feelings than to have you, in your own 
 person, spread such a disgraceful report 
 through the chivalrous Sierras. We must
 
 JW A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 115 
 
 therefore keep you a close prisoner, open, 
 however, to an offer. It is this : we pro- 
 pose to give you five hundred dollars for 
 this property as it stands, provided that you 
 leave it, and accompany a pack-train which 
 will start to-morrow morning for the lower 
 valley as far as Thompson's Pass, binding 
 yourself to quit the State for three months 
 and keep this matter a secret. Three of 
 these gentlemen will go with you. They 
 will point out to you your duty ; their shot- 
 guns will apprise you of any dereliction 
 from it. What do you say ? " 
 
 "Who yer talking to?" said Collinson 
 in a dull voice. 
 
 " You remind us," said the orator suavely, 
 " that we have not yet the pleasure of know- 
 ing." 
 
 " My name 's Seth Collinson." 
 
 There was a dead silence in the room, and 
 every eye was fixed upon the two men. 
 The orator's smile slightly stiffened. 
 
 " Where from ? " he continued blandly. 
 
 " Mizzouri." 
 
 " A very good place to go back to, 
 through Thompson's Pass. But you have n't 
 answered our proposal." 
 
 Bret Harte 13 V. 6
 
 116 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " I reckon I don't intend to sell this 
 house, or leave it," said Collinson simply. 
 
 " I trust you will not make us regret the 
 fortunate termination of your little accident, 
 Mr. Collinson," said the orator with a sin- 
 gular smile. " May I ask why you object 
 to selling out ? Is it the figure ? " 
 
 "The house isn't mine," said Collinson 
 deliberately. " 1 built this yer house for 
 my wife wot I left in Mizzouri. It 's hers. 
 I kalkilate to keep it, and live in it ontil she 
 comes fur.it ! And when I tell ye that she 
 is dead, ye kin reckon just what chance ye 
 have of ever gettin' it." 
 
 There was an unmistakable start of sen- 
 sation in the room, followed by a silence so 
 profound that the moaning of the wind on 
 the mountain-side was distinctly heard. A 
 well-built man, with a mask that scarcely 
 concealed his heavy mustachios, who had 
 been standing with his back to the orator 
 in half contemptuous patience, faced around 
 suddenly and made a step forward as if to 
 come between the questioner and questioned. 
 A voice from the corner ejaculated, " By 
 G d!" 
 
 " Silence," said the orator sharply. Then
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 117 
 
 still more harshly he turned to the others : 
 " Pick him up, and stand him outside with 
 a guard ; and then clear out, all of you I " 
 
 The prisoner was lifted up and carried 
 out ; the room was instantly cleared ; only 
 the orator and the man who had stepped 
 forward remained. Simultaneously they 
 drew the masks from their faces, and stood 
 looking at each other. The orator's face 
 was smooth and corrupt ^ the full, sensual 
 lips wrinkled at the corners with a sardonic 
 humor ; the man who confronted him ap- 
 peared to be physically and even morally 
 his superior, albeit gloomy and discon- 
 tented in expression. He cast a rapid 
 glance around the room, to assure himself 
 that they were alone ; and then, straighten- 
 ing his eyebrows as he backed against the 
 chimney, said : 
 
 "D d if I like this, Chivers I It's 
 your affair , but it 's mighty low-down work 
 for a man ! " 
 
 " You might have made it easier if you 
 hadn't knocked up Bryce's gun. That 
 would have settled it, though no one guessed 
 that the cur was her husband," said Chivers 
 hotly.
 
 118 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " If you want it settled that way, there 's 
 still time," returned the other with a slight 
 sneer. " You 've only to tell him that 
 you 're the man that ran away with his wife, 
 and you '11 have it out together, right on 
 the ledge at twelve paces. The boys will 
 see you through. In fact," he added, his 
 sneer deepening, " I rather think it 's what 
 they 're expecting." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Jack Kiggs," said 
 Chivers sardonically. " I dare say it would 
 be more convenient to some people, just 
 before our booty is divided, if I were drilled 
 through by a blundering shot from that 
 hayseed ; or it would seem right to your 
 high-toned chivalry if a dead-shot as I am 
 knocked over a man who may have never 
 fired a revolver before ; but I don't exactly 
 see it in that light, either as a man or as 
 your equal partner. I don't think you 
 quite understand me, my dear Jack. If 
 you don't value the only man who is iden- 
 tified in all California as the leader of this 
 gang (the man whose style and address 
 has made it popular yes, popular, by 
 G d ! to every man, woman, and child 
 who has heard of him ; whose sayings and
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 119 
 
 doings are quoted by the newspapers ; whom 
 people run risks to see; who has got the 
 sympathy of the crowd, so that judges hes- 
 itate to issue warrants and constables to 
 serve them), if you don't see the use of 
 such a man, / do. Why, there 's a column 
 and a half in the ' Sacramento Union ' about 
 our last job, calling me the ' Claude Duval ' 
 of the Sierras, and speaking of my courtesy 
 to a lady ! A lady ! Ms wife, by G d ! 
 our confederate ! My dear Jack, you not 
 only don't know business values, but, 'pon 
 my soul, you don't seem to understand hu- 
 mor ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 For all his cynical levity, for all his af- 
 fected exaggeration, there was the ring of 
 an unmistakable and even pitiable vanity in 
 his voice, and a self-consciousness that suf- 
 fused his broad cheeks and writhed his full 
 mouth, but seemed to deepen the frown on 
 Biggs' s face. 
 
 " You know the woman hates it, and 
 would bolt if she could, even from you," 
 said Riggs gloomily. "Think what she 
 might do if she knew her husband were 
 here. I tell you she holds our lives in the 
 hollow of her hand."
 
 120 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " That 's your fault, Mr. Jack Riggs ; 
 you would bring your sister with her infer- 
 nal convent innocence and simplicity into 
 our hut in the hollow. She was meek 
 enough before that. But this is sheer non- 
 sense. I have no fear of her. The woman 
 don't live who would go back on Godfrey 
 Chivers for a husband ! Besides, she went 
 off to see your sister at the convent at Santa 
 Clara as soon as she passed those bonds 
 off on Charley to get rid of! Think of 
 her traveling with that d d fool lawyer all 
 the way to Stockton, and his bonds (which 
 we had put back in her bag) alongside of 
 them all the time, and he telling her he was 
 going to stop their payment, and giving her 
 the letter to mail for him ! eh ? Well, 
 we '11 have time to get rid of her husband 
 before she gets back. If he don't go easy 
 well"- 
 
 " None of that, Chivers, you understand, 
 once for all ! " interrupted Riggs perempto- 
 rily. " If you cannot see that your making 
 away with that woman's husband would 
 damn that boasted reputation you make so 
 much of and set every man's hand against 
 us, / do, and I won't permit it. It 's a
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 121 
 
 rotten business enough, our coming on 
 him as we have ; and if this was n't the only 
 God-forsaken place where we could divide 
 our stuff without danger and get it away off 
 the highroads, I 'd pull up stakes at once." 
 
 "Let her stay at the convent, then, and 
 be d d to her," said Chivers roughly. 
 " She '11 be glad enough to be with your 
 sister again ; and there 's no fear of her 
 being touched there." 
 
 "But I want to put an end to that, too," 
 returned Riggs sharply. " I do not choose 
 to have my sister any longer implicated 
 with our confederate or your mistress. No 
 more of that you understand me ? " 
 
 The two men had been standing side by 
 side, leaning against the chimney. Chivers 
 now faced his companion, his full lips 
 wreathed into an evil smile. 
 
 "I think I understand you, Mr. Jack 
 Riggs, or I beg your pardon Rivers, 
 or whatever your real name may be," he 
 began slowly. " Sadie Collinson, the mis- 
 tress of Judge Godfrey Chivers, formerly of 
 Kentucky, was good enough company for 
 you the day you dropped down upon us in 
 our little house in the hollow of Galloper's
 
 122 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 Ridge. We were living quite an idyllic, 
 pastoral life there, were n't we ? she and 
 me ; hidden from the censorious eye of 
 society and Collinson, obeying only the 
 voice of Nature and the little birds. It was 
 a happy time," he went on with a grimly 
 affected sigh, disregarding his companion's 
 impatient gesture. " You were young then, 
 waging your fight against society, and fresh 
 uncommonly fresh, I may say from 
 your first exploit. And a very stupid, 
 clumsy, awkward exploit, too, Mr. Riggs, if 
 you will pardon my freedom. You wanted 
 money, and you had an ugly temper, and 
 you had lost both to a gambler; so you 
 stopped the coach to rob him, and had to 
 kill two men to get back your paltry thou- 
 sand dollars, after frightening a whole 
 coach-load of passengers, and letting Wells, 
 Fargo, and Co.'s treasure-box with fifty 
 thousand dollars in it slide. It was a stupid, 
 a blundering, a cruel act, Mr. Riggs, and 
 I think I told you so at the time. It was 
 a waste of energy and material, and made 
 you, not a hero, but a stupid outcast ! I 
 think I proved this to you, and showed you 
 how it might have been done."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 123 
 
 " Dry up on that," interrupted 
 impatiently. " You offered to become my 
 partner, and you did." 
 
 " Pardon me. Observe, my impetuous 
 friend, that my contention is that you 
 you poisoned our blameless Eden in the 
 hollow ; that you were our serpent, and that 
 this Sadie Collinson, over whom you have 
 become so fastidious, whom you knew as my 
 mistress, was obliged to become our confed- 
 erate. You did not object to her when we 
 formed our gang, and her house became 
 our hiding-place and refuge. You took 
 advantage of her woman's wit and fine ad- 
 dress in disposing of our booty ; you availed 
 yourself, with the rest, of the secrets she 
 gathered as my mistress, just as you were 
 willing to profit by the superior address of 
 her paramour your humble servant 
 when your own face was known to the sher- 
 iff, and your old methods pronounced brutal 
 and vulgar. Excuse me, but I must insist 
 upon this, and that you dropped down upon 
 me and Sadie Collinson exactly as you have 
 dropped down here upon her husband." 
 
 " Enough of this ! " said Riggs angrily. 
 " I admit the woman is part and parcel of
 
 124 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the gang, and gets her share, or you get 
 it for her," he added sneeringly ; " but that 
 does n't permit her to mix herself with my 
 family affairs." 
 
 " Pardon me again," interrupted Chivers 
 softly. " Your memory, my dear Riggs, is 
 absurdly defective. We knew that you had 
 a young sister in the mountains, from whom 
 you discreetly wished to conceal your real 
 position. We respected, and I trust shall 
 always respect, your noble reticence. But 
 do you remember the night you were taking 
 her to school at Santa Clara, two nights 
 before the fire, when you were recognized 
 on the road near Skinner's, and had to fly 
 with her for your life, and brought her to 
 us, your two dear old friends, ' Mr. and 
 Mrs. Barker of Chicago,' who had a pas- 
 toral home in the forest? You remember 
 how we took her in, yes, doubly took her 
 in, and kept your secret from her ? And 
 do you remember how this woman (this 
 mistress of mine and our confederate), while 
 we were away, saved her from the fire on 
 our only horse, caught the stage-coach, and 
 brought her to the convent? " 
 
 Riggs walked towards the window, turned,
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 125 
 
 and coming back, held out his hand. " Yes, 
 she did it ; and I thanked her, as I thank 
 you." He stopped and hesitated, as the 
 other took his hand. " But, blank it all, 
 Chivers, don't you see that Alice is a young 
 girl, and this woman is you know what 
 I mean. Somebody might recognize her, 
 and that would be worse for Alice than even 
 if it were known what Alice's brother was. 
 G d! if these two things were put to- 
 gether, the girl would be ruined forever." 
 
 "Jack," said Chivers suddenly, " you want 
 this woman out of the way. Well dash 
 it all ! she nearly separated us, and I '11 
 be frank with you as between man and 
 man. I '11 give her up ! There are women 
 enough in the world, and hang it, we 're 
 partners, after all ! " 
 
 "Then you abandon her?" said Riggs 
 slowly, his eyes fixed on his companion. 
 
 " Yes. She ? s getting a little too maun- 
 dering lately., It will be a ticklish job to 
 manage, for she knows too much ; but it will 
 be done. There 's my hand on it." 
 
 Riggs not only took no notice of the prof- 
 fered hand, but his former look of discon- 
 tent came back with an ill-concealed addi- 
 tion of loathing and contempt.
 
 126 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " We '11 drop that now," he said shortly ; 
 "we've talked here alone long enough 
 already. The men are waiting for us." He 
 turned on his heel into the inner room, 
 Chivers remained standing by the chimney 
 until his stiffened smile gave way under the 
 working of his writhing lips ; then he 
 turned to the bar, poured out and swallowed 
 another glass of whiskey at a single gulp, 
 and followed his partner with half-closed 
 lids that scarcely veiled his ominous eyes. 
 
 The men, with the exception of the senti- 
 nels stationed on the rocky ledge and the 
 one who was guarding the unfortunate Col- 
 linson, were drinking and gambling away 
 their perspective gains around a small pile 
 of portmanteaus and saddle-bags, heaped in 
 the centre of the room. They contained the 
 results of their last successes, but one pair 
 of saddle-bags bore the mildewed appearance 
 of having been cached, or buried, some time 
 before. Most of their treasure was in pack- 
 ages of gold dust ; and from the conversation 
 that ensued, it appeared that, owing to the 
 difficulties of disposing of it in the moun- 
 tain towns, the plan was to convey it by 
 ordinary pack mule to the unfrequented
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 127 
 
 valley, and thence by an emigrant wagon, on 
 the old emigrant trail, to the southern coun- 
 ties, where it could be no longer traced. 
 Since the recent robberies, the local express 
 companies and bankers had refused to receive 
 it, except the owners were known and identi- 
 fied. There had been but one box of coin, 
 which had already been speedily divided up 
 among the band. Drafts, bills, bonds, and 
 valuable papers had been usually intrusted 
 to one " Charley," who acted as a flying 
 messenger to a corrupt broker in Sacramento, 
 who played the role of the band's " fence." 
 It had been the duty of Chivers to control 
 this delicate business, even as it had been his 
 peculiar function to open all the letters and 
 documents. This he had always lightened 
 by characteristic levity and sarcastic com- 
 ments on the private revelations of the con- 
 tents. The rough, ill-spelt letter of the 
 miner to his wife, inclosing a draft, or the 
 more sentimental effusion of an emigrant 
 swain to his sweetheart, with the gift of a 
 " specimen," had always received due atten- 
 tion at the hands of this elegant humorist. 
 But the operation was conducted to-night 
 with business severity and silence. The two
 
 128 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 leaders sat opposite to each other, in what 
 might have appeared to the rest of the band 
 a scarcely veiled surveillance of each other's 
 actions. When the examination was con- 
 cluded, and the more valuable inclosures put 
 aside, the despoiled letters were carried to 
 the fire and heaped upon the coals. Pres- 
 ently the chimney added its roar to the 
 moaning of the distant hillside, a few sparks 
 leaped up and died out in the midnight air, 
 as if the pathos and sentiment of the un- 
 conscious correspondents had exhaled with 
 them. 
 
 " That 's a d d foolish thing to do," 
 growled French Pete over his cards. 
 
 "Why ? " demanded Chivers sharply. 
 
 "Why? why, it makes a flare in the 
 sky that any scout can see, and a scent for 
 him to follow." 
 
 "We 're four miles from any traveled 
 road," returned Chivers contemptuously, 
 " and the man who could see that glare and 
 smell that smoke would be on his way here 
 already." 
 
 " That reminds me that that chap you 've 
 tied up that Collinson allows he wants 
 to see you," continued French Pete.
 
 UT A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 129 
 
 " To see me ! " repeated Chivers. " You 
 mean the Captain ? " 
 
 " I reckon he means you" returned 
 French Pete ; " he said the man who talked 
 so purtjo" 
 
 The men looked at each other with a 
 smile of anticipation, and put down their 
 cards. Chivers walked towards the door ; 
 one or two rose to their feet as if to follow, 
 but Riggs stopped them peremptorily. " Sit 
 down," he said roughly ; then, as Chivers 
 passed him, he added to him in a lower tone, 
 " Remember." 
 
 Slightly squaring his shoulders and open- 
 ing his coat, to permit a rhetorical freedom, 
 which did not, however, prevent him from 
 keeping touch with the butt of his revolver, 
 Chivers stepped into the open air. Collin- 
 son had been moved to the shelter of an 
 overhang of the roof, probably more for the 
 comfort of the guard, who sat cross-legged 
 on the ground near him, than for his own. 
 Dismissing the man with a gesture, Chivers 
 straightened himself before his captive. 
 
 " We deeply regret that your unfortunate 
 determination, my dear sir, has been the 
 means of depriving us of the pleasure of.
 
 130 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 your company, and you of your absolute 
 freedom ; but may we cherish the hope that 
 your desire to see me may indicate some 
 change in your opinion ? " 
 
 By the light of the sentry's lantern left 
 upon the ground, Chivers could see that Col- 
 linson's face wore a slightly troubled and 
 even apologetic expression. 
 
 " I 've bin thiiikin'," said Collinson, rais- 
 ing his eyes to his captor with a singularly 
 new and shy admiration in them, " mebbee 
 not so much of wot you said, ez how you said 
 it, and it 's kinder bothered me, sittin' here, 
 that I ain't bin actin' to you boys quite on 
 the square. I 've said to myself, ' Collinson, 
 thar ain't another house betwixt Bald Top 
 and Skinner's whar them fellows kin get a 
 bite or a drink to help themselves, and you 
 ain't offered 'em neither. It ain't no matter 
 who they are or how they came: whether 
 they came crawling along the road from the 
 valley, or dropped down upon you like them 
 rocks from the grade ; yere they are, and 
 it 's your duty, ez long ez you keep this yer 
 house for your wife in trust, so to speak, for 
 wanderers.' And I ain't forgettin' yer 
 ginerel soft style and easy gait with me when
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 131 
 
 you kem here. It ain't every man as could 
 walk into another man's house arter the 
 owner of it had grabbed a gun, ez soft-speak- 
 in', ez overlooking and ez perlite ez you. 
 I 've acted mighty rough and low-down, and 
 I know it. And I sent for you to say that 
 you and your folks kin use this house and 
 all that 's in it ez long ez you 're in trouble. 
 I 've told you why I could n't sell the house 
 to ye, and why I could n't leave it. But ye 
 kin use it, and while ye 're here, and when 
 you go, Collinson don't tell nobody. I don't 
 know what ye mean by * binding myself ' to 
 keep your secret; when Collinson says a 
 thing he sticks to it, and when he passes his 
 word with a man, or a man passes his word 
 with him, it don't need no bit of paper." 
 
 There was no doubt of its truth. In the 
 grave, upraised eyes of his prisoner, Chivers 
 saw the certainty that he could trust him. 
 even far more than he could trust any one 
 within the house he had just quitted. But 
 this very certainty, for all its assurance of 
 safety to himself, filled him, not with re- 
 morse, which might have been an evanes- 
 cent emotion, but with a sudden alarming 
 and terrible consciousness of being in the
 
 132 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 presence of a hitherto unknown and immea- 
 surable power ! He had no pity for the man 
 who trusted him ; he had 110 sense of shame 
 in taking advantage of it ; he even felt an 
 intellectual superiority in this want of saga- 
 city in his dupe ; but he still felt in some way 
 defeated, insulted, shocked, and frightened. 
 At first, like all scoundrels, he had measured 
 the man by himself ; was suspicious and pre- 
 pared for rivalry ; but the grave trutlif ulness 
 of Collinson' s eyes left him helpless. He 
 was terrified by this unknown factor. The 
 right that contends and fights often stimulates 
 its adversary; the right that yields leaves 
 the victor vanquished. Chivers could even 
 have killed Collinson in his vague discom- 
 fiture, but he had a terrible consciousness 
 that there was something behind him that he 
 could not make way with. That was why 
 this accomplished rascal felt his flaccid cheeks 
 grow purple and his glib tongue trip before 
 his captive. 
 
 But Collinson, more occupied with his 
 own shortcomings, took no note of this, and 
 Chivers quickly recovered his wits, if not his 
 former artificiality. " All right," he said 
 quickly, with a hurried glance at the door
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 133 
 
 behind him. " Now that you think better 
 of it, I '11 be frank with you, and tell you 
 I 'm your friend. You understand, your 
 friend. Don't talk much to those men 
 don't give yourself away to them ; " he 
 laughed this time in absolute natural embar- 
 rassment. " Don't talk about your wife, and 
 this house, but just say you 've made the 
 thing up with me, with me, you know, 
 and I '11 see you through." An idea, as yet 
 vague, that he could turn Collinsoii's un- 
 expected docility to his own purposes, pos- 
 sessed him even in his embarrassment, and 
 he was still more strangely conscious of his 
 inordinate vanity gathering a fearful joy 
 from Collinson's evident admiration. It 
 was heightened by his captive's next words. 
 " Ef I was n't tied I 'd shake hands with 
 ye 011 that. You 're the kind o' man, Mr. 
 Chivers, that I cottoned to from the first. 
 Ef this house was n't hers, I 'd a' bin tempted 
 to cotton to yer offer, too, and mebbee made 
 yer one myself, for it seems to me your 
 style and mine would sorter jibe together. 
 But I see you sabe what 's in my mind, and 
 make allowance. We don't want no bit o' 
 paper to shake hands on that. Your secret
 
 134 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 and your folk's secret is mine, and I don't 
 blab that any more than I 'd blab to them 
 wot you 've just told me." 
 
 Under a sudden impulse, Chivers leaned 
 forward, and, albeit with somewhat unsteady 
 hands and an embarrassed will, untied the 
 cords that held Collinson in his chair. As 
 the freed man stretched himself to his full 
 height, he looked gravely down into the 
 bleared eyes of his captor, and held out his 
 strong right hand. Chivers took it. Whether 
 there was some occult power in Collinson's 
 honest grasp, I know not ; but there sprang 
 up in Chivers's agile mind the idea that a 
 good way to get rid of Mrs. Collinson was to 
 put her in the way of her husband's finding 
 her, and for an instant, in the contemplation 
 of that idea, this supreme rascal absolutely 
 felt an embarrassing glow of virtue.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE astonishment of Preble Key on rec- 
 ognizing the gateway into which the mys- 
 terious lady had vanished was so great that 
 he was at first inclined to believe her entry 
 there a mere trick of his fancy. That the 
 confederate of a gang of robbers should be 
 admitted to the austere recesses of the con- 
 vent, with a celerity that bespoke familiar- 
 ity, was incredible. He again glanced up 
 and down the length of the shadowed but 
 still visible wall. There was no one there. 
 The wall itself contained no break or recess 
 in which one could hide, and this was the 
 only gateway. The opposite side of the 
 street in the full moonlight stared emptily. 
 No ! Unless she were an illusion herself 
 and his whole chase a dream, she must have 
 entered here. 
 
 But the chase was not hopeless. He had 
 at least tracked her to a place where she 
 could be identified. It was not a hotel, 
 which she could leave at any moment un-
 
 136 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 observed. Though he could not follow her 
 and penetrate its seclusion now, he could 
 later thanks to his old associations with 
 the padres of the contiguous college gain 
 an introduction to the Lady Superior on 
 some pretext. She was safe there that 
 night. He turned away with a feeling of 
 relief. The incongruity of her retreat as- 
 sumed a more favorable aspect to his hopes. 
 He looked at the hallowed walls and the 
 slumbering peacefulness of the gnarled old 
 trees that hid the convent, and a gentle 
 reminiscence of his youth stole over him. 
 It was not the first time that he had gazed 
 wistfully upon that chaste refuge where, 
 perhaps, the bright eyes that he had fol- 
 lowed in the quaint school procession under 
 the leafy Alameda in the afternoon, were 
 at last closed in gentle slumber. There 
 was the very grille through which the 
 wicked Conchita or, was it Dolores? 
 had shot her Parthian glance at the linger- 
 ing student. And the man of thirty-five, 
 prematurely gray and settled in fortune, 
 smiled as lie turned away, and forgot the 
 adventuress of thirty who had brought him 
 there.
 
 IZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 137 
 
 The next morning he was up betimes 
 and at the college of San Jose. Father 
 Cipriano, a trifle more snuffy and aged, 
 remembered with delight his old pupil. 
 Ah! it was true, then, that he had become 
 a mining president, and that was why his 
 hair was gray; but he trusted that Don 
 Preble had not forgot that this was not all 
 of life, and that fortune brought great re- 
 sponsibilities and cares. But what was this, 
 then ? He had thought of bringing out 
 some of his relations from the States, and 
 placing a niece in the convent. That was 
 good and wise. Ah, yes. For education 
 in this new country, one must turn to the 
 church. And he would see the Lady Su- 
 perior ? Ah ! that was but the twist of 
 one's finger and the lifting of a latch to a 
 grave superintendent and a gray head like 
 that. Of course, he had not forgotten the 
 convent and the young seuoritas, nor the 
 discipline and the suspended holidays. Ah! 
 it was a special grace of our Lady that he, 
 Father Cipriano, had not been worried into 
 his grave by those foolish muchachos. Yet, 
 when he had extinguished a snuffy chuckle 
 in his red bandana handkerchief, Key
 
 138 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 knew that he would accompany him to the 
 convent that noon. 
 
 It was with a slight stirring of shame 
 over his elaborate pretext that he passed 
 the gate of the Sacred Heart with the good 
 father. But it is to be feared that he speed- 
 ily forgot that in the unexpected informa- 
 tion that it elicited. The Lady Superior 
 was gracious, and even enthusiastic. Ah, 
 yes, it was a growing custom of the Ameri- 
 can caballeros who had no homes, nor 
 yet time to create any to bring their 
 sisters, wards, and nieces here, and with 
 a dove-like side-glance towards Key even 
 the young senoritas they wished to fit for 
 their Christian brides! Unlike the cabal- 
 lero, there were many business men so im- 
 mersed in their affairs that they could not 
 find time for a personal examination of the 
 convent, which was to be regretted, but 
 who, trusting to the reputation of the Sacred 
 Heart and its good friends, simply sent the 
 young lady there by some trusted female 
 companion. Notably this was the case of 
 the Senor Rivers, did Don Preble ever 
 know him ? a great capitalist in the 
 Sierras, whose sweet young sister, a naive,
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 139 
 
 ingenuous creature, was the pride of the 
 convent. Of course, it was better that it 
 was so. Discipline and seclusion had to be 
 maintained. The young girl should look 
 upon this as her home. The rules for vis- 
 itors were necessarily severe. It was rare 
 indeed except in a case of urgency, such 
 as happened last night that even a lady, 
 unless the parent of a scholar, was admitted 
 to the hospitality of the convent. And this 
 lady was only the friend of that same sister 
 of the American capitalist, although she was 
 the one who had brought her there. No, 
 she was not a relation. Perhaps Don Preble 
 had heard of a Mrs. Barker, the friend of 
 Rivers of the Sierras. It was a queer com- 
 bination of names. But what will you? 
 The names of Americanos mean nothing. 
 And Don Preble knows them not. Ah! 
 possibly? good! The lady would be 
 remembered, being tall, dark, and of fine 
 presence, though sad. A few hours earlier 
 and Don Preble could have judged for him- 
 self, for, as it were, she might have passed 
 through this visitors' room. But she was 
 gone departed by the coach. It was 
 from a telegram those heathen contri-
 
 140 iy A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 vances that blurt out things to you, with 
 never an excuse, nor a smile, nor a kiss of 
 the hand I For her part, she never let her 
 scholars receive them, but opened them 
 herself, and translated them in a Christian 
 spirit, after due preparation, at her leisure. 
 And it was this telegram that made the 
 Senora Barker go, or, without doubt, she 
 would have of herself told to the Don 
 Preble, her compatriot of the Sierras, how 
 good the convent was for his niece. 
 
 Stung by the thought that this woman 
 had again evaded him, and disconcerted 
 and confused by the scarcely intelligible 
 information he had acquired, Key could 
 with difficulty maintain his composure. 
 " The caballero is tired of his long pasear" 
 said the Lady Superior gently- " We will 
 have a glass of wine in the lodge waiting- 
 room." She led the way from the reception 
 room to the outer door, but stopped at the 
 sound of approaching footsteps and rustling 
 muslin along the gravel walk. " The second 
 class are going out," she said, as a gentle 
 procession of white frocks, led by two nuns, 
 filed before the gateway. " We will wait 
 until they have passed. But the seuor can 
 see that my children do not look unhappy. 1 "
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 141 
 
 They certainly looked very cheerful, ak 
 though they had halted before the gateway 
 with a little of the demureness of young 
 people who know they are overlooked by 
 authority, and had bumped against each 
 other with affected gravity. Somewhat 
 ashamed of his useless deception, and the 
 guileless simplicity of the good Lady Supe- 
 rior, Key hesitated and began : " I am afraid 
 that I am really giving you too much 
 trouble," and suddenly stopped. 
 
 For as his voice broke the demure silence, 
 one of the nearest a young girl of appar- 
 ently seventeen turned towards him with 
 a quick and an apparently irresistible im- 
 pulse, and as quickly turned away again. 
 But in that instant Key caught a glimpse of 
 a face that might not only have thrilled him 
 in its beauty, its freshness, but in some 
 vague suggestiveness. Yet it was not that 
 which set his pulses beating ; it was the look 
 of joyous recognition set in the parted lips 
 and sparkling eyes, the glow of childlike 
 innocent pleasure that mantled the sweet 
 young face, the frank confusion of sud- 
 denly realized expectancy and longing. A 
 great truth gripped his throbbing heart, and
 
 142 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 held it still. It was the face that he had 
 seen in the hollow ! 
 
 The movement of the young girl was too 
 marked to escape the eye of the Lady Su- 
 perior, though she had translated it differ- 
 ently. " You must not believe our young 
 ladies are all so rude, Don Preble," she 
 said dryly ; " though our dear child has 
 still some of the mountain freedom. And 
 this is the Senor Rivers's sister. But possi- 
 bly who knows?" she said gently, yet 
 with a sudden sharpness in her clear eyes, 
 " perhaps she recognized in your voice a 
 companion of her brother." 
 
 Luckily for Key, the shock had been so 
 sudden and overpowering that he showed 
 none of the lesser symptoms of agitation or 
 embarrassment. In this revelation of a 
 secret, that he now instinctively felt was 
 bound up with his own future happiness, he 
 exhibited none of the signs of a discovered 
 intriguer or unmasked Lothario. He said 
 quietly and coldly : "I am afraid I have 
 not the pleasure of knowing the young lady, 
 and certainly have never before addressed 
 her." Yet he scarcely heard his compan- 
 ion's voice, and answered mechanically, see-
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 143 
 
 ing only before him the vision of the girl's 
 bewitching face, in its still more bewitch- 
 ing consciousness of his presence. With all 
 that he now knew, or thought he knew, 
 came a strange delicacy of asking further 
 questions, a vague fear of compromising her, 
 a quick impatience of his present deception ; 
 even his whole quest of her seemed now to 
 be a profanation, for which he must ask 
 her forgiveness. He longed to be alone to 
 recover himself. Even the temptation to 
 linger on some pretext, and wait for her 
 return and another glance from her joyous 
 eyes, was not as strong as his conviction of 
 the necessity of cooler thought and action. 
 He had met his fate that morning, for good 
 or ill ; that was all he knew. As soon as 
 he could decently retire, he thanked the 
 Lady Superior, promised to communicate 
 with her later, and taking leave of Fa- 
 ther Cipriano, found himself again in the 
 street. 
 
 Who was she, what was she, and what 
 meant her joyous recognition of him ? It 
 is to be feared that it was the last question 
 that affected him most, now that he felt that 
 he must have really loved her from the first.
 
 144 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 Had she really seen him before, and had 
 been as mysteriously impressed as he was? 
 It was not the reflection of a conceited man, 
 for Key had not that kind of vanity, and 
 he had already touched the humility that is 
 at the base of any genuine passion. But 
 he would not think of that now. He had 
 established the identity of the other woman, 
 as being her companion in the house in the 
 hollow on that eventful night ; but it was 
 her profile that he had seen at the window. 
 The mysterious brother Rivers might have 
 been one of the robbers, perhaps the one 
 who accompanied Mrs. Barker to San Jose. 
 But it was plain that the young girl had 
 no complicity with the actions of the gang, 
 whatever might have been her companion's 
 confederation. In the prescience of a true 
 lover, he knew that she must have been 
 deceived and kept in utter ignorance of it. 
 There was no look of it in her lovely, guile- 
 less eyes ; her very impulsiveness and in- 
 genuousness would have long since betrayed 
 the secret. Was it left for him, at this very 
 outset of his passion, to be the one to tell 
 her? Could he bear to see those frank, 
 beautiful eyes dimmed with shame and sor-
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 145 
 
 row ? His own grew moist. Another idea 
 began to haunt him. Would it not be wiser, 
 even more manly, for him a man over 
 twice her years to leave her alone with 
 her secret, and so pass out of her innocent 
 young life as chancefully as he had entered 
 it ? But was it altogether chanceful ? Was 
 there not in her innocent happiness in him 
 a recognition of something in him better 
 than he had dared to think himself? It 
 was the last conceit of the humility of love. 
 He reached his hotel at last, unresolved, 
 perplexed, yet singularly happy. The clerk 
 handed him, in passing, a business-looking 
 letter, formally addressed. Without open- 
 ing it, he took it to his room, and throwing 
 himself listlessly on a chair by the window 
 again tried to think. But the atmosphere 
 of his room only recalled to him the mys- 
 terious gift he had found the day before on 
 his pillow. He felt now with a thrill that 
 it must have been from her. How did she 
 convey it there ? She would not have in- 
 trusted it to Mrs. Barker. The idea struck 
 him now as distastefully as it seemed im- 
 probable. Perhaps she had been here her- 
 self with her companion the convent some-
 
 146 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 times made that concession to a relative or 
 well-known friend. He recalled the fact 
 that he had seen Mrs. Barker enter the 
 hotel alone, after the incident of the open- 
 ing door, while he was leaning over the 
 balustrade. It was she who was alone then, 
 and had recognized his voice ; and he had 
 not known it. She was out again to-day 
 with the procession. A sudden idea struck 
 him. He glanced quickly at the letter in 
 his hand, and hurriedly opened it. It con- 
 tained only three lines, in a large formal 
 hand, but they sent the swift blood to his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " I heard your voice to-day for the third 
 time. I want to hear it again. I will come 
 at dusk. Do not go out until then." 
 
 He sat stupefied. Was it madness, au- 
 dacity, or a trick? He summoned the 
 waiter. The letter had been left by a boy 
 from the confectioner's shop in the next 
 block. He remembered it of old, a resort 
 for the young ladies of the convent. Nothing 
 was easier than conveying a letter in that 
 way. He remembered with a shock of dis- 
 illusion and disgust that it was a common 
 device of silly but innocent assignation.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 147 
 
 Was he to be the ridiculous accomplice of a 
 schoolgirl's extravagant escapade, or the de- 
 luded victim of some infamous plot of her 
 infamous companion ? He could not believe 
 either ; yet he could not check a certain re- 
 vulsion of feeling towards her, which only a 
 moment ago he would have believed impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Yet whatever was her purpose, he must 
 prevent her coming there at any hazard. 
 Her visit would be the culmination of her 
 folly, or the success of any plot. Even 
 while he was fully conscious of the material 
 effect of any scandal and exposure to her, 
 even while he was incensed and disillusion- 
 ized at her unexpected audacity, he was un- 
 usually stirred with the conviction that she 
 was wronging herself, and that more than 
 ever she demanded his help and his con- 
 sideration. Still she must not come. But 
 how was he to prevent her ? It wanted but 
 an hour of dusk. Even if he could again 
 penetrate the convent on some pretext at 
 that inaccessible hour for visitors, twi- 
 light, how could he communicate with 
 her ? He might intercept her on the way, 
 and persiiade her to return ; but she must 
 
 be kept from entering the hotel. 
 Bret Harte 14 V. 6
 
 148 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 He seized his hat and rushed downstairs. 
 But here another difficulty beset him. It 
 was easy enough to take the ordinary road 
 to the convent, but would she follow that 
 public one in what must be a surreptitious 
 escape? And might she not have eluded 
 the procession that morning, and even now 
 be concealed somewhere, waiting for the 
 darkness to make her visit. He concluded 
 to patrol the block next to the hotel, yet 
 near enough to intercept her before she 
 reached it, until the hour came. The time 
 passed slowly. He loitered before shop win- 
 dows, or entered and made purchases, with 
 his eye on the street. The figure of a pretty 
 girl, and there were many, the flutter- 
 ing ribbons on a distant hat, or the flashing 
 of a cambric skirt around the corner sent a 
 nervous thrill through him. The reflection 
 of his grave, abstracted face against a shop 
 window, or the announcement of the work- 
 ings of his own mine on a bulletin board, in 
 its incongruity with his present occupation, 
 gave him an hysterical impulse to laugh. 
 The shadows were already gathering, when 
 he saw a slender, graceful figure disappear 
 in the confectioner's shop on the block
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 149 
 
 below. In his elaborate precautions, he had 
 overlooked that common trysting spot. He 
 hurried thither, and entered. The object of 
 his search was not there, and he was com- 
 pelled to make a shamefaced, awkward sur- 
 vey of the tables in an inner refreshment 
 saloon to satisfy himself. Any one of the 
 pretty girls seated there might have been 
 the one who had just entered, but none was 
 the one he sought. He hurried into the 
 street again, he had wasted a precious 
 moment, and resumed his watch. The 
 sun had sunk, the Angelus had rung out of 
 a chapel belfry, and shadows were darken- 
 ing the vista of the Alameda. She had not 
 come. Perhaps she had thought better of 
 it ; perhaps she had been prevented ; per- 
 haps the whole appointment had been only a 
 trick of some day-scholars, who were laugh- 
 ing at him behind some window. In pro- 
 portion as he became convinced that she 
 was not coming, he was conscious of a keen 
 despair growing in his heart, and a sicken- 
 ing remorse that he had ever thought of 
 preventing her. And when he at last re- 
 luctantly reentered the hotel, he was as 
 miserable over the conviction that she was
 
 T 150 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 not coining as he had been at her expected 
 arrival. The porter met him hurriedly in 
 the hall. 
 
 " Sister Seraphina of the Sacred Heart 
 has been here, in a hurry to see you on a 
 matter of importance," he said, eyeing Key 
 somewhat curiously. " She would not wait 
 in the public parlor, as she said her business 
 was confidential, so I have put her in a pri- 
 vate sitting-room on your floor." 
 
 Key felt the blood leave his cheeks. The 
 secret was out for all his precaution. The 
 Lady Superior had discovered the girl's 
 flight, or her attempt. One of the gov- 
 erning sisterhood was here to arraign him 
 for it, or at least prevent an open scandal. 
 Yet he was resolved; and seizing this last 
 straw, he hurriedly mounted the stairs, de- 
 termined to do battle at any risk for the 
 girl's safety, and to perjure himself to any 
 extent. 
 
 She was standing in the room by the win- 
 dow. The light fell upon the coarse serge 
 dress with its white facings, on the single 
 girdle that scarcely defined the formless 
 waist, on the huge crucifix that dangled un- 
 gracefully almost to her knees, on the
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 151 
 
 hideous, white-winged coif that, with the 
 coarse but dense white veil, was itself a re- 
 nunciation of all human vanity. It was a 
 figure he remembered well as a boy, and 
 even in his excitement and half resentment 
 touched him now, as when a boy, with a 
 sense of its pathetic isolation. His head 
 bowed with boyish deference as she ap- 
 proached gently, passed him a slight saluta- 
 tion, and closed the door that he had for- 
 gotten to shut behind him. 
 
 Then, with a rapid movement, so quick 
 that he could scarcely follow it, the coif, vefl, 
 rosary, and crucifix were swept off, and the 
 young pupil of the convent stood before 
 him. 
 
 For all the sombre suggestiveness of her 
 disguise and its ungraceful contour, there 
 was no mistaking the adorable little head, 
 tumbled all over with silky tendrils of hair 
 from the hasty withdrawal of her coif, or 
 the blue eyes that sparkled with frank de- 
 light beneath them. Key thought her more 
 beautiful than ever. Yet the very effect of 
 her frankness and beauty was to recall him 
 to all the danger and incongruity of her 
 position.
 
 152 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " This is madness, " he said quickly. 
 "You may be followed here and discovered 
 in this costume at any moment ! " Never- 
 theless, he caught the two little hands that 
 had been extended to him, and held them 
 tightly, and with a frank familiarity that he 
 would have wondered at an instant before. 
 
 " But I won't, " she said simply., " You 
 see I 'm doing a ' half -retreat ' ; and I stay with 
 Sister Seraphina in her room ; and she always 
 sleeps two hours after the Angelus ; and I 
 got out without anybody knowing me, in her 
 clothes. I see what it is," she said, suddenly 
 bending a reproachful glance upon him, " you 
 don't like me in them. I know they 're just 
 horrid ; but it was the only way I could get 
 out." 
 
 " You don't understand me, " he said 
 eagerly. " I don't like you to run these 
 dreadful risks and dangers for " He 
 would have said " for me, " but added with 
 sudden humility "for nothing. Had I 
 dreamed that you cared to see me, I would 
 have arranged it easily without this indiscre- 
 tion, which might make others misjudge you. 
 Every instant that you remain here worse, 
 every moment that you are away from the
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 153 
 
 convent in that disguise, is fraught with 
 danger. I know you never thought of it." 
 
 " But I did," she said quietly ; " I thought 
 of it, and thought that if Sister Seraphina 
 woke up, and they sent for me, you would 
 take me away with you to that dear little 
 hollow in the hills, where I first heard your 
 voice. You remember it, don't you ? You 
 were lost, I think, in the darkness, and I 
 used to say to myself afterwards that / found 
 you. That was the first time. Then the 
 second time I heard you, was here in the hall. 
 I was alone in the other room, for Mrs. Barker 
 had gone out. I did not know you were here, 
 but I knew your voice. And the third time 
 was before the convent gate, and then I knew 
 yon knew me. And after that I did n't think 
 of anything but coming to you ; for I knew 
 that if I was found out, you would take me 
 back with you, and perhaps send word to my 
 brother where we were, and then " She 
 stopped suddenly, with her eyes fixed on 
 Key's blank face. Her own grew blank, the 
 joy faded out of her clear eyes, she gently 
 withdrew her hand from his, and without a 
 word began to resume her disguise. 
 
 "Listen to me," said Key passionately.
 
 154 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " I am thinking only of you. I want to, and 
 will, save you from any blame, blame you 
 do not understand even now. There is still 
 time. I will go back to the convent with you 
 at once. You shall tell me everything; I 
 will tell you everything on the way." 
 
 She had already completely resumed her 
 austere garb, and drew the veil across her 
 face. With the putting on her coif she 
 seemed to have extinguished all the joyous 
 youthfuhiess of her spirit, and moved with 
 the deliberateness of renunciation towards the 
 door. They descended the staircase without 
 a word. Those who saw them pass made 
 way for them with formal respect. 
 
 When they were in the street, she said 
 quietly, " Don't give me your arm Sisters 
 don't take it. " When they had reached the 
 street corner, she turned it, saying, " This is 
 the shortest way." 
 
 It was Key who was now restrained, awk- 
 ward, and embarrassed. The fire of his 
 spirit, the passion he had felt a moment be- 
 fore, had gone out of him, as if she were really 
 the character she had assumed. He said at 
 last desperately : 
 
 " How long did you live in the hollow ? "
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 155 
 
 " Only two days. My brother was bring- 
 ing me here to school, but in the stage coach 
 there was some one with whom he had 
 quarreled, and he did n't want to meet him 
 with me. So we got out at Skinner's, and 
 came to the hollow, where his old friends, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Barker, lived." 
 
 There was no hesitation nor affectation in 
 her voice. Again he felt that he would as 
 soon have doubted the words of the Sister 
 she represented as her own. 
 
 " And your brother did you live with 
 him?" 
 
 " No. I was at school at Marysville until 
 he took me away. I saw little of him for 
 the past two years, for he had business in the 
 mountains very rough business, where he 
 could n't take me, for it kept him away from 
 the settlements for weeks. I think it had 
 something to do with cattle, for he was al- 
 ways having a new horse. I was all alone 
 before that, too ; I had no other relations ; I 
 had no friends. We had always been mov- 
 ing about so much, my brother and I. I 
 never saw any one that I liked, except you, 
 and until yesterday I had only heard you." 
 
 Her perfect naivete alternately thrilled
 
 166 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 him with pain and doubt. In his awkward- 
 ness and uneasiness he was brutal. 
 
 " Yes, but you must have met somebody 
 other men - here even, when you were 
 out with your schoolfellows, or perhaps on 
 an adventure like this." 
 
 Her white coif turned towards him 
 quickly. " I never wanted to know any. 
 body else. I never cared to see anybody 
 else. I never would have gone out in this 
 way but for you," she said hurriedly. 
 After a pause she added in a frightened 
 tone . " That did n't sound like your voice 
 then. It did n't sound like it a moment ago 
 either." 
 
 " But you are sure that you know my 
 voice," he said, with affected gayety. " There 
 were two others in the hollow with me that 
 night." 
 
 " I know that, too. But I know even 
 what you said. You reproved them for 
 throwing a lighted match in the dry grass. 
 You were thinking of us then. I know it." 
 
 " Of MS ? " said Key quickly. 
 
 " Of Mrs. Barker and myself. We were 
 alone in the house, for my brother and her 
 husband were both away. What you said
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 157 
 
 seemed to forewarn me, and I told her. So 
 we were prepared when the fire came nearer, 
 and we both escaped on the same horse." 
 
 " And you dropped your shoes in your 
 flight," said Key laughingly, " and I picked 
 them up the next day, when I came to search 
 for you. I have kept them still." 
 
 " They were her shoes," said the girl 
 quickly. " I could n't find mine in our 
 hurry, and hers were too large for me, and 
 dropped off." She stopped, and with a fault 
 return of her old gladness said, " Then you 
 did come back ? I knew you would." 
 
 " I should have stayed then, but we got 
 no reply when we shouted. Why was that ? ** 
 he demanded suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, we were warned against speaking 
 to any stranger, or even being seen by any 
 one while we were alone," returned the girl 
 simply. 
 
 " But why ? " persisted Key., 
 
 " Oh, because there were so many high- 
 waymen and horse-stealers in the woods. 
 Why, they had stopped the coach only a few 
 weeks before, and only a day or two ago, 
 when Mrs. Barker came down. She saw 
 them!"
 
 158 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 Key with difficulty suppressed a groan. 
 They walked on in silence for some moments, 
 he scarcely daring to lift his eyes to the 
 decorous little figure hastening by his side. 
 Alternately touched by mistrust and pain, 
 at last an infinite pity, not unmingled with a 
 desperate resolution, took possession of him. 
 
 " I must make a confession to you, Miss 
 Rivers," he began with the bashful haste of 
 a very boy, " that is " he stammered 
 with a half hysteric laugh, " that is 
 a confession as if you were really a sister 
 or a priest, you know a sort of confidence 
 to you to your dress. I have seen you, 
 or thought I saw you before. It was that 
 which brought me here, that which made me 
 follow Mrs. Barker my only clue to you 
 to the door of that convent. That night, 
 in the hollow, I saw a profile at the lighted 
 window, which I thought was yours." 
 
 " /never was near the window," said the 
 young girl quickly. " It must have been 
 Mrs. Barker." 
 
 " I know that now," returned Key. " But 
 remember, it was my only clue to you. I 
 mean," he added awkwardly, " it was the 
 means of my finding you."
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 159 
 
 " I don't see how it made you think of 
 me, whom you never saw, to see another 
 woman's profile," she retorted, with the 
 faintest touch of asperity in her childlike 
 voice. " But," she added, more gently and 
 with a relapse into her adorable naivete, 
 " most people's profiles look alike." 
 
 " It was not that," protested Key, still 
 awkwardly, " it was only that I realized 
 something only a dream, perhaps." 
 
 She did not reply, and they continued on 
 in silence. The gray wall of the convent 
 was already in sight. Key felt he had 
 achieved nothing. Except for information 
 that was hopeless, he had come to no nearer 
 understanding of the beautiful girl beside 
 him, and his future appeared as vague as 
 before ; and, above all, he was conscious of 
 an inferiority of character and purpose to 
 this simple creature, who had obeyed him so 
 submissively. Had he acted wisely ? Would 
 it not have been better if he had followed 
 her own frankness, and 
 
 " Then it was Mrs. Barker's profile that 
 brought you here ? " resumed the voice be- 
 neath the coif. " You know she has gone 
 back. I suppose you will follow ? "
 
 160 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " You will not understand me," said Key 
 desperately. " But," he added in a lower 
 voice, " I shall remain here until you do." 
 
 He drew a little closer to her side. 
 
 " Then you must not begin by walking so 
 close to me," she said, moving slightly 
 away ; " they may see you from the gate. 
 And you must not go with me beyond that 
 corner. If I have been missed already they 
 wiH suspect you." 
 
 " But how shall I know ? " he said, at- 
 tempting to take her hand. " Let me walk 
 past the gate. I cannot leave you in this 
 uncertainty." 
 
 " You will know soon enough," she said 
 gravely, evading his hand. " You must not 
 go further now. Good-night." 
 
 She had stopped at the corner of the wall. 
 He again held out his hand. Her little 
 fingers slid coldly between his. 
 
 " Good-night, Miss Rivers." 
 
 " Stop ! " she said suddenly, withdrawing 
 her veil and lifting her clear eyes to his in 
 the moonlight. " You must not say that 
 it is n't the truth. I can't bear to hear it 
 from your lips, in your voice. My name is 
 not Rivers ! "
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 161 
 
 "Not Elvers why?" said Key, as- 
 tounded. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know why," she said half 
 despairingly ; " only my brother did n't 
 want me to use my name and his here, and 
 I promised. My name is Riggs ' there ! 
 It 's a secret you must n't tell it ; but I 
 could not bear to hear you say a lie.," 
 
 "Good-night, Miss Riggs," said Key 
 sadly. 
 
 "No, nor that either," she said softly. 
 " Say Alice." 
 
 "Good-night, Alice." 
 
 She moved on before him. She reached 
 the gate. For a moment her figure, in its 
 austere, formless garments, seemed to him to 
 even stoop and bend forward in the humility 
 of age and self-renunciation, and she vanished 
 within as into a living tomb. 
 
 Forgetting all precaution, he pressed 
 eagerly forward, and stopped before the gate. 
 There was no sound from within ; there had 
 evidently been no challenge nor interrup- 
 tion. She was safe.
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 THE reappearance of Chivers in the mill 
 with Collinson, and the brief announcement 
 that the prisoner had consented to a satis- 
 factory compromise, were received at first 
 with a half contemptuous smile by the party ; 
 but for the commands of their leaders, and 
 possibly a conviction that Collinson's fatu- 
 ous cooperation with Chivers would be safer 
 than his wrath, which might not expend it- 
 self only on Chivers, but imperil the safety 
 of all, it is probable that they would have 
 informed the unfortunate prisoner of his 
 real relations to his captor. In these cir- 
 cumstances, Chivers's half satirical sugges- 
 tion that Collinson should be added to the 
 sentries outside, and guard his own property, 
 was surlily assented to by Riggs, and com- 
 placently accepted by the others. Chivers 
 offered to post him himself, not without 
 an interchange of meaning glances with 
 Collinson's own gun was returned
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 163 
 
 to him, and the strangely assorted pair left 
 the mill amicably together. 
 
 But however humanly confident Chivers 
 was in his companion's faithfulness, he was 
 not without a rascal's precaution, and deter- 
 mined to select a position for Collinson 
 where he could do the least damage in any 
 aberration of trust. At the top of the grade, 
 above the mill, was the only trail by which a 
 party in force could approach it. This was 
 to Chivers obviously too strategic a position 
 to intrust to his prisoner, and the sentry 
 who guarded its approach, five hundred 
 yards away, was left unchanged. But there 
 was another " blind " trail, or cut-off, to the 
 left, through the thickest undergrowth of the 
 woods, known only to his party. To place 
 Colliuson there was to insure him perfect 
 immunity from the approach of an enemy, 
 as well as from any confidential advances of 
 his fellow sentry. This done, he drew a 
 cigar from his pocket, and handing it to 
 Collinson, lighted another for himself, and 
 leaning back comfortably against a large 
 boulder, glanced complacently at his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " You may smoke until I go, Mr. Collin-
 
 164 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 son, and even afterwards, if you keep the 
 bowl of your pipe behind a rock, so as to be 
 out of sight of your fellow sentry, whose ad- 
 vances, by the way, if I were you, I should 
 not encourage. Your position here, you see, 
 is a rather peculiar one. You were saying, 
 I think, that a lingering affection for your 
 wife impelled you to keep this place for her, 
 although you were convinced of her death ? " 
 
 Collinson's unaffected delight in Chivers's 
 kindliness had made his eyes shine hi the 
 moonlight with a doglike wistfulness. " I 
 reckon I did say that, Mr. Chivers," he said 
 apologetically, " though it ain't goin' to in- 
 terfere with you usin' the shanty jest now." 
 
 " I was n't alluding to that, Collinson," 
 returned Chivers, with a large rhetorical 
 wave of the hand, and an equal enjoyment 
 in his companion's evident admiration of 
 him, " but it struck me that your remark, 
 nevertheless, implied some doubt of your 
 wife's death, and I don't know but that your 
 doubts are right." 
 
 "Wot's that?" said Collinson, with a 
 dull glow in his face. 
 
 Chivers blew the smoke of his cigar lazily 
 in the still air. " Listen," he said. " Since
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 165 
 
 your miraculous conversion a few moments 
 ago, I have made some friendly inquiries 
 about you, and I find that you lost all trace 
 of your wife in Texas in '52, where a num- 
 ber of her fellow emigrants died of yellow 
 fever. Is that so ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Collinson quickly. 
 
 " Well, it so happens that a friend of 
 mine," continued Chivers slowly, " was in a 
 train which followed that one, and picked up 
 and brought on some of the survivors." 
 
 "That was the train wot brought the 
 news," said Collinson, relapsing into his old 
 patience. " That 's how I knowed she 
 had n't come." 
 
 " Did you ever hear the names of any of 
 its passengers ? " said Chivers, with a keen 
 glance at his companion. 
 
 " Nary one ! I only got to know it was 
 a small train of only two wagons, and it 
 sorter melted into Californy through a 
 southern pass, and kinder petered out, and 
 no one ever heard of it agin, and that was 
 all." 
 
 " That was not all, Collinson," said Chi- 
 vers lazily. "/ saw the train arrive at 
 South Pass. I was awaiting a friend and
 
 166 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 his wife. There was a lady with them, one 
 of the survivors. I did n't hear her name, 
 but I think my friend's wife called her 
 ' Sadie.' I remember her as a rather pretty 
 woman tall, fair, with a straight nose and 
 a full chin, and small slim feet. I saw her 
 only a moment, for she was on her way to 
 Los Angeles, and was, I believe, going to 
 join her husband somewhere in the Sierras." 
 
 The rascal had been enjoying with intense 
 satisfaction the return of the dull glow in 
 Collinson's face, that even seemed to animate 
 the whole length of his angular frame as it 
 turned eagerly towards him. So he went on, 
 experiencing a devilish zest in this descrip- 
 tion of his mistress to her husband, apart 
 from the pleasure of noting the slow awak- 
 ening of this apathetic giant, with a sensa- 
 tion akin to having warmed him into life. 
 Yet his triumph was of short duration. The 
 fire dropped suddenly out of Collinson's 
 eyes, the glow from his face, and the dull 
 look of unwearied patience returned. 
 
 " That 's all very kind and purty of yer, 
 Mr. Chivers," he said gravely ; " you 've 
 got all my wife's pints thar to a dot, and it 
 seems to fit her jest like a shoe I picked up
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 167 
 
 t' other day. But it was n't my Sadie, for 
 ef she 's living or had lived, she 'd bin just 
 yere!" 
 
 The same fear and recognition of some 
 unknown reserve in this trustful man came 
 over Chivers as before. In his angry re- 
 sentment of it he would have liked to blurt 
 out the infidelity of the wife before her hus- 
 band, but he knew Collinson would not be- 
 lieve him, and he had another purpose now. 
 His full lips twisted into a suave smile. 
 
 " While I would not give you false hopes, 
 Mr. Collinson," he said, with a bland smile, 
 " my interest in you compels me to say that 
 you may be over confident and wrong. 
 There are a thousand things that may have 
 prevented your wife from coming to you, 
 illness, possibly the result of her exposure, 
 poverty, misapprehension of your place of 
 meeting, and, above all, perhaps some false 
 report of your own death. Has it ever 
 occurred to you that it is as possible for her 
 to have been deceived in that way as for 
 you ? " 
 
 " Wot yer say ? " said Collinson, with a 
 vague suspicion. 
 
 " What I mean. You think yourself jus-
 
 168 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 tified in believing your wife dead, because 
 site did not seek you here ; may she not feel 
 herself equally justified in believing the same 
 of you, because you had not sought her else- 
 where ? " 
 
 " But it was writ that she was comin' yere, 
 and I boarded every train that come in 
 that fall, " said Collinson, with a new irri- 
 tation, unlike his usual calm. 
 
 " Except one, my dear Collinson, ex- 
 cept one," returned Chivers, holding up a 
 fat forefinger smilingly. " And that may 
 be the clue. Now, listen ! There is still a 
 chance of following it, if you will. The name 
 of my friends were Mr. and Mrs. Barker. 
 I regret, " he added, with a perfunctory 
 cough, " that poor Barker is dead. He was 
 not such an exemplary husband as you are, 
 my dear Collinson, and I fear was not all 
 that Mrs. Barker could have wished ; enough 
 that he succumbed from various excesses, and 
 did not leave me Mrs. Barker's present ad- 
 dress. But she has a young friend, a ward, 
 living at the convent of Santa Luisa, whose 
 name is Miss Rivers, who can put you in 
 communication with her. Now, one thing 
 more : I can understand your feelings, and
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 169 
 
 that you would wish at once to satisfy your 
 mind. It is not, perhaps, to my interest nor 
 the interest of my party to advise you, but, " 
 he continued, glancing around him, "you 
 have an admirably secluded position here, on 
 the edge of the trail, and if you are missing 
 from your post to-morrow morning, I shall 
 respect your feelings, trust to your honor 
 to keep this secret, and consider it useless 
 to pursue you ! " 
 
 There was neither shame nor pity in his 
 heart, as the deceived man turned towards 
 him with tremulous eagerness, and grasped 
 his hand in silent gratitude. But the old 
 rage and fear returned, as Collinson said 
 gravely : 
 
 "You kinder put a new life inter me, Mr. 
 Chivers, and I wish I had yer gift o' speech 
 to tell ye so. But I 've passed my word to 
 the Capting thar and to the rest o' you folks 
 that I 'd stand guard out yere, and I don't 
 go back o' my word. I mout, and I niout n't 
 find my Sadie ; but she would n't think the 
 less o' me, arter these years o' waitin', ef 
 I stayed here another night, to guard the 
 house I keep in trust for her, and the stran- 
 gers I 've took in on her account."
 
 170 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " As you like, then, " said drivers, con- 
 tracting his lips, " but keep your own coun- 
 sel to-night. There may be those who would 
 like to deter you from your search. And 
 now I will leave you alone in this delight- 
 ful moonlight. I quite envy you your un- 
 restricted communion with Nature. Adios, 
 amigo, adios ! " 
 
 He leaped lightly on a large rock that 
 overhung the edge of the grade, and waved 
 his hand. 
 
 " I would n't do that, Mr. drivers," said 
 Collinson, with a concerned face ; " them 
 rocks are mighty ticklish, and that one in 
 partiklar. A tech sometimes sends 'em 
 scooting." 
 
 Mr. drivers leaped quickly to the ground, 
 turned, waved his hand again, and disap- 
 peared down the grade. 
 
 But Collinson was no longer alone. Hith- 
 erto his characteristic reveries had been of 
 the past, reminiscences in which there was 
 only recollection, no imagination, and very 
 little hope. Under the spell of Chivers's 
 words his fancy seemed to expand ; he began 
 to think of his wife as she might be now, 
 perhaps ill, despairing, wandering hopelessly,
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 171 
 
 even ragged and footsore, or believing him 
 dead relapsing into the resigned patience 
 that had been his own ; but always a new 
 Sadie, whom he had never seen or known be- 
 fore. A faint dread, the lightest of misgiv- 
 ings (perhaps coming from his very igno- 
 rance), for the first time touched his steadfast 
 heart, and sent a chill through it. He shoul- 
 dered his weapon, and walked briskly towards 
 the edge of the thick-set woods. There were 
 the fragrant essences of the laurel and 
 spruce baked in the long-day sunshine that 
 had encompassed their recesses still coming 
 warm to his face ; there were the strange 
 shiftings of temperature throughout the 
 openings, that alternately warmed and chilled 
 him as he walked. It seemed so odd that 
 he should now have to seek her instead 
 of her coming to him ; it would never be 
 the same meeting to him, away from 
 the house that he had built for her ! He 
 strolled back, and looked down upon it, nes- 
 tling on the ledge. The white moonlight 
 that lay upon it dulled the glitter of lights in 
 its windows, but the sounds of laughter and 
 singing came to even his unf astidious ears with 
 a sense of vague discord. He walked back
 
 172 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 again, and began to pace before the thick-set 
 wood. Suddenly he stopped and listened. 
 
 To any other ears but those accustomed 
 to mountain solitude it would have seemed 
 nothing. But, familiar as he was with all 
 the infinite disturbances of the woodland, 
 and even the simulation of intrusion caused 
 by a falling branch or lapsing pine-cone, he 
 was arrested now by a recurring sound, un- 
 like any other. It was an occasional muffled 
 beat interrupted at uncertain intervals, 
 but always returning in regular rhythm, 
 whenever it was audible. He knew it was 
 made by a cantering horse; that the inter- 
 vals were due to the patches of dead leaves 
 in its course, and that the varying move- 
 ment was the effect of its progress through 
 obstacles and underbrush. It was there- 
 fore coming through some " blind " cut-off 
 in the thick-set wood. The shifting of the 
 sound also showed that the rider was unfa- 
 miliar with the locality, and sometimes wan- 
 dered from the direct course ; but the unfail- 
 ing and accelerating persistency of the sound, 
 in spite of these difficulties, indicated haste 
 and determination. 
 
 He swung his gun from his shoulder,
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 173 
 
 and examined its caps. As the sound came 
 nearer, he drew up beside a young spruce 
 at the entrance of the thicket. There was 
 no necessity to alarm the house, or call the 
 other sentry. It was a single horse and rider, 
 and he was equal to that. He waited quietly, 
 and with his usual fateful patience. Even 
 then his thoughts still reverted to his wife ; 
 and it was with a singular feeling that he, at 
 last, saw the thick underbrush give way before 
 a woman, mounted on a sweating but still 
 spirited horse, who swept out into the open. 
 Nevertheless, he stopped in front of her, and 
 caUed : 
 
 " Hold up thar ! " 
 
 The horse recoiled, nearly unseating her. 
 Collinson caught the reins. She lifted her 
 whip mechanically, yet remained holding it 
 in the air, trembling, until she slipped, half 
 struggling, half helplessly, from the saddle 
 to the ground. Here she would have again 
 fallen, but Collinson caught her sharply by 
 the waist. At his touch she started and ut- 
 tered a frightened " No ! " At her voice 
 Collinson started. 
 
 " Sadie ! " he gasped. 
 
 " Seth ! " she half whispered.
 
 174 I.ZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 They stood looking at each other. But 
 Coll nson was already himself again. The 
 man of simple directness and no imagina- 
 tion saw only his wife before him a little 
 breathless, a little flurried, a little dishev- 
 eled from rapid riding, as he had sometimes 
 seen her before, but otherwise unchanged. 
 Nor had he changed ; he took her up where 
 he had left her years ago. His grave face 
 only broadened into a smile, as he held both 
 her hands in his. 
 
 " Yes, it 's me Lordy ! Why, I was 
 comin' only to-morrow to find ye, Sade ! " 
 
 She glanced hurriedly around her. " To 
 to find me," she said incredulously. 
 
 " Sartain ! That ez, I was goin' to ask 
 about ye, goin' to ask about ye at the con- 
 vent." 
 
 " At the convent ? " she echoed with a 
 frightened amazement. 
 
 " Yes, why, Lordy ! Sade don't you see ? 
 You thought I was dead, and I thought you 
 was dead, that 's what 's the matter. But 
 I never reckoned that you 'd think me dead 
 until Chivers allowed that it must be so." 
 
 Her face whitened in the moonlight 
 " Chivers ? " she said blankly.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 175 
 
 " In course ; but nat'rally you don't know 
 him, honey. He only saw you onc't. But 
 it was along o' that, Sade, that he told me 
 he reckoned you wasn't dead, and told me 
 how to find you. He was mighty kind and 
 consarned about it, and he even allowed I 'd 
 better slip off to you this very night." 
 
 " Chivers," she repeated, gazing at her 
 husband with bloodless lips. 
 
 " Yes, an awful purty-spoken man. Ye '11 
 have to get to know him, Sade. He 's here 
 with some of his folks az hez got inter trou- 
 ble I 'm forgettin' to tell ye. You see " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " she interrupted hyster- 
 ically ; and this is the Mill ? " 
 
 "Yes, lovey, the Mill my mill your 
 mill the house I built for you, dear. I 'd 
 show it to you now, but you see, Sade, 
 I'm out here standin' guard." 
 
 " Are you one of them ? " she said, 
 clutching his hand desperately. 
 
 "No, dear," he said soothingly, "no; 
 only, you see, I giv* my word to 'em as I 
 giv' my house to-night, and I 'm bound to 
 protect them and see 'em through. Why, 
 Lordy! Sade, you'd have done the same 
 for Chivers."
 
 176 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " Yes, yes, 5 " she said, beating her hands 
 together strangely, "of course. He was so 
 kind to bring me back to you. And you 
 might have never found me but for him." 
 
 She burst into an hysterical laugh, which 
 the simple-minded man might have over- 
 looked but for the tears that coursed down 
 her bloodless face. 
 
 " What 's gone o' ye, Sadie/' he said in a 
 sudden fear, grasping her hands ; " that 
 laugh ain't your'n that voice ain't your'n. 
 You're the old Sadie, ain't ye?" He 
 stopped. For a moment his face blanched 
 as he glanced towards the mill, from which 
 the faint sound of bacchanalian voices came 
 to his quick ear. " Sadie, dear, ye ain't 
 thinkin' anything agin' me? Ye ain't al- 
 lowin* I 'm keeping anythin' back from ye ? " 
 
 Her face stiffened into rigidity; she 
 dashed the tears from her eyes. No," she 
 said quickly. Then after a moment she 
 added, with a faint laugh, " You see we 
 have n't seen each other for so long it 's 
 all so sudden so unexpected." 
 
 " But you kem here, just now, calkilatin' 
 to find me ? " said Collinson gravely. 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said quickly, still grasp-
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 177 
 
 ing both his hands, but with her head 
 slightly turned in the direction of the mill. 
 
 " But who told ye where to find the mill ? " 
 he said, with gentle patience. 
 
 "A friend," she said hurriedly. "Per- 
 haps," she added, with a singular smile, " a 
 friend of the friend who told you." 
 
 " I see," said Colliuson, with a relieved 
 face and a broadening smile, " it 's a sort of 
 fairy story. I '11 bet, now, it was that old 
 Barker woman that Chivers knows." 
 
 Her teeth gleamed rigidly together in the 
 moonlight, like a death's-head. " Yes," she 
 said dryly, " it was that old Barker woman. 
 Say, Seth," she continued, moistening her 
 lips slowly, " you 're guarding this place 
 alone?" 
 
 " Thar 's another feller up the trail, a 
 sentry, but don't you be afeard, he can't 
 hear us, Sade." 
 
 " On this side of the mill ? " 
 
 "Yes! Why, Lord love ye, Sadie! 
 t' other side o' the mill it drops down straight 
 to the valley ; nobody comes yer that way 
 but poor low-down emigrants. And it's 
 miles round to come by the valley from the 
 summit."
 
 1 178 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " You did n't hear your friend Chivers 
 say that the sheriff was out with his posse 
 to-night hunting them?" 
 
 " No. Did you ? " 
 
 " I think I heard something of that kind 
 at Skinner's, but it may have been only a 
 warning to me, traveling alone." 
 
 " Thet 's so," said Collinson, with a ten- 
 der solicitude, " but none o' these yer road- 
 agents would have teched a woman. And 
 this yer Chivers ain't the man to insult one, 
 either." 
 
 " No," she said, with a return of her hys- 
 teric laugh. But it was overlooked by Col- 
 linson, who was taking his gun from beside 
 the tree where he had placed it. " Where 
 are you going ? " she said suddenly. 
 
 " I reckon them fellers ought to be 
 warned o' what you heard. I '11 be back 
 in a minit." 
 
 " And you 're going to leave me now 
 when when we 've only just met after 
 these years," she said, with a faint attempt 
 at a smile, which, however, did not reach 
 the cold glitter of her eyes. 
 
 " Just for a little, honey. Besides, don't 
 you see, I 've got to get excused ; for we '11
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 179 
 
 have to go off to Skinner's or somewhere, 
 Sadie, for we can't stay in thar along o' 
 them." 
 
 " So you and your wife are turned out of 
 your home to please Chivers," she said, still 
 smiling. 
 
 " That 's whar you slip up, Sadie," said 
 Collinson, with a troubled face ; " for he 's 
 that kind of a man thet if I jest as much 
 as hinted you was here, he'd turn 'em all 
 out o' the house for a lady. Thet 's why I 
 don't propose to let on anything about you 
 till to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow will do," she said, still smil- 
 ing, but with a singular abstraction in her 
 face. " Pray don't disturb them now. You 
 say there is another sentinel beyond. He is 
 enough to warn them of any approach from 
 the trail. I 'm tired and ill very ill ! 
 Sit by me here, Seth, and wait ! We can 
 wait here together we have waited so 
 long, Seth, and the end has come now." 
 
 She suddenly lapsed against the tree, and 
 slipped in a sitting posture to the ground. 
 Collinson cast himself at her side, and put 
 his arm round her. 
 
 " Wot 's gone o' ye, Sade ? You 're cold 
 Bret Harte 15 V. 6
 
 180 ZZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 and sick. Listen. Your hoss is just over 
 thar feeding I '11 put you back on him, run 
 in and tell 'em I 'm off, and be with ye in a 
 jiffy, and take ye back to Skinner's." 
 
 Wait, " she said softly. " Wait." 
 
 " Or to the Silver Hollow it 's not so 
 far." 
 
 She had caught his hands again, her rigid 
 face close to hiSo " What hollow ? speak I " 
 she said breathlessly. 
 
 " The hollow whar a friend o' mine struck 
 silver, He '11 take yur in." 
 
 Her head sank against his shoulder. 
 "Let me stay here," she answered, "and 
 wait." 
 
 He supported her tenderly, feeling the 
 gentle brushing of her hair against his cheek 
 as in the old days. He was content to wait, 
 holding her thus. They were very silent ; 
 her eyes half closed, as if in exhaustion, yet 
 with the strange suggestion of listening hi 
 the vacant pupils. 
 
 " Ye ain't hearin' anythin', deary ? " he 
 said, with a troubled face. 
 
 " No ; but everything is so deathly still," 
 she said in a frightened whisper. 
 
 It certainly was very still. A singular hush
 
 72V A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 181 
 
 seemed to have slid over the landscape ; there 
 was no longer any sound from the mill ; there 
 was an ominous rest in the woodland, so per- 
 fect that the tiny rustle of an uneasy wing 
 in the tree above them had made them start ; 
 even the moonlight seemed to hang sus- 
 pended in the air. 
 
 " It 's like the lull before the storm," she 
 said with her strange laugh. 
 
 But the non-imaginative Collinson was 
 more practical. " It 's mighty like that 
 earthquake weather before the big shake 
 thet dried up the river and stopped the mill. 
 That was just the time I got the news o' your 
 beiii' dead with yellow fever. Lord ! honey, 
 I allus allowed to myself thet suthin' was 
 happenin' to ye then." 
 
 She did not reply; but he, holding her 
 figure closer to him, felt it trembling with a 
 nervous expectation. Suddenly she threw 
 him off, and rose to her feet with a cry. 
 " There ! " she screamed frantically, " they 've 
 come ! they 've come ! " 
 
 A rabbit had run out into the moonlight 
 before them, a gray fox had dashed from the 
 thicket into the wood, but nothing else. 
 
 " Who 's come ? " said Collinson, staring 
 at her.
 
 182 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " The sheriff and his posse ! They 're 
 surrounding them now. Don't you hear ? " 
 she gasped. 
 
 There was a strange rattling in the direc- 
 tion of the mill, a dull rumble, with wild 
 shouts and outcries, and the trampling of 
 feet on its wooden platform. Collinson 
 staggered to his feet ; but at the same mo- 
 ment he was thrown violently against his 
 wife, and they both clung helplessly to the 
 tree, with their eyes turned toward the ledge. 
 There was a dense cloud of dust and haze 
 hanging over it. 
 
 She uttered another cry, and ran swiftly 
 towards the rocky grade. Collinson ran 
 quickly after her, but as she reached the 
 grade he suddenly shouted, with an awful 
 revelation in his voice, " Come back ! 
 Stop, Sadie, for God's sake ! " But it was 
 too late. She had already disappeared ; and 
 as he reached the rock on which Chivers had 
 leaped, he felt it give way beneath him. 
 
 But there was no sound, only a rush of 
 wind from the valley below. Everything 
 lapsed again into its awful stillness. As the 
 cloud lifted from where the mill had stood, 
 the moon shone only upon empty space.
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 183 
 
 There was a singular murmuring and whis- 
 pering from the woods beyond that increased 
 in sound, and an hour later the dry bed of the 
 old mill-stream was filled with a rushing river.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PREBLE KEY returned to his hotel f rcm 
 the convent, it is to be feared, with very 
 little of that righteous satisfaction which is 
 supposed to follow the performance of a 
 good deed, He was by no means certain 
 that what he had done was best for the 
 young girl. He had only shown himself to 
 her as a worldly monitor of dangers, of 
 which her innocence was providentially un- 
 conscious. In his feverish haste to avert a 
 scandal, he had no chance to explain his real 
 feelings ; he had, perhaps, even exposed her 
 thwarted impulses to equally naive but more 
 dangerous expression, which he might not 
 have the opportunity to check. He tossed 
 wakefully that night upon his pillow, tor- 
 mented with alternate visions of her ador- 
 able presence at the hotel, and her bowed, 
 renunciating figure as she reentered the 
 convent gate. He waited expectantly the 
 next day for the message she had promised,
 
 ZZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 185 
 
 and which lie believed she would find some 
 way to send. But no message was forth- 
 coming. The day passed, and he became 
 alarmed. The fear that her escapade had 
 been discovered again seized him. If she 
 were in close restraint, she could neither send 
 to him, nor could he convey to her the so- 
 licitude and sympathy that filled his heart. 
 In her childish frankness she might have 
 confessed the whole truth, and this would 
 not only shut the doors of the convent 
 against him, under his former pretext, but 
 compromise her still more if he boldly 
 called. He waylaid the afternoon proces- 
 sion ; she was not among them. Utterly 
 despairing, the wildest plans for seeing her 
 passed through his brain, plans that re- 
 called his hot-headed youth, and a few 
 moments later made him smile at his ex- 
 travagance, even while it half frightened him 
 at the reality of his passion. He reached 
 the hotel heart-sick and desperate. The 
 porter met him on the steps. It was with a 
 thrill that sent the blood leaping to his 
 cheeks that he heard the man say : 
 
 " Sister Seraphina is waiting for you in 
 the sitting-room."
 
 186 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 There was no thought of discovery or 
 scandal in Preble Key's mind now ; no doubt 
 or hesitation as to what he would do, as he 
 sprang up the staircase. He only knew 
 that he had found her again, and was 
 happy ! He burst into the room, but this 
 time remembered to shut the door behind 
 him. He looked eagerly towards the win- 
 dow where she had stood the day before, 
 but now she rose quickly from the sofa in 
 the corner, where she had been seated, and 
 the missal she had been reading rolled from 
 her lap to the floor. He ran towards her to 
 pick it up. Her name the name she had 
 told him to call her was passionately 
 trembling on his lips, when she slowly put 
 her veil aside, and displayed a pale, kindly, 
 middle-aged face, slightly marked by old 
 scars of smallpox. It was not Alice; it 
 was the real Sister Seraphina who stood 
 before him. 
 
 His first revulsion of bitter disappoint- 
 ment was so quickly followed by a realiza- 
 tion that all had been discovered, and his 
 sacrifice of yesterday had gone for naught, 
 that he stood before her, stammering, but 
 without the power to say a word. Luckily
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 187 
 
 for him, his utter embarrassment seemed to 
 reassure her, and to calm that timidity 
 which his brusque man-like irruption might 
 well produce in the inexperienced, contem- 
 plative mind of the recluse. Her voice was 
 very sweet, albeit sad, as she said gently : 
 
 " I am afraid I have taken you by sur- 
 prise ; but there was no time to arrange for 
 a meeting, and the Lady Superior thought 
 that I, who knew all the facts, had better 
 see you confidentially. Father Cipriano 
 gave us your address." 
 
 Amazed and wondering, Key bowed her 
 to a seat. 
 
 " You will remember," she went on softly, 
 " that the Lady Superior failed to get any 
 information from you regarding the brother 
 of one of our dear children, whom he com- 
 mitted to our charge through a a com- 
 panion or acquaintance a Mrs. Barker. 
 As she was armed with his authority by 
 letter, we accepted the dear child through 
 her, permitted her as his representative to 
 have free access to his sister, and even 
 allowed her, as an unattended woman, to 
 pass the night at the convent. W^e were 
 therefore surprised this morning to receive a
 
 188 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 letter from him, absolutely forbidding any 
 further intercourse, correspondence, or asso- 
 ciation of his sister with this companion, 
 Mrs. Barker. It was necessary to inform 
 the dear child of this at once, as she was on 
 the point of writing to this woman ; but we 
 were pained and shocked at her reception of 
 her brother's wishes. I ought to say, in 
 justice to the dear child, that while she is 
 usually docile, intelligent, and tractable to 
 discipline, and a devote in her religious 
 feelings, she is singularly impulsive. But 
 we were not prepared for the rash and 
 sudden step she has taken. At noon to-day 
 she escaped from the convent ! " 
 
 Key, who had been following her with re- 
 lief, sprang to his feet at this unexpected 
 culmination. 
 
 " Escaped ! " he said. " Impossible ! I 
 mean," he added, hurriedly recalling him- 
 self, "your rules, your discipline, your at- 
 tendants are so perfect." 
 
 " The poor impulsive creature has added 
 sacrilege to her madness a sacrilege we 
 are willing to believe she did not under- 
 stand, for she escaped in a religious habit 
 my own."
 
 I2V A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 189 
 
 " But this would sufficiently identify her," 
 he said, controlling himself with an effort. 
 
 " Alas, not so ! There are many of us 
 who go abroad on our missions in these gar- 
 ments, and they are made all alike, so as to 
 divert rather than attract attention to any 
 individuality. We have sent private mes- 
 sengers in all directions, and sought her 
 everywhere, but without success. You will 
 understand that we wish to avoid scandal, 
 which a more public inquiry would create." 
 
 " And you come to me," said Key, with a 
 return of his first suspicion, in spite of his 
 eagerness to cut short the interview and be 
 free to act, " to me, almost a stranger ? " 
 
 " Not a stranger, Mr. Key," returned the 
 religieuse gently, " but to a well-known 
 man a man of affairs in the country where 
 this unhappy child's brother lives a friend 
 who seems to be sent by Heaven to find out 
 this brother for us, and speed this news to 
 him. We come to the old pupil of Father 
 Cipriano, a friend of the Holy Church ; to 
 the kindly gentleman who knows what it is 
 to have dear relations of his own, and who 
 only yesterday was seeking the convent 
 to"
 
 190 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " Enough ! " interrupted Key hurriedly, 
 with a slight color. " I will go at once. I 
 do not know this man, but I will do my best 
 to find him. And this this young girl ? 
 You say you have no trace of her ? May she 
 not still be here ? I should have some clue 
 by which to seek her I mean that I could 
 give to her brother." 
 
 " Alas ! we fear she is already far away 
 from here. If she went at once to San Luis, 
 she could have easily taken a train to San 
 Francisco before we discovered her flight. 
 We believe that it was the poor child's in- 
 tent to join her brother, so as to intercede 
 for her friend or, perhaps, alas ! to seek 
 her." 
 
 " And this friend left yesterday morn- 
 ing?" he said quickly, yet concealing a feel- 
 ing of relief. " Well, you may depend on 
 me ! And now, as there is no time to be 
 lost, I will make my arrangements to take 
 the next train." He held out his hand, 
 paused, and said in almost boyish embar- 
 rassment : " Bid me God speed, Sister Sera- 
 phina ! " 
 
 " May the Holy Virgin aid you," she 
 said gently. Yet, as she passed out of the
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 191 
 
 door, with a grateful smile, a characteristic 
 reaction came over Key. His romantic be- 
 lief in the interposition of Providence was 
 not without a tendency to apply the ordinary 
 rules of human evidence to such phenomena. 
 Sister Seraphina's application to him seemed 
 little short of miraculous interference ; but 
 what if it were only a trick to get rid of 
 him, while the girl, whose escapade had 
 been discovered, was either under restraint 
 in the convent, or hiding in Santa Luisa? 
 Yet this did not prevent him from mechani- 
 cally continuing his arrangements for depar- 
 ture. When they were completed, and he 
 had barely time to get to the station at San 
 Luis, he again lingered in vague expectation 
 of some determining event. 
 
 The appearance of a servant with a tele- 
 graphic message at this moment seemed to 
 be an answer to this instinctive feeling. He 
 tore it open hastily. But it was only a 
 single line from his foreman at the mine, 
 which had been repeated to him from the 
 company's office in San Francisco. It read, 
 " Come at once important." 
 
 Disappointed as it left him, it determined 
 his action ; and as the train steamed out of
 
 192 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 San Luis, it for a while diverted his atten- 
 tion from the object of his pursuit. In any 
 event, his destination would have been Skin- 
 ner's or the Hollow, as the point from which 
 to begin his search. He believed with Sister 
 Seraphina that the young girl would make 
 her direct appeal to her brother ; but even 
 if she sought Mrs. Barker, it would still be 
 at some of the haunts of the gang. The let- 
 ter to the Lady Superior had been post- 
 marked from " Bald Top," which Key knew 
 to be an obscure settlement less frequented 
 than Skinner's. Even then it was hardly 
 possible that the chief of the road agents 
 would present himself at the post-office, and 
 it had probably been left by some less known 
 of the gang. A vague idea, that was 
 hardly a suspicion, that the girl might have 
 a secret address of her brother's, without 
 understanding the reasons for its secrecy, 
 came into his mind. A still more vague 
 hope, that he might meet her before she 
 found her brother, upheld him. It would be 
 an accidental meeting on her part, for he no 
 longer dared to hope that she would seek or 
 trust him again. And it was with very little 
 of his old sanguine quality that, travel-worn
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 193 
 
 and weary, he at last alighted at Skinner's. 
 But his half careless inquiry if any lady 
 passengers had lately arrived there, to his 
 embarrassment produced a broad smile on 
 the face of Skinner. 
 
 ** You 're the second man that asked that 
 question, Mr. Key," he said. 
 
 " The second man ? " ejaculated Key ner- 
 vously, 
 
 " Yes ; the first was the sheriff of Sierra. 
 He wanted to find a tall, good-looking 
 woman, about thirty, with black eyes. I 
 hope that ain't the kind o' girl you 're look- 
 ing arter is it ? for I reckon she 's gin 
 you both the slip." 
 
 Key protested with a forced laugh that it 
 was not, yet suddenly hesitated to describe 
 Alice ; for he instantly recognized the 
 portrait of her friend, the assumed Mrs. 
 Barker. Skinner continued in lazy confi- 
 dence : 
 
 "Ye see they say that the sheriff had 
 sorter got the dead wood on that gang o' 
 road agents, and had hemmed 'em in some- 
 whar betwixt Bald Top and Collinson's. But 
 that woman was one o' their spies, and spot- 
 ted his little game, and managed to give 'ein
 
 194 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the tip, so they got clean away. Anyhow, 
 they ain't bin heard from since. But the 
 big shake has made scoutin' along the 
 ledges rather stiff work for the sheriff. 
 They say the valley near Long Canon 's chock 
 full o' rock and slumgullion that 's slipped 
 down." 
 
 " What do you mean by the big shake ? " 
 asked Key in surprise* 
 
 "Great Scott! you didn't hear of it? 
 Did n't hear of the 'arthquake that shook 
 us up all along Galloper's the other night ? 
 Well," he added disgustedly, " that 's jist 
 the conceit of them folks in the bay, that 
 can't allow that any thin happens in the 
 mountains ! " 
 
 The urgent telegrams of his foreman now 
 flashed across Key's preoccupied mind. 
 Possibly Skinner saw his concern. "I 
 reckon your mine is all right, Mr. Key. 
 One of your men was over yere last night, 
 and did n't say nothin'." 
 
 But this did not satisfy Key ; and in a 
 few minutes he had mounted his horse and 
 was speeding towards the Hollow, with a re- 
 morseful consciousness of having neglected 
 his colleagues' interests. For himself, in
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 195 
 
 the utter prepossession of his passion for 
 Alice, he cared nothing. As he dashed 
 down the slope to the Hollow, he thought 
 only of the two momentous days that she 
 had passed there, and the fate that had 
 brought them so nearly together. There 
 was nothing to recall its sylvan beauty in 
 the hideous works that now possessed it, or 
 the substantial dwelling-house that had taken 
 the place of the old cabin. A few hurried 
 questions to the foreman satisfied him of the 
 integrity of the property. There had been 
 some alarm in the shaft, but there was no 
 subsidence of the " seam," nor any difficulty 
 in the working. " What I telegraphed you 
 for, Mr. Key, was about something that has 
 cropped up way back o' the earthquake. 
 We were served here the other day with a 
 legal notice of a claim to the mine, on ac- 
 count of previous work done on the ledge 
 by the last occupant." 
 
 " But the cabin was built by a gang of 
 thieves, who used it as a hoard for their 
 booty," returned Key hotly, " and every one 
 of them are outlaws, and have no standing 
 before the law." He stopped with a pang 
 as he thought of Alice. And the blood
 
 196 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 rushed to his cheeks as the foreman quietly 
 continued : 
 
 "But the claim ain't in any o' their 
 names. It 's allowed to be the gift of their 
 leader to his young sister, afore the out- 
 lawry, and it 's in her name Alice Riggs 
 or something,," 
 
 Of the half-dozen tumultuous thoughts 
 that passed through Key's mind, only one 
 remainedo It was purely an act of the bro- 
 ther's to secure some possible future benefit 
 for his sister. And of this she was perfectly 
 ignorant! He recovered himself quickly, 
 and said with a smile : 
 
 " But / discovered the ledge and its au- 
 riferous character myself. There was no 
 trace or sign of previous discovery or mining 
 occupation,," 
 
 " So I jedged, and so I said, and thet puts 
 ye all right. But I thought I 'd tell ye ; for 
 mining laws is mining laws, and it 's the one 
 thing ye can't get over, " he added, with the 
 peculiar superstitious reverence of the Cali- 
 fornian miner for that vested authority. 
 
 But Key scarcely listened. All that he 
 had heard seemed only to link him more fate- 
 fully and indissolubly with the young girl.
 
 JZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 197 
 
 He was already impatient of even this slight 
 delay in his quest. In his perplexity his 
 thoughts had reverted to Collinson's: the 
 mill was a good point to begin his search 
 from; its good-natured, stupid proprietor 
 might be his guide, his ally, and even his 
 confidant. 
 
 When his horse was baited, he was again 
 in the saddle. " If yer going Collinson's 
 way, yer might ask him if he 's lost a horse, " 
 said the foreman. "The morning after the 
 shake, some of the boys picked up a mustang, 
 with a make-up lady's saddle on." Key 
 started ! While it was impossible that it 
 could have been ridden by Alice, it might 
 have been by the woman who had preceded 
 her. 
 
 " Did you make any search ? " he in- 
 quired eagerly j "there may have been an 
 accident." 
 
 " I reckon it was n't no accident," returned 
 the foreman coolly, " for the riata was loose 
 and trailing, as if it had been staked out, and 
 broken away." 
 
 Without another word, Key put spurs to 
 his horse and galloped away, leaving his com- 
 panion staring after him. Here was a clue .=
 
 198 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 the horse could not have strayed far ; the 
 broken tether indicated a camp ; the gang 
 had been gathered somewhere in the vicinity 
 where Mrs. Barker had warned them, per- 
 haps in the wood beyond Collinson's. He 
 would penetrate it alone. He knew his 
 danger; but as a single unarmed man he 
 might be admitted to the presence of the 
 leader, and the alleged claim was a suffi- 
 cient excuse. What he would say or do 
 afterwards depended upon chance. It was 
 a wild scheme but he was reckless. Yet 
 he would go to Collinson's first. 
 
 At the end of two hours he reached the 
 thick-set wood that gave upon the shelf at 
 the top of the grade which descended to the 
 mill. As he emerged from the wood into 
 the bursting sunlight of the valley below 9 
 he sharply reined in his horse and stopped,, 
 Another bound would have been his last,, 
 For the shelf, the rocky grade itself, the 
 ledge below, and the mill upon it, were all 
 gone ! The crumbling outer wall of the rocky 
 grade had slipped away into immeasurable 
 depths below, leaving only the sharp edge 
 of a cliff, which incurved towards the woods 
 that had once stood behind the mill, but
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 199 
 
 which now bristled on the very edge of a 
 precipice. A mist was hanging over its 
 brink and rising from the valley; it was a 
 full-fed stream that was coursing through the 
 former dry bed of the river and falling down 
 the face of the bluff. He rubbed his eyes, 
 dismounted, crept along the edge of the pre- 
 cipice, and looked below : whatever had sub- 
 sided and melted down into its thousand feet 
 of depth, there was no trace left upon its 
 smooth face. Scarcely an angle of di'ift or 
 debris marred the perpendicular ; the burial 
 of all ruin was deep and compact ; the era- 
 sure had been swift and sure the oblitera- 
 tion complete. It might have been the pre- 
 cipitation of ages, and not of a single night. 
 At that remote distance it even seemed as if 
 grass were already growing over this enor* 
 mo us sepulchre, but it was only the tops of 
 the buried pines. The absolute silence, the 
 utter absence of any mark of convulsive 
 struggle, even the lulling whimper of fall- 
 ing waters, gave the scene a pastoral re- 
 pose. 
 
 So profound was the impression upon Key 
 and his human passion that it at first seemed 
 an ironical and eternal ending of his quest.
 
 200 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 It was with difficulty that he reasoned that 
 the catastrophe occurred before Alice's flight, 
 and that even Collinson might have had time 
 to escape. He slowly skirted the edge of 
 the chasm, and made his way back through 
 the empty woods behind the old mill-site to- 
 wards the place where he had dismounted. 
 His horse seemed to have strayed into the 
 shadows of this covert ; but as he approached 
 him, he was amazed to see that it was not 
 his own, and that a woman's scarf was lying 
 over its side -saddle,, A wild idea seized 
 him, and found expression in an impulsive 
 cry : 
 
 "Alice I " 
 
 The woods echoed it ; there was an inter- 
 val of silence, and then a faint response. 
 But It was her voice. He ran eagerly for- 
 ward in that direction, and called again j the 
 response was nearer this time, and then the 
 tall ferns parted, and her lithe, graceful 
 figure came running, stumbling, and limping 
 towards him like a wounded fawn. Her 
 face was pale and agitated, the tendrils ot 
 her light hair were straying over her shoulder, 
 and one of the sleeves of her school-gown 
 was stained with blood and dust He caught
 
 IN A IIOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 201 
 
 the white and trenibliug hands that were 
 thrust out to him eagerly. 
 
 " It is you ! " she gasped. " I prayed for 
 some one to come, but I did not dream it 
 would be you. And then I heard your 
 voice and I thought it could be only a 
 dream until you called a second time." 
 
 " But you are hurt," he exclaimed pas- 
 sionately. " You have met with some acci- 
 dent ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " she said eagerly. " Not 1 
 but a poor, poor man I found lying on 
 the edge of the cliff. I could not help him 
 much, I did not care to leave him. No one 
 would come ! I have been with him alone, 
 all the morning ! Come quick, he may be 
 dying." 
 
 He passed his arm around her waist 
 unconsciously; she permitted it as uncon- 
 sciously, as he half supported her figure 
 while they hurried forward. 
 
 " He had been crushed by something, and 
 was just hanging over the ledge, and could 
 not move nor speak," she went on quickly. 
 " I dragged him away to a tree, it took 
 me hours to move him, he was so heavy, 
 and I got him some water from the stream
 
 202 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 and bathed his face, and blooded all my 
 sleeve." 
 
 " But what were you doing here ? " he 
 asked quickly. 
 
 A faint blush crossed the pallor of her 
 delicate cheek. She looked away quickly. 
 "I was going to find my brother at 
 Bald Top," she replied at last hurriedly. 
 " But don't ask me now only come quick, 
 do." 
 
 " Is the wounded man conscious ? Did 
 you speak with him ? Does he know who 
 you are ? " asked Key uneasily. 
 
 " No ! he only moaned a little and opened 
 his eyes when I dragged him. I don't think 
 he even knew what had happened." 
 
 They hurried on again. The wood light- 
 ened suddenly. " Here ! " she said in a half 
 whisper, and stepped timidly into the open 
 light. Only a few feet from the fatal ledge, 
 against the roots of a buckeye, with her 
 shawl thrown over him, lay the wounded 
 man. 
 
 Key started back. It was Collinson ! 
 
 His head and shoulders seemed uninjured ; 
 but as Key lifted the shawl, he saw that the 
 long, lank figure appeared to melt away
 
 IZV A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 203 
 
 below the waist into a mass of shapeless 
 and dirty rags. Key hurriedly replaced the 
 shawl, and, bending over him, listened to 
 his hurried respiration and the beating of 
 his heart. Then he pressed a drinking-flask 
 to his lips. The spirit seemed to revive 
 him ; he slowly opened his eyes. They fell 
 upon Key with quick recognition. But the 
 look changed ; one could see that he was 
 trying to rise, but that no movement of the 
 limbs accompanied that effort of will, and 
 his old patient, resigned look returned. Key 
 shuddered. There was some injury to the 
 spine. The man was paralyzed. 
 
 " I can't get up, Mr. Key," he said in a 
 faint but untroubled voice, " nor seem to 
 move my arms, but you '11 just allow that 
 I 've shook hands with ye all the same." 
 
 " How did this happen ? " said Key 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Thet 's wot gets me ! Sometimes I 
 reckon I know, and sometimes I don't. 
 Lyin' thar on thet ledge all last night, and 
 only jest able to look down into the old val- 
 ley, sometimes it seemed to me ez if I fell 
 over and got caught in the rocks trying to 
 save my wife ; but then when I kem to
 
 204 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 think sensible, and know my wife wasn't 
 there at all, I get mystified. Sometimes I 
 think I got ter thinkin' of my wife only 
 when this yer young gal thet 's bin like 
 an angel to me kem here and dragged 
 me off the ledge, for you see she don't be- 
 long here, and hez dropped on to me like a 
 sperrit." 
 
 " Then you were not in the house when 
 the shock came ? " said Key. 
 
 " No. You see the mill was filled with 
 them fellers as the sheriff was arter, and it 
 went over with 'em and I " 
 
 "Alice," said Key, with a white face, 
 " would you mind going to my horse, which 
 you will find somewhere near yours, and 
 bringing me a medicine case from my sad- 
 ille-bags ? " 
 
 The innocent girl glanced quickly at her 
 companion, saw the change in his face, and, 
 attributing it to the imminent danger of the 
 injured man, at once glided away. When 
 she was out of hearing, Key leaned gravely 
 over him : 
 
 " Collinson, I must trust you with a 
 secret. I am afraid that this poor girl who 
 helped you is the sister of the leader of
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 205 
 
 that gang the sheriff was in pursuit of. She 
 has been kept in perfect ignorance of her 
 brother's crimes. She must never kno\v 
 them nor even know his fate ! If he 
 perished utterly in this catastrophe, as it 
 would seem it was God's will to spare her 
 that knowledge. I tell you this, to warn you 
 in anything you say before her. She must 
 believe, as I shall try to make her believe, 
 that he has gone back to the States 
 where she will perhaps, hereafter, believe 
 that he died. Better that she should know 
 nothing and keep her thought of him un- 
 changed." 
 
 " I see I see I see, Mr. Key," mur- 
 mured the injured man. " Thet 's wot I 've 
 been sayin' to myself lyin' here all night. 
 Thet 's wot I bin sayin' o' my wife Sadie, 
 her that I actooally got to think kem back 
 to me last night. You see I 'd heerd from 
 one o' those fellars that a woman like unto 
 her had been picked up in Texas and 
 brought on yere, and that mebbe she was 
 somewhar in Californy. I was that foolish 
 and that ontrue to her, all the while 
 knowin', as I once told you, Mr. Key, that 
 ef she 'd been alive she 'd bin yere that I
 
 206 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 believed it true for a minit ! And that was 
 why, afore this happened, I had a dream, 
 right out yer, and dreamed she kem to me, 
 all white and troubled, through the woods. 
 At first I thought it war my Sadie ; but 
 when I see she warn't like her old self, and 
 her voice was strange and her laugh was 
 strange then I knowed it was n't her, and 
 I was dreamin'. You 're right, Mr. Key, 
 in wot you got off just now wot was it? 
 Better to know nothin' and keep the old 
 thoughts unchanged." 
 
 " Have you any pain ? " asked Key after 
 
 " No ; I kinder feel easier now." 
 Key looked at his changing face. " Tell 
 me," he said gently, " if it does not tax 
 your sti'ength, all that has happened here, 
 all you know. It is for her sake." 
 
 Thus adjured, with his eyes fixed on Key, 
 Collinson narrated his story from the irrup- 
 tion of the outlaws to the final catastrophe. 
 Even then he palliated their outrage with 
 his characteristic patience, keeping still his 
 strange fascination for Chivers, and his 
 blind belief in his miserable wife. The 
 Story was at times broken by lapses of faint-
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 207 
 
 ness, by a singular return of his old abstrac- 
 tion and forgetfulness in the midst of a sen- 
 tence, and at last by a fit of coughing, that 
 left a few crimson bubbles on the corners of 
 his mouth. Key lifted his eyes anxiously ; 
 there was some grave internal injury, which 
 the dying man's resolute patience had sup- 
 pressed. Yet, at the sound of Alice's re- 
 turning step, Collinson's eyes brightened, 
 apparently as much at her coming as from 
 the effect of the powerful stimulant Key had 
 taken from his medicine case. 
 
 "I thank ye, Mr. Key," he said faintly; 
 " for I 've got an idea I ain't got no great 
 time before me, and I 've got suthin' to say 
 to you, afore witnesses " his eyes sought 
 Alice's in half apology " afore witnesses, 
 you understand. Would you mind standin' 
 out thar, afore me, in the light, so I kin see 
 you both, and you, miss, reniemberin', ez a 
 witness, suthin' I got to tell to him ? You 
 might take his hand, miss, to make it more 
 regular and lawlike." 
 
 The two did as he bade them, standing 
 side by side, painfully humoring what 
 seemed to them to be wanderings of a dying
 
 208 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " Thar was a young fellow," said Collin- 
 son in a steady voice, " ez kem to my shanty 
 a night ago on his way to the the val- 
 ley. He was a sprightly young fellow, gay 
 and chipper-like, and he sez to me, confi- 
 dential-like, ' Collinson,' sez he, ' I 'm off to 
 the States this very night on business of im- 
 portance ; mebbe I '11 be away a long time 
 for years ! You know,' sez he, ' Mr. 
 Key, in the Hollow ! Go to him,' sez he, 
 ' and tell him ez how I had n't time to get to 
 see him ; tell him,' sez he, ' that Rivers ' 
 you 've got the name, Mr. Key ? you Ve 
 got the name, miss ? ' that Rivers wants 
 him to say this to his little sister from her 
 lovin' brother. And tell him,' sez he, this 
 yer Rivers, ' to look arter her, being alone.' 
 You remember that, Mr. Key ? you remem- 
 ber it, miss ? You see, I remembered it, 
 too, being, so to speak, alone myself " he 
 paused, and added in a faint whisper 
 " till now." 
 
 Then he was silent. That innocent lie 
 was the first and last upon his honest lips ; 
 for as they stood there, hand in hand, they 
 saw his plain, hard face take upon itself, at 
 first, the gray, ashen hues of the rocks around
 
 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 209 
 
 him, and then and thereafter something of 
 the infinite tranquillity and peace of that 
 wilderness in which he had lived and died, 
 and of which he was a part. 
 
 Contemporaneous history was less kindly. 
 The " Bald Top Sentinel " congratulated its 
 readers that the late seismic disturbance was 
 accompanied with very little loss of life, if 
 any. " It is reported that the proprietor of 
 a low shebeen for emigrants in an obscure 
 hollow had succumbed from injuries ; but," 
 added the editor, with a fine touch of West- 
 ern humor, " whether this was the result of 
 his being forcibly mixed up with his own 
 tanglefoot whiskey or not, we are unable to 
 determine from the evidence before us." 
 For all that, a small stone shaft was added 
 later to the rocks near the site of the old 
 mill, inscribed to the memory of this obscure 
 " proprietor," with the singular legend : 
 " Have ye faith like to him ? " And those 
 who knew only of the material catastrophe, 
 looking around upon the scene of desolation 
 it commemorated, thought grimly that it 
 must be faith indeed, and were wiser than 
 they knew.
 
 '210 IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS. 
 
 " You smiled, Don Preble," said the Lady 
 Superior to Key a few weeks later, " when I 
 told to you that many caballeros thought it 
 most discreet to intrust their future brides 
 to the maternal guardianship and training 
 of the Holy Church ; yet, of a truth, I meant 
 not you. And yet eh ! well, we shall see."
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 .ZOM 
 
 'orm L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444
 
 1820 
 
 35 
 
 v.6 
 
 The works of 
 Bret Harte 
 
 PS 
 
 1820 
 E85 
 v.6