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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 AP 
 
 OIKT OK* 
 
 Accessions 
 
 JAN 1895 ./*9 . 
 
 Class No. <J\) 
 
 
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BANCROFT 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 
 
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 ** 
 
 
SHORT STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 AUTHORS 
 
 PORTBAIT OF A CALIFOBNIA GlKL . . . 
 
 Ella Sterling Cummins 
 
 QUABTZ v . J. W. Gaily 
 
 MEA CULPA W. 8. Green 
 
 Liz Mary Willis Glascock 
 
 MIRANDA HIGGINS I 
 
 William AtweU Cheney 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF AGUAYO 
 
 H. B. McDowell 
 
 A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GB< VES 
 
 Ben. C. Truman 
 
 NATHAN, THE JEW Harr Wagner. 
 
 
 SAN FBANCISCO : 
 
 GOLIfEN ERA, 29 KEAKNY STREET, 
 I 1885- 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by 
 
 HARR WAGNER, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D; C. 
 
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 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 A jagged horizon of frowning cliffs against the blue sky, ! Moun- 
 tains to the east and west ! Mountains to the north and south, a 
 mammoth herd of mountains all crowned fantastically ! Through the 
 midst of this native wilderness ran a narrow canon, the only outlet to 
 the great world beyond, and here in this wild spot had been chosen a 
 place for a habitation. 
 
 From the stage window, Judge Harville glanced out at the bevy 
 of children that gathered round , and could not help but wonder at 
 the refined mother of the group, and ask himself what fortuitous for- 
 tune had- cast so beautiful and delicate a woman so far above the 
 level of civilization. And then his eye had been caught by a strange 
 young creature by his side, who resembled her as the fawn does the 
 deer-mother. It looked like a child that was masquerading as a woman, 
 dressed in matronly style, with trained skirts and ample crinoline, 
 but showing in her childish face and undeveloped form the marks of 
 extreme youth, and yet in the self-reliant pose of the head and utter 
 unconsciousness of the gazing eyes bent upon her, was ver$ different 
 from the preconceived idea of the child who stands where brook and 
 river meet. 
 
 She was dressed for traveling, and as she kissed them all farewell, 
 her trunk was being strapped on behind the. stage with tremendous 
 energy. 
 
 ' ' Is she coming in here ?' ' asked one of the passengers with enthu- 
 siasm . 
 
 "No, she's booked outside with Dennis, the driver," was the re- 
 ply. '-She's one of the belles of Esmeralda. You wouldn't think it, 
 would you. She's only fourteen, but she's had several proposals 
 already. Women are mighty scarce in this part of the country, you 
 know, and we don't let 'em waste much time." 
 

 
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 2 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 "Good bye, Lorena, good bye !" cried the chorus of brothers and 
 sisters as she mounted up the wheel and into the high teat by the 
 driver, and they were off, the six hoises prancing gaily down the 
 canon . 
 
 Judge Harville had listened amused to this little colloquy and at 
 the Half-way House where they stopped for dinner he took a clo?er 
 look at the girl. 
 
 She wore a string of pearl beads around her hair, a sailor collar 
 turned down in the neck with a picturesque knot at the throat, very 
 full gathered skirts over a large crinoline, and a saucy little brown 
 felt hat like a boy's. Certainly she was all out in her clothes. 
 
 In the city, he knew the ladies affected very high chokers, and 
 their skirts were rather slimpsey, crinoline having been dethroned 
 for some time. 
 
 Still there was a certain sweetness and dignity in the fresh young 
 face that was very attractive. He saw her eyes glisten as he took 
 up his magnificent fur-liked coat, and knew she bad never seen any- 
 thing like it before. 
 
 He handed her into the coach, for it was now growing cold, and 
 found her the easiest place, and watched her fall into a baby-like 
 slumber. The night was bitter in its frostiness, and the shawl around 
 her seemed scarcely heavy enough. Very lightly he drew off his 
 otter-lined garment, and put it around her, then wrapping himself in 
 a blanket, he too had gone to sleep, maintaining meantime, however, 
 a strong grip on the straps those kindly-provided contrivances to 
 keep passengers from mounting roofward at odd moments. In tfce 
 grey light of the morning he saw her looking at him with an amused 
 yet grateful pair of eyes, and patting the soft lining with evident en- 
 joyment. 
 
 After breakfast they fell into a little chat, and he remarked the 
 change in the landscape around them, for it was much more level 
 and open on the road to Carson. 
 
 "It is very different," she replied; "yesterday it was like home 
 all the way, nearly, for they were my own mountains, my very own, 
 but I don't know my way here, at all. Which way are my moun- 
 tains?" and her (yes betokened the liveliest interest. 
 
 They were pointed out in the dim distance directly upon one side, 
 for they had come in a sort of semi-circle. Air, light and shade 
 
V- - PORTBAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 3 
 
 commingling to invest them with a royal magnificence of color from 
 the delicate pearl tints to rose and purple, and behind them the cloud? 
 lay piled like another succession of heavenly peaks till the eye could 
 scarcely tell where earth left off and the portals of the sky began. 
 
 "Are those my mountains?" she said in surprise "Why, they 
 are more beautifully purple than any of them and I have always been 
 envying the far away mountains for being so lovely and hazy, and 
 there all the time my own mountains were just as purple as any of 
 them. Doesn't that "seem funny?" 
 
 He was much amused by her naive remarks, for she was not 
 afraid to talk- upon any theme from politics to poetry, having an uu- 
 usual fund of information upon these subjects, and showing that she 
 had grown up among people much older than herself. And yet the 
 childish idea would make its appeaiance every now and then, giving 
 a most unique turn to the conversation. 
 
 The stage jolted violently over the rough road, and they fell into 
 silence again. She rosy cheeks of the girl seemed to whiten out as 
 a faintly perceptible odor began to steal on the air. It was an ill- 
 defined} suspicious odor, that seemed to creep upon the senses iusid- 
 uously, and yet not give the slightest clue to its origin. Being a 
 man, perhaps it made less impression upon Judge Harville, but he 
 saw the girl evince signs of the greatest discomfort. 
 
 When they reached the place for changing horses, and the men 
 got our, and stretched their limbs, he saw the girl bend forward eag- 
 erly, and with her teeth, bite the string that fasteaed a great demijohn 
 of whieky to the side of the stage, put it under her shawl, and, at an 
 unobserved moment, pitch it out the window. ' 
 
 He smiled to himself, at her resolution, and wondered how she 
 would make it straight with the owner, getting back into the stage 
 with renewed interest in the "child-woman,'" as he mentally dubbed her. 
 >She eat smiling, wickedly happy, now; the color had come back to 
 her round cheek, and she had a sparkle in her eye that told of her 
 triumph. Presently the owner of the odorous treasure began to look 
 for his demijohn. In a few moments he had accused the man next 
 to him. which was resented on the instant. Words followed and a 
 row Deemed imminent, when, all at once, the girl laughed. They 
 looked at her with indignation. 
 
 "I took it," she said, a little shame-facedly. 
 
4 POBTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 "You?" said the man, astonished, yet doubtful. 
 
 "Yes, the horrid thiog was making me sick with its awful breath, 
 and so I pitched it out;'' her whole manner breathed of defiance 
 Then realizing faintly the difficulty she had gotten into, she said, 
 apologetically, "Besides it was good of me to keep you from drink- 
 ing it. 'Tisn't good for you, you know it isn't. Whisky makes 
 people ugly, and if you hadn't been drinking it all the morning, you 
 would laugh and call it a joke. Now, wouldn't he?" She appealed 
 to the other passengers. 
 
 "Of course he would!" they laughed back. 
 
 * 'Better give in gracefully, old fel," said one, "you're beat this 
 time." 
 
 "Got to stand the drinks next place," said another. 
 
 "Oh, bah!" said Lorena, her eyes flashing, "we don't want any 
 more drinking. That's what I pitched that old thing out for. Can't 
 you brighten up and be nice for the rest of the trip? Tell me, haven't 
 you some nice little children?" she asked interestedly of the owner of 
 the lost treasure. " 
 
 'Yes," said the man, rather sullenly. 
 
 'How many?" her voice was eager. 
 
 'Three," was the reply, less sullen. 
 
 'Oh! have you? Boys or girls?" 
 
 'Two boys and a girl," replied the man, looking at her curiously. 
 
 'We have three of each at our house, and I have just the sweetest 
 baby sister in the world," said the girl, joyously. 
 
 .Judge Harville looked upon her with a new interest; she was cer- 
 tainly an odd little child-woman, with so much maternal aftection in 
 her nature. In a few moments she had found out the names of all 
 the children belonging to the fathers there, and made a remark on 
 each; then turning to him, she asked, artlessly, "What are your 
 children's names?" 
 
 Judge Harville was taken by surprise. He was not over thirty 
 years of age, was brown haired and brown bearded, and felt himself a 
 very young man for the honors he had received. That be should 
 impress any one as the father of a family struck him incongruously. 
 
 "I'm alinoft afraid to tell you" he hesitated, yet in spite of him 
 self, he smiled. 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 5 
 
 "Why?" she asked, emphatically. 
 
 "Because I hayen't any." Everybody laughed, even Lorena 
 herself, and good nature was immediately restored. 
 
 The rest of the stage ride was pleasant enough, and T u dge Harville 
 found himself more than once on the point of asking the bright little 
 Lorena where she was going to stop in San Francisco, which she had 
 inadvertently referred to as her destination. But there was a certain 
 dignity underneath all that childish presumption and chattiiiess that 
 made him hesitate. And when they arrived at Carson, he arrayed 
 himself in his luxurious coat, and gathered together all his belongings 
 and bade her good-bye, saying simply, "Farewell, Miss Lorena. I 
 hope we shall meet again." 
 
 And she looked him in the eyes like a child , and said cheerfully, 
 "I hope so, too." 
 
 "You won't forget me, will you ?" said he with a little touch of 
 vanity. She seemed too unimpressed by the notice he had taken 
 of her. 
 
 "I'm sure I'll never forget your beautiful fur-lined coat," she 
 said, mischievously, and he went off amid a shout of laughter from 
 the other passengers. 
 
 Four weeks passed by. He had almost forgotten the little girl 
 in the stage, when one day, near Christmas time, with the rain pour- 
 ing in torrents, he suddenly met her face to face on Kearny street in 
 San Francisco. He stopped and looked at her with a very pleased 
 expression. 
 
 She was clad in city fashion, short trim skirts, ermine-bordered 
 velvet jacket, and Tyrolean hat to match, with a scarlet wing setting 
 it off jauntily, really a very charming picture of youth and freshness. 
 He held out bis hand. She hesitated. 
 
 "Why Miss Lorena, you haven't forgotten me surely ?" 
 
 "No," she said, rather unwillingly, "but you see I've never 
 been introduced to you." 
 
 "Well, I'll be blanked," said he to himself. 
 
 "Well? what difference does that make. We're acquainted all 
 the same." 
 
 "I know," said the girl, "but at home up in the mountains 
 we don't think it nice to continue an acquaintance without an intro* 
 
6 PORTRAIT OF A, CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 V - 
 
 duction. If I'm worth being acquainted with, I'm worth being intro- 
 duced to. Besides, I don't know who in the world you are, yon 
 know." And she laughed. 
 
 Finished man of the world as he was, Judge Harville was speech- 
 less. He looked down in wonder on this curious little woman with 
 the artlessnses of a child, this child with the worldly wisdom of a 
 woman 
 * "With whom are you staying ?" he asked in a low voice. 
 
 "With my uncle, W. B. Lawrence of the firm of Lawrence and 
 Chester," she replied with dignity. "Good morning," and she was 
 a her way. 
 
 The spirit displayed by this comical little mountain belle, aroused 
 his deepest respect. "If she is worth being acquainted with, she 
 is worth getting an introduction to," he repeated. "The little girl 
 is right, and I'll take the trouble to get a first-class introduction that 
 will be without a flaw." 
 
 And then he fell to laughing at the absurdity of the situation, he 
 a man of high position and eagerly sought after by the finest circles 
 to grace their receptions, going to the trouble of getting an intro- 
 duction to a comical little girl from the mountains in order that he 
 might set himself straight, and prove that he was not a gambler or 
 other suspicious character. "I dont know who in the world you 
 are, you know." It would make a funny story to tell some time, 
 he thought. 
 
 Nevertheless his pique was aroused and he sought the house of a 
 mutual friend, who during the call, casually, mentioned that the Law- 
 rence family were to dine with them on Christmas day. "But I 
 suppose it is of no use to invite you, Judge Harville, you are always 
 engaged months beforehand," paid the lady with a sigh, thinking of 
 her own marriageable daughter. 
 
 "Well," said he, stroking his handsome mustache, "I will tell you 
 what I will do. I will come late." 
 
 He resolved to dumbfound the nonchalant little Lorena, and teach 
 her a lesson. He would rather enjoy a harmless little revenge on 
 such a spirited young creature. In spite of his pride and high posi- 
 tion, underneath all there was to be found a petty vanity in the 
 breast of the otherwise admirable Judge Harville. 
 
 The dinner was over, and the several little families were gathered 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 7 
 
 in congenial little knots, some singing at the piano, some looking at 
 the new gifts; but in the bay window, solitary and alone, sat little 
 Lorena. She had discovered already, in her short experience of city 
 life, that she was no longer a young lady, but only a little girl, and 
 was trying to adapt herself to the new position of being seen but not 
 be-ud. 
 
 The door suddenly opened and the hostess came in smiling, leading^ 
 Judge Harville as if he were a prize ox that had received the first 
 premium at a county fair. She introduced him to the few who did 
 not already know him, personally, while Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence 
 beamed upon him, renewing the slight acquaintance that already ex- 
 isted between taem, and the others gathered around to show him 
 deference and respect* 
 
 All listened to his words of bright address, and responded with 
 animation all but little Lorena, who shrank back behind the cur- 
 tains and wondered at this remarkable coincidence. 
 
 Judge Harville saw her sitting there all solitary and alone, aid 
 after he thought he bad punished her sufficiently, he said, "By the 
 way, Lawrence, I believe I came down in the same stage with your 
 niece a very bright little girl is she here ? I should like to be 
 introduced." 
 
 And Mr. Lawrence had gone to the window and had said, 
 "Lorena, Judge Harville wishes to be introduced to you." 
 
 "Does he ?" she said, quietly. 
 
 "Yes. It seems he came down in r,he same stage with you from 
 the mountains," and he waited for her to come out from behind the 
 curtains. 
 
 "Well, why doesn't he come and be introduced then ?" and she 
 turned to look out the window again. 
 
 Uncle Lawrence was somewhat startled, and then he smiled to 
 himself, remembering the trains to her dresses only a few weeks 
 before, which had to be cut off in order to make her presentable. 
 "She wasn't so much of a child as they had imagined." 
 
 In a moment the curtain was separated more widely than usual, 
 and Judge Harville stood there, with a quizzical smile in his hand- 
 some eyes, repeating gravely, "Miss Lawrence," after the ceremony 
 of introduction. 
 
 But the little girl, in her pretty short suit, with, however, the 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 pearl bead fillet still around her head, did not seem dumbfounded in 
 the least. She inclined her head with dignity, and then there came 
 a bright sparkle of merriment into her eyes. 
 
 "You are lately from the mountains, I believe, Miss Law- 
 tence." v 
 
 "Yes," returned she, 'Hike yourself." 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant trip down?" 
 
 "Delightful," returned 'Lorena, "especially when I pitched 
 out that old demijohn ! Didn't you?" 
 
 "Are there any more formalities to be got through with ?" he 
 asked, "if so, please mention them, and I'll try to secure them all." 
 
 "I can't help it," said Lorena, answering implied sarcasm of his 
 words. "1 have been taught that it is the only proper way." 
 
 "Do you know who I am yet?" His eyes looked mischiev- 
 ous. 
 
 "No," said she frankly, "I do not." 
 
 4 'Yet you talk to me." 
 
 "Ah !" paid the girl, "but my uncle has assumed the responsi- 
 bility, and I trust him." 
 
 Judge Harville stroked his moustache a moment reflectively. 
 There wasn't much satisfaction for his vanity yet. "This is a great 
 contrast to the country we left behind us four weeks ago, isn't it," 
 pointing as he spoke, to the garden in front, which revealed great, 
 white calla lilies, bright-red geraniums, and graceful, drooping fn- 
 cbgia blossoms of purple and red. "I suppose you would be very will- 
 ing to make the change." 
 
 "I ?" said Lorena, with a flash of her eyes, "no, indeed! The 
 city stifles me; I love my own wild mountains best." 
 
 He looked down at this small young person with a half smile on 
 his face "Ah, but if those brothers and sisters of yours lived here, 
 it would be different, and you would soon forget all about the dreary 
 desolation up there. " 
 
 "No, I shouldn't," she persisted; "my dear old Mount Chalcedony 
 is worth a dozen of these hills here. And besides, I have all the 
 wild flowers to myself, and name them whatever I please. And then, 
 too, we meet some of the raost talented men in the country, up there. 
 Why, I know Governor Nye, and J. Ross Browne, the traveler 
 when he was writing up Bodie and Mono Lake, for Harper's he vis- 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 9 
 
 ted our house and there's Mr. Gough, the nephew of the celebrated 
 lecturer, who is almost as eloquent as his uncle; and there's Mr. 
 Clageret, and Mr. Kendall and several other Congressmen, and O, 
 judges ! why, I know ever so many judgres ! There's Judge Boring, 
 who often lectures for us; and Judge Sewell. who is considered 
 really very fine; and Judge Chase a real brilliant judge, who used 
 to be a student of Longfellow's, himself, and I guess that's more than 
 you can say, isn't it?" 
 
 Judge Harville's vanity was wounded in more ways than one. 
 He had no desire to be considered in competition with "those old 
 fogies," as he mentally dubbed them. 
 
 1 'You must think me a regular old grandfather/' he said, pass- 
 ing over this extensive list of notables, his pride hurt more than he, 
 would have confessed at her childish refusal to consider him of any 
 particular value, and also at the implied sarcasm which intimated 
 that lie evidently felt he was condescending to talk with her. 
 
 "Oh! it's nice to be old," said she, reassuringly, "that's what 
 makes you so pleasant and agreeable," and then with a sigh of self- 
 importance, C 'I don't like young men." 
 
 Judge Harville took a long breath. He bad thought to subdue 
 little Lorena, but, instead, he was himself subdued. 
 
 When he had recovered bis breath, he looked at her curiously, 
 "I'd like to come across you about five years from now. I'd like to 
 see what sort of a woman you would make." 
 
 He was about to ask some questions about her mother, when 
 voices from behind appealed to him to settle some vexed question of 
 trivial impoitance, and he was drawn away, the little girl with her 
 pearl bead fillet looking: out upon them from behind the curtains with 
 an ill-concealed smile of amusement at the way the young ladies hung 
 upon his words, and looked up into his eyes. It made him feel ridic- 
 ulous rather than triumphant, bis vanitv had received a blow. 
 
 The rain was falling in torrents when the gathering broke up, 
 and be could only say a conventional good bye to to the well-equi- 
 poised, little Lorena, who gave him a bright little nod in reply. 
 
 The next day he sent her an exquisite bouquet and a magnifi- 
 cent box of confectionery, mingling the gifts suitable to a child and a 
 young lady, but when he called a week or so later, little Lorena had 
 tiown back to her beloved mountains, and so passed out of his life 
 
10 POKTBAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 and thoughts, leaving only a dim little memory of a strange child who 
 played at being a young lady. 
 
 A number of experiences fell to Judge Harville's share in the 
 years which followed, but fortune and fame continued to smile upon 
 him, and the young ladies and their mammas. Still his heart re- 
 mained his owr, that touch of vanity made him well satisfied to re- 
 main as he was the honored and welcome guest of a large circle of 
 refined acquaintancep. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Eight years had passed. He was still handsome with only a 
 few silver hairs clustering in his brown locks. An intricate question 
 of law had taken him up through the wild Sonora route into Mono 
 county. 
 
 Oil setting out in the morning, some one had said, "Jedge, 
 I'm 'fraid there's goin* to be be a snow storm. Ye'd better stay 
 over till tomorrer." 
 
 He only laughed at the would-be weather-prophet, and thought 
 no more about it, urging his horse along at a pleasant canter till he 
 came into the rough mountain road, and gave himself up to the re- 
 flections thit naturally co,me to a solitary horseman who knows he is 
 likely to travel for twenty or thirty miles without meeting a human 
 being. 
 
 The road wound around the hills, and then took a line through the 
 only natural egress or ingress a long,c!ark canyon, two gloomy walls of 
 solid rock, that once fitted evenly together in a solid mass, but in 
 eome great convulsion of nature, had separated, leaving this narrow 
 space between barely room enough for two teams to pass with a 
 little stream of water running alongside. 
 
 Stones of waterspouts, very frequent in this locality, 
 came to his mind, and he wondered if one should strike this canon, 
 whether the unfortunate caught between these walls could possibly 
 escape drowning. 
 
 After a while, the wails lowered gradually, and he saw a wild 
 horizon of jagged fantastic angles encircling him round. On the in- 
 staut a picture came back to his mind of a house situated in the fore- 
 ground of a wild mountain, and a group of children, and then a suc- 
 cession of pictures with a bright little girl figuring arching in the 
 center. 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA. GIRL. 11 
 
 " It must be the peculiar horizon that brings back such a faint 
 little memory as that of Lorena," said he, musingly. " It was no 
 wonder she didn't grow up like other children, with such a horizon 
 as that around her. What's that ? Snowflakes falling? The old 
 man was a prophet, after all. 1 wonder if I can't make the quartz 
 mill before it gets too heavy." And spurring up his horse, he hast- 
 ened along. The weather had changed, the bracing air had givtn 
 way to that strange, heavy atmosphere that precedes the snow- 
 storm, to imperceptibly that he had not noticed it. 
 
 On leaving this uncanny place, the road verged about several 
 small slopes, but the snow increased so . suddenly and eo violently, 
 with a sudden gust of wind blowing down the canyon, tbat he be- 
 came confused. Once he thought he had struck the trail because of 
 the fresh horses' tracks before him io the snow, but he soon found 
 that, in his confusion, he had been merely following in a circle upon 
 his own trail. 
 
 To add to his distress, his horse stepped into a sudden gully 
 aud fell beneath him with a broken leg. Darkness now seemed to 
 encompass the earth, and Judge Harville stood gazing into space ut- 
 terly bewildered. 
 
 The violent efforts of his horse in attempting to rise called him 
 back to himself, and after a moment's hesitancy, he drew out his re- 
 volver and put the beast out of his misery, performing this ac'ion 
 of cruel kindness promptly and effectively. 
 
 He felt sure that the quanz-mill way not far away, and that he 
 could make it within an hour. He lighted a match, and looked at 
 his watch. It was six. He felt the need of food and shelter, and 
 resolved to press forward. 
 
 The night was coming on fast, and it was bitter cold. He could 
 not think of staying in this desolate ppot when a place of refuge was 
 eo near. 
 
 But he soon found himself at the mercy of the pitiless elements. 
 The snow still fell n:adly, the wind was beginning to throw up little 
 drifts. Still he struggled on. Once he plunged into the creek 
 through the shallow ice, and although wet through, aud his clothes 
 immediately stiffened, he exclaimed, " Thank God ! " for it showed 
 that the road was not far away. Bit by bit, step by step, he makes 
 
 , . 
 . -% 
 
12 PORT BAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 his wijy. In three hours hp has made a mile directly forward, 
 though five or eix has been lost in re trace mer^t. 
 
 He is no longer the elegant and dignified Judge Harville. He is 
 only a man righting for life a pitable object of humanity. His 
 clothes are torn by contact with the rocks, or stiffened with frozen 
 water, his hands are bleeding, his feet badly frozen. Shall he give 
 up and lie down to sweet, coaxing sleep sleep that knows no wak- 
 ing, or shall he struggle on ? 
 
 A sound breaking on the freezing air attracts his wandering senses. 
 
 "Help !" he cries. 
 
 The sound comes again, repeated thrice. If he was desperate be- 
 fore, now he was like one transfixed. 
 
 It was the bark of a coyote a sharp, insolent bark. What an 
 answer to a freezing man's call for help ! 
 
 " What ! lie down to die, and be devoured by those cowardly 
 brutes ? " And in answer he plunged along again with renewed 
 efforts, nerved with strength born of desperation. The barks in- 
 creased around him; there was a pair of them; he could see their 
 dark shadows on the snow, waiting at a respectful distance. His 
 hands were so cold and numb that he could not get his revolver out, 
 and even then the water had frozen it stiff. " Great Heaven ! " he 
 cried, u was I born for this ? " 
 
 His ears now told him the voices were three, he wasted no time 
 looking for the shadowy forms on the soow. " 1 will keep them out 
 of their feast as long as I can," he thought, his natural stubbornness 
 coming to his aid. And he did, but his powers were nearly exhaust- 
 ed, his endurance overtried. Gradually the stiffness was creeping 
 on him, he felt no more arms or legn, he was only a human clump 
 straggling onward. Still the snow fell. " Heh ! heh ! heh !" 
 barbed the cowardly choius. Each moment seemed a year as they 
 gained upon him. One crept close to him; in an agony of despair he 
 made one great effort and struck at it, the cowardly thing slunk back. 
 It feared even the semblance of a nun as long as there was a spark 
 of life in it. 
 
 Suddenly upon his ear almost dulled in its sense of hearing, came 
 another sound, he roused himself to listen. Could he be losing his 
 mind already, or was it a mocking human voice imitating the coyotes? 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 13 
 
 "Heb, heh, heh !" called the chorus around feim. "Heh, heb, heb." 
 called out a clear mocking voice from a distance. 
 
 " God !" said the man, and with soul swelling within him, forget- 
 ting his poor cumbersome, solid body he strove once more, with hope 
 ' inspiring him. That mocking human voice was the sweetest sound 
 he bad ever heard. But his feet failed him, they would no longer 
 do their master's bidding. Accepting this new distress, he fell upon 
 hands and knees and crept painfully along in the direction of rhe 
 voice, which seemed to take delight iu mocking the voices of the 
 night. " If it should cease!" thought the man in despair. 
 
 One more little turn of a bend, and there he saw, very near, a 
 light; with one loud cry born of agony and despair, he cried, "Help, 
 help !" and at that moment felt the breath of the coyotes upon his 
 eheek. 
 
 He struggled to show there was still life in him, and in the breath- 
 ing spell thus obtained, the door flung wide open and the figure of a 
 woman rushed out, a lamp in her band. 
 
 " Where! where are you?" she cried. "Heh, heh/' cried the 
 chorus. '"Here, here," cried the man with his last strength. "Mer- 
 ciful Heavens !" with this ejaculation, not pausing a moment she ran 
 directly towards them, the coyotes shrinking back out of sight at the 
 appearance of so much life and vitality. She found a clump of 
 frozen humanity in the snow, speechless but with grateful eyes that 
 looked up in her face and told of life. 
 
 Hurrying to the house, she brought out a flask of liquor, and by 
 the light of her lamp made him drink. "There is no time to waste,'* 
 she said in a quick way, "I shall have to depend on you to help roe. 
 My husband is at the mill, I can't wait to go for him." Putting a 
 rope around bis waist, she gave him instructions what to do. " Now 
 wben I pull, lift a little of your weight." Foot by foot they struggled 
 along the fire obtained from the wnisky as well as the light so near 
 him, and the encouraging voice, gave him new energy. Who can 
 tel| where the strength comes from that enables a woman to grapple 
 with burdens beyond her powers ? No one could ever tell how she 
 got the helpless man into the cosy domicile where warmth and com- 
 fort awaited him. There was not much to remind one of the elegant 
 scrupulously attired Judge Harville, in the poor piece of humanity 
 

 14 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 before her eyes. Cold water was used to take the first agony, out of 
 the frozen limbs, and then warm drinks to comfort the inner man. 
 
 Then with a sigh of relief she said, "I guess you will do till morn- 
 ing, and then we'll have the doctor." 
 
 Judge Harville's eyes had been resting upon her questioningly 
 through all this tedious process. 
 
 " It seems tome that I've seen you somewhere before;" he said 
 slowiy. "Very likely," was the response; "Fve traveled all over 
 California and Nevada since I was a child." "No, but it seems as if 
 I had known you " 
 
 " If you will tell me your name," she said hesitatingly. A faint 
 smile crept over his face with recognition, * 'You are the little Lo- 
 rena who wouldn't epeak to me without an introduction. Will the 
 old one do, or must I get a new one ?" 
 
 " Judge Harville !" she exclaimed, "can it be possible? I never 
 expected to see you again, much less under these circumstances." 
 
 " How is it you are here, all alone?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, my husband, Aleck Westbrook, is night engineer at the 
 Silver King mill, a quarter of a mile away. I've lived here over a 
 year. I never think o such a thing as being afraid. 
 
 "I often mock the coyotes just to amuse myself, they are a sort of 
 compapy; but ^our cry, tonight, quite horrified me. They must 
 have been starved to be as bold as they were tonight, but we wont 
 talk of that anymore. You had better get some sleep before the 
 doctor comes." 
 
 "What time is it?" "It is two o'clock, Aleck always gets a 
 light lunch about twelve, and that accounts for my being up at such 
 an hour and very fortunate it was," Judge Harville accepted all 
 these statements as the most natural in the world, dining at twelve 
 o'clock at night, aud mocking coyotes to amuse one's self, why, of 
 course, he wondered why he had never done these things himself, 
 and in the sleep which crept drowsily on, dreamed he had turned in- 
 to a coyote, and was tracking something to death. 
 
 Aleck Westbrook proved to be a tall, manly fellow, a little re- 
 served, though cordial in congratulation to the stranger he found 
 housed upon his return, and very prompt in bringing the doctor vho 
 pronounced the quick and efficient care the night before as likely to 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRJL. 15 
 
 bring him through without an amputation, but his recovery from the 
 shock and all would be slow. 
 
 Seeing that it was to be a long siege. Judge Harville sent for 
 choice groceries to the city, as his contribution toward the house- 
 hold expenses, for provisions in the town where supplies were bought 
 were incredibly high. He also sent for music and books. 
 
 Lorena Westbrook, as a woman, was the same arch, bright crea- 
 ture, with a strange dignity and fearlessness all her own, that Lore- 
 na Lawrence had been, and with the self-reliance that comes from 
 frontier life. 
 
 Judge Harville from his place upon the bed-lounge watched her 
 curiously in all her little duties, as she sewed, or tidied up the room, 
 or in caring for the year-old child which clung to her skirts. He 
 was lost in admiration of her. To his weary, sated eyes, in her 
 freshness and vivacity she was a revelation. Day after day crept 
 by, and his admiration grew till it passed the limits of admiration. 
 He allowed himself to break the tenth commandment. He coveted. 
 
 "Do you never wish that fate had placed you in a beautiful home 
 in the midst of civilization ?" he asked Lorena, one day. 
 
 "O, I don't know. I'm very happy here. I have my piano, and 
 baby and husband. 1 don't know of anything else I want very much. 
 I love this wild place better than the trammels of society." 
 
 "But you would find congenial society, and an opportunity for 
 those accomplishments which make a woman so charming and de- 
 lightful/ 5 said Judge Harville, insidiously. Lorena gave a little 
 sigh. "It is nice to be accomplished," she said. 
 
 Many were the visitors that came in of an evening. Mrs. West- 
 brook's simple little parlor seemed an earthly paradise to those rough 
 diamonds who had left civilization far behind them with all its com- 
 forts to battle with the wilderness. Some of them were fluent talk- 
 ers, some were geniuses, some were bores, yet each was respectful 
 and kind in his admiration of the engineer's wife. Occasionally a 
 lady from the town, four miles distant, favored her with a call, or a 
 family who lived a mile away, but these were exceptions, and men 
 almost exclusively formed the society that gathered around her. 
 
 This curious state of affairs was not altogether new to Judge Har- 
 ville, but it had never affected him as unpleasantly as now. "A bright, 
 intelligent creature like Lorena to be wasted on the desert air," he 
 
16 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 thought to himeelf, impatiently and even a species of jealousy took 
 possession of him, to see how freely and frankly she met them, and 
 how sweetly she talked to them all. 
 
 "Say, Westbrook," said he, one day, after they had been discus- 
 sing one of the habitual bores, "aren't you afraid you'll have to 
 straighten out some of these fellows some day. First thing you 
 know some of them will be in love with your wife." 
 
 "Oh, no," laughed back Westbrook, "Lorena straightens them 
 out as she goes along. ' I'll never have any duels to fight for her." 
 
 The fierceness of the winter was over, and spring began to assert 
 her sway, sending down great freshets ladeued with boulders from 
 the mountains, and touching into life the sparse vegetation. "Here 
 is the harbinger of spring," said Lorena, one day, bringing in a 
 branch of willow, which had commenced to sprout in tiny buds of 
 wool. "And in California the roses are blooming, the lilies shining 
 white, and the whole earth covered with green/' said Harville. 
 
 She turned upon him fiercely, "Why are you always trying to fill 
 me with discontent? I never thought of such a thing till you came." 
 
 Harville smiled to himself. "Because I cannot bear to see you 
 satisfied with such a life." Lorena looked at him in bewilderment. 
 But he said no more, and she had nothing to say being puzzled to 
 catch his meaning. 
 
 The roads were now in good condition, and Judge Harville's crutch 
 almost unnecessary, everything pnnted to there being no further ex- 
 cuse for his remaining in such a wild, desolate spot. But Aleck 
 told him to be in 110 haste, he was glad to have such good company 
 for his wife, and had enjoyed the time spent together. They did 
 live delightfully in that strange place, with music (Harville was an 
 accomplished musician), with reading (he was a fine reader), with 
 communions with Nature and the charming little suppers at twelve 
 every night, and sleeping in the morning, turning day into night, 
 and night into day, with no bustle of the outside world, no weary 
 seeking^ after pleasure, no mingling with great crowds of people, 
 utterly indifferent to each other, but each new human being a study 
 and a revelation. 
 
 One day, together, they went to the Indian Camp, quite near, and 
 watched the dark-faced creatures prepare their meals, and try the 
 
PORTBAIIT OP A CALIFORNIA GIBL 17 
 
 steps of the Indian dance, preparatory to the grand pow-wow on 
 Walker's river. 
 
 "1 wish we both were savages like these," said Harville, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 "Why?" she responded, "what idea have you in that?" 
 
 "So that we should not be bound by these laws civilization puts 
 upon us." 
 
 "I am glad that your wish cannot come true, for I love law and 
 order " she laughed back in reply. But something in his tone 
 alarmed her. 
 
 The next day, with her baby, she went out seeking new flowers 
 that she knew where to find, and stayed beyond her time. Mean- 
 while Aleck, who had waked before his usual hour in the day, was 
 out of temper for no particular cause, as a man can easily be some- 
 times, and stepping into the kitchen, saw the bread, forgotten in its 
 capabilities for expansion, a great frothy roll over the sides of the 
 pan, and even dripping on the floor. 
 
 At this moment Lorena and the baby came in the back door, both 
 trimmed with wild flowers, a pretty bloom on their faces, and a 
 smiling look in their eyes. 
 
 "You had a d n sight better stay home and tend to this bread," 
 said Aleck, crossly, yet touched by the pretty picture of his wife and 
 child, and regretting his temper on the instant. 
 
 Without a word, but the bloom blanched in a moment, Lorena 
 walked past him into her room. 
 
 Judge Harville observed this little scene and wondered what she 
 would do, but in a moment she came out and got supper quietly, 
 after Aleck's departure taking up her sewing. 
 
 Harville sat and watched her. Since he had allowed himself to 
 covet that which was his neighbor's, he had, with many dallyings 
 with conscience, proved to himself that his ultimate object was a good 
 one, a real kindness, cruel perhaps like the shooting of his horse to 
 put him out of his misery but a kindness, a good deed, after all; 
 such tricks does pure, unadulterated reason, untouched with con- 
 science, play with a man's judgment ! He was no worse, no better, 
 than many men we know and believe to be honorable. 
 
 He would not sully by a word Lorena r s purity of soul; he loved 
 her too deeply 'for that; he wanted her for his wife. He was a law- 
 
18 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIEL. 
 
 yer, and a crafty one, and knew well the nieshes of the law and how 
 he could disentangle her from her present position and make her his 
 own. And he had convinced himself that it would be a kindness to 
 her in the end. 
 
 "To think of such a rare creature condemned to these dismal 
 things of life, such a barren, miserable outlook ! I'll place her in a 
 sphere more fitted to her charms and graces, for where will not Judge 
 Harville's wife be welcome?" 
 
 And so he sat there, thinking all these things, how lovely she 
 would look in a beautiful home, and what a joy to free her from all 
 this toil and hard work, this lovely creature who had saved his life 
 what would he not surround her with to soften life for her?" 
 
 "Lorena," be said, softly. 
 
 "Well," she responded, as if nothing strange were suggested by 
 his familiar method of address. 
 
 "Do you never tire of this dreary life ?" 
 
 She looked at him a second, as if measuring him. "Oh, no," she 
 responded, carelessly. 
 
 "Lorena," he said again, and his voice was thrillmg?y low, "listen 
 to me." 
 
 "I'm listening," she repeated, carelessly again. 
 
 "Lorena, don't you see the love shining out of my eyes ? Don't 
 you see that I adore you?'' 
 
 "That's nothing new," she laugbed back; "I've always been 
 adored. I can't remember when I wasn't adored." 
 
 "But I want you for my own," he whispered, yet not coming any 
 closer he knew he dared not. 
 
 "That's nothing new, either," she laughed, again, "there's always 
 been somebody who wanted me for their own; in fact, if that's in- 
 tended for a pleasant remark, I'm dreadfully tired of it." 
 
 "But seriously, Mrs. VVestbrook," said he, in a different tone, 
 "how can you be happy in such a place as this, and with a man who 
 swears at you ?" 
 
 The pretty chin quivered, still she kept up her play of speech, 
 and said, most innocently, "One would suppose that you had never 
 heard anybody swear before," and then, rising, "I must see to 
 Aleck's supper; poor fellow, he'll be very hungry when he returns." 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 19 
 
 And soon she was busied with the fire, and preparing a* oyster stew 
 for him. 
 
 His step was soon heard, and after a bright little talk around the 
 table, he went back again to his work. Loreua, hurrying away the 
 dishes, and clearing up, retired to her own room and Blocked the 
 door. 
 
 Judge Harville soon sought his own couch, but not to sleep. He 
 was restless, irritated, but more determined than ever. 
 
 In her room, Lorena acted very strangely; she seemed suffocating; 
 she kissed the sleeping babe, then, drawing a shawl over her head, 
 cautiously opened the window and crept out, and dropping to the 
 ground noiselessly, she walked up the narrow road in the waning 
 light of the old moon. 
 
 ' Oh, I could kill him, I could kill him !" she cried to herself, 
 passionately, "but I shall have to deny myself that pleasure." For 
 an hour she walked up familiar pathways over the rocks, looking 
 down upon rocky gorges and black, abysmal shadows between the 
 mountains, and sat down to rest a moment. 
 
 She heard a faint rustle, a chasing movement, and in its terror, a 
 white rabbit that had not yet changed its winter coat for grey, 
 crouched close to her foot, and from behind the rock below came a 
 shadow a coyote. Quickly she threw a handful of stones, which 
 made the ugly beast skulk away. Loreua stooped to stroke the 
 trembling, terrified little creature at her feet, but in an instant it had 
 leaped away and was gone. 
 
 "OGod!" exclaimed the lonely little human creature on the 
 rock, as a similar picture to the scene just enacted before her, came 
 to her vision. " Can I come close to your foot for protection, as 
 this rabbit has done to me? You are so far away, God i If you 
 had left me mother she would have helped me. I am so lonely, and 
 the Bad is so near/' 
 
 This solitary, little human-being on tbe bleak and craggy Sierra, 
 without knowing it, expressed, in her deep despair and anguish, the 
 true Persian theory of belief that Good and Evil (Ormuzd and 
 Ahriman) are contending for the mastery, and the human being is 
 free to choose one or the other; and 110 worshiper, at the old-time 
 altar of incense, could have prayed more earnestly nor passionately 
 
 
20 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 to be delivered, than this untaught mountain child of the wilderness, 
 trusting to her intuitions alone. 
 
 The wise and cynical may smile or sneer, but to the end of time, 
 the despair of prophets and philosophers can never carry them be- 
 yond the Persian theory of belief, nor the despair of hunted souls 
 find greater consolation than that strange instinct which bids them 
 creep close to His foot. 
 
 Suddenly her tears ceased, she laughed hysterically, "If I 
 haven't mother, I have my baby," and her tears flowed again, but 
 they were sobs of joy. Those tears washed out all blur or spot that, 
 like mould or rust, was beginning to faintly touch that pure, young 
 soul. 
 
 She arose, and with impatient step made her way down from the 
 frowning mountain, with its abysmal shadows and deep gorges, and 
 running down the road to the little cabin home in the canyon, hast- 
 ened in, and with the key which she had taken with her, unlocked 
 the door and seized her treasure. Wrapping it warm in shawls with 
 motherly instinct, she carried it out into the night, and kissed it 
 again and again. What an experience for a babe ! But it was used 
 to its mother's eccentricities, and was always ready to accompany her to 
 the deepest gorge, the highest peak. It was sent to be her comforter, 
 audits trust in her was infinite. The darkest night it looked up in her 
 ' face and emiled, not knowing whither it was going, and caring not 
 whither so that it was with her. 
 
 Harville could not sleep, and the sound of her coming in and going 
 out attracted his attention. Looking from the small-paned window, 
 he saw her hurrying away. In an instant he had flung on his clothes 
 and was following. What rash thing was she about to do three 
 ojclock in the morning straying through that bleak wilderness ? He 
 Would follow and protect her from a distance . 
 
 What a picture of strangeness and unreality ! The waning moon 
 shone with a sickly glare, and looking down saw amid the rocks and 
 fantastically-heaped mountains, a little open gulch, through which 
 passed a small woman with a large baby in her arms, hurrying 
 along, small but brave, and at a distance a man following, anxious 
 and full of dread. But the moon faintly smiled as she saw the red 
 light beaming from the mill, and the mother and child seek entrance. 
 
 But the man frowned, and hastening, saw, unobserved, a picture 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 21 
 
 of domestic blisrf Aleck with his arms enfolding the two, Lorena, 
 whose head was pillowed on his shoulder, and the babe which crowed 
 its joy in the strange accents of the baby language, that tongue which 
 doubtless contains cognate sounds with the first and original language 
 of the human race. 
 
 The protective feeling first aroused in his breast gave way to jeal- 
 ous hatred and ugliness of feeling, and he swore an oath to himself 
 an ugly oath that he would destroy this happiness, or " 
 
 Human nature is so strange ! From love comes hate, from pro- 
 tection, destruction, in only a moment. From the kindly, loving 
 friend of five minutes before, wishing to avert danger from Lorena's 
 path, he became transformed into a subtle enemy determined to de- 
 stroy her happiness. Love is an awful thing. It ccoes like a dove, 
 it coils like a serpent. 
 
 Not daring to trust himself at the window farther, he returned to 
 the house, his iron will bent relentlessly on subjugation. 
 
 " Lorena," said Aleck, "you don't know how badly I felt today 
 and you took it so quietly, and did the work so cheerfully. You 
 have a hard time, little woman," he said with feeling. "And I've 
 been thinking it all over. I'm going to make a dead set to get out 
 of this business, and let you see something of the world. And we'll 
 go to San Francisco, and go to all the operas and concerts how we'll 
 enjoy the music and baby there'shall grow up a civilized child in- 
 stead of a savage. How did you know I was wanting you so ?" 
 
 " O, Aleck," cried Lorena, full of happiness, "I wanted you." 
 What truer answer could be born of love ? 
 
 They sat there in the flickering light of the lamps, the ponderous 
 fly-wheel whirling around, the shining steel machinery sliding back- 
 ward and forward with its subtle intricacies of mechanism, and 
 pleasant noise, so strangely out of proportion with the clamp, clamp 
 of the stamps and the hissing of the pans in the body of the mill. 
 The engine-room was retirement in comparison. 
 
 Aleck made a little nest in the corner with his coat and a blanket, 
 and the baby was allowed to finish its nap, going to sleep as obedi- 
 ently as it had wakened . 
 
 " I never realized until to-night, Lorena, how you would shine in 
 society, you have such good taste and are so bright and clever. 
 And I thought if I didn't tell you of it, somebody else might get in 
 
22 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 ahead of me, sometime. And the first thing I'd know, my little 
 Lorena might be running away with some other fellow;" and Aleck 
 laughed . 
 
 "Oh, Aleck," said Lorena, reproachfully. 
 
 " Well, we'll fix that all right, I'm going to run away with you 
 myself; I'm going to be that other fellow." 
 
 Then they both laughed. Was it a childish happiness that made 
 the rafters of that mill re-echo with merry laughter ! 
 
 <{ >ay, Aleck," said Lorena, "how much happier we are alone. I 
 wish Judge Harville would go. If he speaks of it again, don't urge 
 him to stay, will you ?" 
 
 < f Why, no !" said Aleck, looking surprised, "but I thought he 
 made it pleasant for you. Why? has be commenced to talk silly? 
 If he has forgotten himself" what a threat of vengeance was con- 
 veyed in that tone ! 
 
 "Oh, no," laughed Lorena, "only he bores me, a little of hi* 
 style goes a great way, you know. It is six o'clock, isn't it? How fast 
 the time flies in this dear old engine-room. Come, baby, it is time 
 to go." And together the three wended their way home in the grey 
 and chilly dawn. Certainly her husband's love was a charm that 
 encompassed Lorena round, yet if he had not been so kindly, she 
 would possibly have fought her good fight against Ahrimau, though 
 not so well armed for the fray. She had resolved to meet him in 
 open fight, disarm and overcome him if she could. There must be 
 no scene, no trouble, no scandal, it must be subtly, silently done. 
 
 Judge Harville was courtesy itself all day. Aleck almost forgot 
 Lorena's instructions on the matter, and certainly his faintest sus- 
 picion. 
 
 But when evening came and Aleck was gone, he turned to her 
 with supplication in his eyes that was almost irresistible. He com- 
 menced to tell the story of his life, garnished with brilliant bits of 
 philosophy, it had even an element of pathos in it. Lorena's fancy 
 was kindled unconsciously. Her work lay neglected in her lap, the 
 baby, after sleeping all day, refused to sleep any more and amused 
 itself tumbling blocks around upon the floor. 
 
 He went on, the deep love he felt for her coloring everything he 
 touched upon, the impression she had made upon him as a little girl, 
 till finally he reached the snow and her strange appearance with the 
 
PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 23 
 
 light. "Oh, Lorena, Fate has ordained this from the beginning of 
 the world, that we should meet and mingle our lives. You cannot 
 escape from fate." 
 
 "Well," said she laughing, though it sounded strangely hollow, 
 "I shall spoil fate for once I'm just stubborn enough to defy it 
 where my will is concerned." 
 
 "It seems wrong to you now/' said the voice of the tempter, "but 
 a year from now in a high and noble position, Mrs. Judge Harville 
 shall find that she has escaped from a galling slavery and bondage . 
 In her beautiful and lovely home with congenial friends and time for 
 culture and improvement, she will wonder at the tame and profitless 
 existence she led in the years forever past, and rejoice that she bad 
 had the ambition, the wisdom to grasp the opportunity which had 
 lifted her from that condition which presented happiness as the hap- 
 piness of a sheep, dull, quiet, aimless; enough to eat, but nothing 
 else." Harville was nothing if not subtle. 
 
 "Is this what I saved you from the coyotes for?" asked Lorena 
 quietly, yet a little dazzled by the picture he so brilliantly painted 
 her. 
 
 "I know I stand in a bad light at present," he said rapidly, "but 
 you are too lovely and dainty a blossom to blush unseen, and should 
 see something of the world." 
 
 "That's what Aleck said, to-day," said she artlessly. 
 
 "I am the instrument of fate sent to interfere in your behalf, and 
 in the years to come you will thank me for the interference. You 
 have saved my life. It belongs to you rightfully; take it then and 
 do what you will with it." 
 
 Lorena looked into his eyes hopelessly. Where were her subter- 
 fuges, her little arts to cover her feelings, where were the subtleties 
 with which she wa<? going to disarm him? All seemed in a daze 
 around her. 
 
 "All conventionalities shall be observed. There shall be no scan- 
 cUl. I know enough of the technicalities of the law to set you free 
 from this bondage without a mar to sully your fair name; and after 
 that for I shall be pitient the justice or the minister, which ever 
 you like, shall give me the right to care for you." He spoke in a 
 low, thrilling tone. 
 
 "Judge Harville, it his always been the great desire of my life to 
 
24 PORTRAIT OF A CALIFORNIA GIRL. 
 
 exert a good influence on those around me. Are you deliberately 
 going to make me feel that I am responsible for all this terrible, ter- 
 rible thing that you are talking about?" It was a direct appeal, 
 and should- have awakened his better self . But that vanity of his 
 was underneath all, strong and exacting. He was irritated by her 
 resistance, and threw off the mask which he had so carefully worn. 
 
 "I don't know anything about your good influence, I only know 
 that you wakea the very devil in me when you come near me. And 
 I cannot endure to see you tied to a stupid dolt of a man who cares 
 nothing for you. It simply maddens me." His voice was boarge 
 and his eyes were full of evil light. 
 
 Lorena's eyes were riveted on him, a strange little red flame 
 seemed to burn in their depths. Was ehe going to succumb? 
 
 "If I should be in great distress," she said in slow, measured tones, 
 her pupils dilated beyond their usual size, "if some one was hound- 
 ing me, and driving me to death, could I claim your protection?' ' 
 
 "Claim my protection ?" he repeated in surprise, and rising to his 
 full height, he spoke, "Lorena, I'd protect you with more than my 
 life if there were anything more to offer." 
 
 "Then, Judge Harville," said Lorena, slowly, rising also, "/ 
 claim your protection" her voice faltered, her eyes fell, sobs choked 
 her while her heart surged up in mighty throbs ' l l claim your pro- 
 tection from yourself." 
 
 Turning to the table, she fell upon her chair, burying her face up- 
 on her arm, and cried like a broken-hearted child, the babe at her 
 feet clinging to her dress, and sobbing in unison with its stricken 
 mother. 
 
 Judge Harville drew a long breath. He walked up and down the 
 room a moment. The evil light died out of his eyes. He felt him- 
 self a black-hearted fiend a Mephistopheles all the false reasoning 
 in his premises stood out like lightning in the black night his vision 
 became clearer his selfishness more apparent. He walked to her 
 side, laid his band gently upon her soft hair. 
 
 "Don't grieve," he said, "you have my protection" 
 
 And that was all. 
 
 Daily lives must go on, and daily tasks must be done, though the 
 heavens fall, or earthquakes rend the world. Very quietly Judge 
 Harville took his departure, but he never forgot for a moment, a 
 
POETBAIT OF A CALIFORNIA G1BL. 25 
 
 certain purpose which took possession of him, and after much wire 
 pulling and utilizing of secret influence, he had the pleasure of hear- 
 ing that Aleck Westbrook had received an appointment from the 
 Governor of the State, which placed him in a position of trust and 
 well on the road to fortune. 
 
 Years have passed since that act of eelt-abnegation, and last winter 
 Judge Harville was called to Washington to attend to an intricate 
 matter of law. 
 
 At one of the receptions, where he went merely as a spectator, he 
 stood gazing at the gay throng with weary, careless eyes, when sud- 
 denly a profile among the throng carried him back eight years in his 
 life. 
 
 He saw the gloomy canon covered with snow, a light shining 
 from a window, he felt again the breath of the coyotes upon his cheek. 
 
 The face turned. It was indeed Lorena, bright, arch, as ever he 
 pictured her, clad in a shimmering eatin robe of white, leaning upon 
 her husband's arm, and leading by the hand a beautiful little girl in 
 daintiest lace, erratic a mother as ever, taking the child as naturally 
 with her to a reception, as out into the blackness of the night in the 
 wild Sierras. 
 
 A gladnees came into Judge Harville's heart, and overflowed at 
 his eyes. He felt a strange sensation of nearness to that beautiful, 
 womanly figure. It was Lorena, and she was resting under his pro- 
 tection still. ELLA STERLING CUMMINS, 
 
 Author of "The Mountain Princees." 
 
QUARTZ. 
 
 (FROM A MINER'S MEMORY.) 
 
 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 STRIKE. 
 
 The men who strike for silver mines in the arid country of the 
 State of Silverado are called "prospectors." They are a curious 
 compound of the laborer, the speculator and the scientist. Your 
 * 'prospector" is not, usually, when you meet him, what he has been. 
 You accost him, or he you, and it becomes at once evident that the 
 man before you belongs to no class or province, and you cannot guess 
 at his position in life with any certainty. He has upon his person 
 the commonest of "store clothes/' generally well worn, coarse woolen 
 shirts, open at the sun-tanned neck; no coat, slouch hat, pants in 
 rough boots. But his dress and address do not go together in har- 
 mony; his conversation is just whatever your own may invite, until 
 you strike the subject of mines or silver ores; then he leads into a 
 world of travel, speculation, rise, progress failure, until you find this 
 sun-burnt man has bandied coin in his day, and means to do it 
 again. 
 
 He may have been a minister of the gospel, a lawyer, a physician, 
 politician, merchant, etc; but not often do you find him to have been 
 a day-laborer, save on compulsion. Wiry, tough, irrepressible, and 
 far-traveled, patient yet excitable, his experience is large and various, 
 and his love of adventure with hope of great gain is as boundless and 
 
QUARTZ. 27 
 
 often as barren as the region of mountains he loves 
 Poverty and privation he bears like a philosopher; while a ! e * s 
 to him only "for the fun of it," and he makes short work 
 ing thousands of dollars on old and new sensations. 
 
 He talks about a home which he has, or wishes to have; but, gen- 
 erally, he has no home, and never will have any, outside of the 
 clothes he happens to be wearing. And where he goes when he must 
 lie down and die I have never discovered. That he does die I take 
 for certain; but, except in a fight or by accident, I have never known 
 of a dead "prospector." 
 
 He is the creator of new states and the driving power of the Stock 
 Boards; yet people e.ndeavor to treat him, unless he is flush of 
 money, as a person of little importance. The merchant, the lawyer, 
 the ranchman, physician everybody lives in Silverado, on the 
 results of the prospector's exertions; yet even the camp-followers 
 think themselves more respectable and higher-toned than he, the 
 Moses who leads them about in the wilderness. 
 
 Almost always he has a faithful partner in his joys, journeyings 
 and sorrows, and that partner is a man. This fellowship is imposed 
 by the fact that it takes two to sink a deep hole in the ground or a 
 drill in the rock; and it requires two to accomplish such an experience 
 as shall now be presented. 
 
 It snows heavily as out of the sage-covered wilderness two men, 
 riding, urge a laden mule into a beaten road and turn toward a 
 mining center, shifting in their saddles to give the wet a " driving 
 g now a cold shoulder. 
 
 Pushing steadily onward, a farm-house near the roadside rises out 
 upon the horizon. Boy in front of the house rushes in to say : 
 " Mother, two men a-comin'!" 
 
 Woman (outside of house) "What, in a buggy ?" 
 
 Boy. No; on horses an' drivin' a mule." 
 
 Woman. "Pshaw lonly prospectors." 
 
 By this time the two rough, ragged fellows, with beards awry, 
 hair uncut and unkempt beneath the slouched hats, ride to the door. 
 
 Prospector (to boy.) "Well, but ain't this winter?" 
 
 Boy. "You bet, His!" 
 
 Prospector (at the open door.) "Cold, bad day, madam." 
 
 Woman (inattentively.) "I reckon it is." 
 
28 QUARTZ, 
 
 Prospector. "Madam, could you let us have about two loavea of 
 bread ? And, tell you the truth, we haven't a cent in our clothes, but 
 we're likely to be along this way again soon, and we haven't a bite." 
 
 Woman. "I haven't got none baked, and something's the matter 
 with my yeast. I won't have no bread till most night." 
 
 Prospector (turning away.) "It would accommodate us very 
 much, but you know best, madam, about your own affairs. Good 
 day." 
 
 Prospector (remounting.) "Couldn't make it, old boy ! We'll 
 have to ride for it." 
 
 Old Boy "H 1 ! Couldn't you git nuthin' ?" 
 
 Prospector. "Not a enoot-full. I spoke a lively piece to the old 
 gal, but she wouldn't come out. Go ahead, we may be happy yet." 
 
 Woman (inside. ) ( 'Johnny ! Johnny, do you hear ?" 
 
 Boy (outside.) "yes'm. What yer want ?" 
 
 Woman "What'd them fellers say?" 
 
 Boy. "One of 'em called yer an old gal." 
 
 Woman. "That's cause I wouldn't turn to and bake for 'em; 'zif 
 I hadn't nuthin to do but bake for people who are flat broke ! Them 
 prospectors is allus flat broke. Why don't they stay at home and 
 work, like I do ? Fetch in your wood, Johnny; it's going to be a cold 
 night when it stops a-snowin'." 
 
 Boy. "Yes'm. Them men's got to make Simniins' ranch afore 
 they git a bite, an' that pack mule's mighty nigh petered out, if you 
 hear me." 
 
 Woman. "That's none o' yore business; you git yore wood an' 
 come in the house an' dry yore feet." 
 
 Time passes at the ranch, time passes on the road; time passes in 
 the nearest mining town; time passes in the lonely mountains where 
 the rich earth lies about the open shaft; time passes in the great com- 
 mercial city, where trade and science sigh for silver; and amidst the 
 the great city, past the ranch, along the road, through the mining 
 town and to the open cut in the lonely mountains, there moves the 
 love of gain that subtlest of spirits. So, on a day of bright, white 
 winter sunshine, the boy outside the ranche, gazing up the road be- 
 neath his own shading palm, shouts, "Pap ! buggy comin'; high 
 steppers, you bet !" 
 
 Pap (drowsy, frowzy, red-faced aud smoke-scented, appearing at 
 
QUARTZ. 29 
 
 the door), "Which way, from town? (Looking towuward) I say, 
 Symanthy, I'll bet that's them fellers what's found them new mines 
 out yander. They'll want dinner in a hurry." 
 
 Woman (looking over old Frowzy 's shoulder as both stand in the 
 door), " Them's liberty stable stock, and coyote-robes; high-flyers, 
 you bet! Yer sir! Johnny, make a fire in the stove this minit!" 
 
 All in one moment there happens here a multitude of incidents, 
 chief among which "old Frowzy" finds his hat, puts it on, comes to 
 the door again in time to say to the newly arrived party, as the 
 "high-stepping" team drives up, "Fine day, gents." 
 
 Man in carriage "Yes, tip- top day. How about something to 
 eat for man and beast?" 
 
 Old Frowzy "Lots of hay and barley; and I reckon the old wo- 
 man kin give you enough to eat seeh as we've got. 
 
 The man who holds the reins smiles, and without making the least 
 motion to alight or drop them, remarks: "Yes, but boss, we're flat 
 broke havn't a red." 
 
 Old Frowzy, with eyes on the fine turnout, "Oh, that makes no 
 odds in a new country! we all get that way at odd times." 
 
 Here the man above hands the reins to old Frowzy, and the whole 
 party alight. On moving near the door they are met by madam of 
 the rancho with, "Walk in gentlemen, and take a seat. Bid you 
 say you would have dinner?" 
 
 He of the reins "Yes madam, if you have bread enough baked, 
 we'll all take a bite." 
 
 Woman "Bread enough? Why certainly, I allus have that." 
 
 Reins "Well, excuse me, madam, I didn't know. Sometimes 
 people In these out-of-the-way places, get short of convenient grub." 
 
 Woman "I don't never fail to oh! I see! You're mebbe the 
 man as come by here about six weeks ago. Well, now, you see, I 
 can't allus tell whose a joshin me and who isn't. Why I thought 
 you was a-a jokin' that day; you prospectors are all the time on the 
 josh!" 
 
 Reins "That's all right, ma'm; I expect I did look sort o' gay 
 and festive that day, and we had a jolly time after we passed here." 
 
 By this time madam is away in the adjacent room of the cabin, 
 deep in the mysteries of bacon, canned salmon, black coffee, etc., 
 but Reins goes on with the story thus wise: 
 
30 QUABTZ. 
 
 "We rode (Sain and me) from here to Simrmns'; that's the first 
 ranch this side of town, on horses that we had already pushed hard 
 to reach this place, and we hadn't a bite of anything to eat that day, 
 and d d little to eat for three days, because we were holding out to 
 the last minute to develop the prospect, and working on short ra- 
 tions. But xi e left here at late dinner-time, rode all night, and it 
 a-enowing for keeps, and the horses stilted up on snow- balls, till 
 next day about noon we struck Simmins. Lord God! I was never 
 so happy in my life as when old Dan Simmins looked me square in 
 the face and gays he: "Well if h 1 ain't a-goin' to pop then I'm no 
 Christian!" (you know how old Dan talks.) "Where in h 1 have 
 you been ?" says he. "Why, you look like a sick woman's baby! 
 Take a horn, you'll find it in that there jug in the corner." I don't 
 ever expect to be so happy again as we all were that afternoon! We 
 ate and drank and sung, and told yarns, and had a bully time inside 
 the house, while the snow was attending to its job outside and a- 
 coming down as steady as clock-work. Sam sort o'went out of his 
 mind with the sudden change mebbe the whisky had a hand in it 
 and he thought he was back home in the States, telling his mother 
 all about his raniblings for fifteen years; and he thought old Dan was 
 his daddy so, as he was telling his mother, and crying and laughing 
 and talking it was better than any theayter. And when old Dan 
 would put in to help him out, Sam would say: "Never you mind, 
 daddy; you let me tell it." Then old Dan would laugh till the tears 
 ran down his face, and say, "Go on, my son, go on! Your ma and 
 me will listen to you." We knew the poor fellow was wandering 
 bat it was funny for all that particularly when one comes to con- 
 sider what a maguif' old dad could be panned out of Dan Simmins." 
 
 "Gents, dinner is ready walk out! We haven't got no great 
 variety, but its the best we have. Yer pap (to old Frowzy) cut up 
 and pour out for 'em, and if yer want anything more, holler. I've 
 got to go in the kitchen." 
 
 After Frowzy helps the party to such as there is, he proceeds to 
 ask a few leading questions of a nature just such as his kind are 
 most loth to answer questions looking to a share of some sort in the 
 county of the new mines . 
 
 "Hev you enny ranche-land or good hay-land out near them new 
 prospects ?" 
 
QUARTZ. 31 
 
 "Yes. There are several spots where a man might find a lay-out 
 for ranching." 
 
 "How is it for wood ?" 
 
 "Plenty of wood/ 1 
 
 "Well, do you reckon to g> ahead out there ennyways soon?" 
 
 "We can't just say about that. The Professor here will be able 
 to tell, mebbe, as we come back." 
 
 "When do you 'low to be back again?" 
 
 "Well, if the Professor can see as much in the same place, and in 
 the same time, as we can, we may be back here in three days." 
 
 "What are you goin' to do about hoss feed and grub while yer 
 there ?" 
 
 "Oh, Sam's out there. Didn't he stop here as he went by with a 
 team four horses, high load, doors and windows at the side and hay 
 bales on top about two weeks ago?" 
 
 "No; he didn't stop yere. I seed him goin' past, but he never 
 stopped." 
 
 Here Reins smiled over his cup of black coffee, and said: "Sam's 
 a little curious about some things." 
 
 Dinner over, bill paid, the "high-stepping" stock is buckled to, 
 the party are seated. Frowzy passes up the reins, and says: "Well, 
 I hope you've got a good thing out there; I'm half a mind to come 
 out and see you." 
 
 "All right, old man; I'll introduce you to Sam." Then turning 
 toward the door where Madam Frowzy stands, with hands on hips 
 and arms akimbo: "Bye, bye, madam; keep .'.sharp lookout for 
 prospectors. Why, hello, eonny; what are you looking up at me so 
 for? I'm not a pinto circus horse." 
 
 Boy (near the wheel) "You're the fellow 'at went past yer about 
 a month ago, and called ma'am an old gal that's what you are !" 
 
 "Well, but I'll take it all back, and I wouldn't have said it if I 
 had known you were around." 
 
 Away rolls the light wagon, as back into the house goes FrOwzy, 
 to smoke and stew over the fire, while he considers the chance of 
 making something for himself out of the new discovery. 
 
 "I say, Symanthy, I'm a good mind to go over to that new 
 place." 
 
 "Well," snaps Symanthy, "if yer goin', you'd better go airly. 
 
QtAKTZ. 
 
 v Fer if them fellers really hez struck ennything big' over ther r , ther'K 
 be plenty a-goin' in on the chances mighty soon. I woulnn't wonder 
 ef you'd see some of the sharps a-follerin' them fellows up afore 
 -mornin' " 
 
 "Well, I reckon I'd best strike out in the mornin'. I fergot to ax 
 'em how far it was, but I kin foller in their tracks." 
 
 In the morning, early, Frowzy is off with saddle-horse and pack- 
 mules, for, although Frowzy is the very picture of uncombed and 
 smoke-dried indolence, and as a general thing, goes about on foot 
 with the dragging sprawl of a work-ox, yet when it comes to exer- 
 tion in the saddle, or endurance in the hope of sudden gain, he is as 
 tough as a lariat. 
 
 The day is bright and warm as only some odd days in Silverado 
 can be, the very essence of beautiful weather and pure air, for the 
 climate in the State is like the human fortune in the State either 
 lovely and serene, with an "elevated goose," or else detestably bad 
 and flat broke. 
 
 The day is splendid, and though the season is winter, the dust 
 whirls in spiral, electric columns along the highway and rises in a 
 cloud about Bub and his dog as they romp in the road in front of 
 Frowzy' s ranche house. 
 
 "Mam !" shouts Bub, "that 'ere buggy's a-comin' again I and 
 there's 'nuther dust acrost the valley, and I'll bet that's Pap." 
 
 "Well, it's a-inost night, and yore wood ain't in yet! Ef enny- 
 body's a-comin' , they'll cum 'thout your starin'." 
 
 Nevertheless, as to the staring, madam conies out into the road to 
 stand with Bub and the dog for a prolonged stare into the valley. 
 
 The light wagon halts this time only long enough to refresh man 
 and horse, and then away toward the town; for the eye of science 
 has seen what the man of science is in haste to lay before the men of 
 money and speculation. Time, time is now the prime object, and 
 horse-flesh is a second consideration; so, drive, driver send 'em! 
 the love of gain grows into a fever. 
 
 Away goes the vehicle from view, and the dust cloud of its rolling 
 settles down as Frowzy dismounts at his own door, where his sage- 
 brush cherub and his dog vie with each other in jumping around for 
 purposes of undefmable joy. 
 
 Madam begins to feel some thrill of anxiety about the new state 
 
QUARTZ. 33 
 
 of affair.s, and so, without waiting, she appears at the door to ask, 
 "Well, how is it over ther ?" 
 
 Frowzy, big with the throes of a new hope, and ; the consciousness 
 of new knowledge, answers not, but continues to unpack and strip 
 his animals in silence, save when he says to the dog, "There, that'll 
 do now. Git down!" 
 
 But once the animals are out to graze, and one saddle flung on 
 one side of the door and the other on the other side things begin , 
 thereby, to be made neat and comfortable he says, "Well!" some 
 Western people always say "well" to start with, "well, that's a 
 mighty big thing over ther. Things'll be a bilin' yer in a mighty 
 short time, ef ye hear my gentle voice. I'm hungry." 
 
 "I'll giv ye yore supper in a minet it's all ready. Did you see 
 every show fur a ranche '?" 
 
 "You bet I did! I located the purtiest place fur a ranche and 
 station you ever seed not more'n three miles from where the town's 
 got to be. That Purfesser feller -says there ain't no better silver 
 mines in the world." 
 
 "Was they all located?" 
 
 "No. That feller as was a talkiii here as they went down, he 
 showed me wher' I could take chances on an extension." 
 
 "Didn't ye take it ?" asked madam, eagerly. 
 
 "Well, he said before he'd show it to me that I must locate, and 
 record it as the Old Gal, or he wouldn't show it to me." 
 
 "Durn his imperdent picter!" 
 
 "So v l located it, and it's the 'Old Gal;' and that Purfesser says 
 it's as good as eony of 'em, when it's opened once." 
 
 "Don't it crop out nowheres along ?" 
 
 "No; but it's right on the line o'theni best leads that's wher' the 
 'Old Gal' is. I can't make out what that feller wanted me to call it 
 the 'Old Gal' for." 
 
 "I know!" exclaimed Johnny, dumping on armload of fire-wood 
 into a corner of the cabin, "it's 'cause mam wouldn't bake bread fur 
 him when he was flat broke !" 
 
 "You, Johnny! you jist keep yore mouth shet an' speak when 
 yore spoke to, will ye! You don't know what yo're talkin' about." 
 
 " Enny how," says Mr. Frowzy, "the feller seemed mighty 
 tickled about some durned thing or other ! But you can't make him 
 
34 -j , QUARTZ. 
 
 out very easy. He's smart he is. He knows more in a minit 
 about them mines nor what that Purfesser knows in a day; but be 
 pertends to leave it all to the Purfesser. I see him a-winkin' at that 
 Sara, when Old Spectacles and Big Words was a settin' it in steep 
 on the lingo. He knows what he's after ! that feller does." 
 
 With which piece of wisdom Frowzy finished his supper and com- 
 menced cutting "plug" to fill his pipe; after filling and lighting 
 which, he proceeded to puff awhile in that odorous smudge of si- 
 lence which the European man has borrowed from his red brother. 
 But he soon broke forth again with ' c Symanthy ! " That vigorous 
 female being in the kitchen said, " Well ? " 
 
 44 I've an idee I'd better take the tram an' go back ther' and put 
 up a cabin. And you'd better send over to Reese river for yore 
 brother and his wife to help you run the house while I'm gone." 
 
 " Oh, Bub an' me kin run the house ! 'Taint worth while to be 
 bringin' people till ye need 'em. They'd only growl ef ye didn't di- 
 vide the new lay-out with 'em. You go ahead; I'll run the house." 
 
 By this time it had grown dusk outside, as the shortening winter 
 day dropped behind the dark silhouette of mountains, and the family 
 conversation was broken by a strange voice : 
 
 " Hillo ! Haeow is it about here?" To which Frowzy shouts- 
 back, " Aye, aye ! Comin' in a minit ! " And he peers about by 
 the firelight for Cl that everlastin', durned, old hat" tbat he never 
 can lay his hands on, save when his head is in it, while Mrs. Frow- 
 zy ventures to whisper, " That's a Yank you bet he's a-smellin' 
 after them mines." 
 
 Before Frowzy can find that much-maligned head-gear the new ar- 
 rival, or one of them, has entered the door, with tbat terrible im- 
 patience and fussy attention to details peculiar to some of those citi- 
 zens who say the word, " haeow." 
 
 " I waant to staybil teow hawsis with yeow." 
 
 '* All right," returns Mr. Frowzy, by this time under " that hat." 
 " Symanthy, gimme the lantern." 
 
 While the horses are being cared for, Enoch rattles around as if 
 he were helping to do the work, though really he knows nothing 
 about it, having been brought up to oxen and a good stick in the 
 State he calls Neow Hawinsheer. But he keeps his tongue and wits 
 at work with numerous questions, such as: " Who were the party 
 
QUARTZ . 35 
 
 we met back a piece?" "Prospectors ah! Rich, I s'posa?" 
 " Clus about here? Ah no. Never du strike anything near 
 hand, any one. Sing'lar, ain't it ? Quite so." 
 
 Frowzy, busy with the team, answers as clearly as 'he deems best; 
 but, as he closes the stable door and starts, lantern in hand, for the 
 house, lazily asks, " Which way might you be travelin' if it's a 
 fair question ? " 
 
 "Wai, we've got a little bizniz acount Nowth. I fergit wich way 
 yaeon eed the neaw mines were." 
 
 "Like as not I didn't say. I'm not clear which way they are 
 som'ers out south-east tho,' I think they said. Do you want supper?" 
 
 "Wai, no; we've got foud an' bsddin 5 , thank ye. There's my 
 friend strikin* a fire naeow. When we've eatin* A bite we'll cum 
 over an' chat a bit, ef its agreeab'l." 
 
 "All right," absents Mr. F., as he blows out his light and enters 
 his domicile; while Mr. Enoch Southchurch repairs to his wagon, his 
 friend and his supper at which locality he says in a low voice to his 
 companion: "Aeour old naybor sez thet the neaw mines are saeouth- 
 easterly from here." 
 
 "No odds what he says," remarks the other in a gruff voice. "I 
 cain follow that wagon track wherever it may go. If I cain'ty I'll 
 go straight back and die in Texas." 
 
 "Jes so, Kernil, I depend onyeou for that." What further was 
 said out of doors at the fire, or in the house at the other fire is not 
 important to us, except that Frowzy hurriedly told Synuntby that 
 "them fellers is after the new diggins, hot-foot." 
 
 To which SAmantha responded, "I know'd it." 
 
 "Yes," says F., "they've mighty smooth ephs; but they don't 
 pump me; not much." 
 
 Morning dawns once more upon the wide fields of Artemisia, cold, 
 calm and clear; the blue smoke of the camp-fire by the roadside 
 curls up among the early rays of the sun, and everything about the 
 hithertofore drowsy rancho is made awake. The prospector has made 
 bis track in the wilderness, and the keen and silent noses of Mam- 
 mon's blood-hounds are down upon the trail. 
 
 Frowzy is away before the dawn; up to the mountain- slope of th* 
 foothilh, to sesure his team horses ere they cease to bask in the 
 
36 QUARTZ. 
 
 fringes of the morning sun, warming away the chill of night from 
 their shaggy, winter coats. 
 
 The bacon in the fry-pan at the camp-fire of Enoch Southchurch 
 sputters to the tune of "Haste thee, eon of Plymouth Rock! God 
 helps those who helps themselves." 
 
 The "high-stepping team of "liberty-stable stock" has rolled the 
 glittering wheels all night through the glancing moonbeams along the 
 road, toward the mining town, passing "old Dan Simmins" with a 
 slight halt, long enough to shout "how-de-do!" and bring "old Dan'* 
 to the door, in unpresentable haste, for a brief chat and then away 
 again, with his last, "Be good to yourselves! Make my regrets to 
 the Young Men's Christian Associution, on account of my absence 
 last Sunday, and tell Gage to send me two gallons of whisky. I'm 
 about out. S' long, boys!" 
 
 Away, again and away till down the mountain road, heralded 
 by the golden glow that tips the topmost peaks with new born morn- 
 ing's flush, into the busy mountain town, along whose plank side- 
 walks the heavy boots of the earliest risers thump, thump, thump, 
 the light wagon rolls and ceases to roll. The party leap out as the 
 horses snort that grateful recognition of home wherewith the faithful 
 servant expresses his satisfaction. 
 
 And now, as Frowzy says it, things begin "to bile." The assayer's 
 fire glows a white-fever-heat as it leaps and licks the precious ore in 
 presence of the anxious eyes that watch the boiling-pot. Deftly the 
 assayer handles his tongs, coyly he toys with the blistering glow, 
 and then carefully pours, pounds, batters, rolls and weighs the 
 "button." 
 
 Eureka ! millions of earth's treasures loom up before the eye of 
 speculation. The news flies; men gather 011 street corners, in stores, 
 in saloons, everywhere, to inspect samples of rock and hear the story 
 of the new discovery; while the prosp ctor, his pocket lined with 
 "eagles," slouches with a newly, well-dressed, easy grace along the 
 polished board that bears the glasses iu front of the pretty young 
 man whose back hair shines in the big mirror in all the glory of ton- 
 sorial art, and slapping his "heavy sorrel"* on the counter, says, 
 "tlomfi up, boys, come up." 
 
 *Twenty dollar gold pieces. 
 
CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 SPIRITS. 
 
 The discovery and location of new silver-miuing centers in the wild 
 semi-desert regions of North America will soon be a matter of the 
 past; but it was once a very exciting business. First there was the 
 desert valley and the wild, rocky, rugged mountains; then acroes the 
 valley came the earliest* 'prospector," making his devious way among 
 the "sage-brush;" guided by no previous track in the dry gravelly 
 soil; steered solely by the contour of the surrounding mountains; 
 riding on his mule or wiry, wild broncho and driving before him, or 
 leading behind him, 'the grunting animal upon whose back aie girted 
 and corded the needed bedding, food and implements for preliminary 
 mining purposes. It is a serious and a silent procession under the 
 hot sun of a summer-day, or the cool star-light of night when the 
 shadows of the pointed mountains fall dark and ong across the arid 
 waste, or in the wind-driven snows of altitudinous winter. Jf the 
 search is successful and the winner crowned with reward, then the 
 single track of the prospector becomes a beaten trail, like an ashen- 
 colored thread stretching from civilization toward the unknown; the 
 trail in time gives way to the wagon-road on which the slow-moving 
 ox bends his unwilling, calloused neck to the inspiring needs of spec- 
 ulative industry; soon to be followed by the more aristocratic mule 
 marching in silent, solemn, long-eared processions of dust-covered 
 pageantry; and the mule at length to be followed by the swifter 
 whirling stage-coach team with its cloud of dust and its crowded 
 passengers. 
 
 People mostly, if not entirely, bearded boisterous adventurers 
 take to the new road and flock into the new mining camp which is 
 hidden away on the slope of a canon, or at the water giving head of a 
 ravine. Heavy loads of lumber for house-building underlying an 
 imposed stratum of merchandiEe unload under the direction of the 
 "gentleman from Judea;" while the manager and dispenser of alco- 
 holic amusements erects his tent and, behind a rough board, begins 
 the grave exercise of polishing a tumbler with a napkin; the board- 
 
38 QUARTZ. 
 
 ing house, the lodging house, the needed mechanical houses and all 
 other hocuses arise in so short a time that the aspect of the scene 
 changes, as if by magic, from all that make the irksorneness of soli- 
 tude to the moving, shifting, humming, habitable picture of energetic 
 industry. Thus has been initiated, under varying aspects, that great 
 aggregation of representative commonwealths commonly called the 
 United States of North America. Later in the years comes the 
 ready school-master to his appointed task; still later the church build- 
 ing, with its echoing bell in pointed spire with weather-vane a-top 
 to show how blow the winds of Heaven and which way waft the 
 clouds. 
 
 It might be a useful, certainly a curious, study to find out how 
 much alcohol in its various drinkable forms mostly whieky, how- 
 ever has had to do with the advancement of civilization and the 
 establishment of good government; for it seems to be a fact, that 
 the drinker of the more fiery potations, however much they may 
 have damaged themselves, have always been the staunchest creators 
 and supporters of good government. The maxim about "the sober 
 second thought" implies that the previous thought was not sober 
 and, therefore, drunk. 
 
 Is the strong-drinker's liking for good and free government the re- 
 morseful expression over the ruin of his hearth-store felicity ? Let 
 that pass; it is an open question; but there is no question that in a 
 new silver-mining camp the political and social center is the alcoholic 
 saloon; neither is there any question that in the camp whereof this 
 vivacious history treats one Alexander Crowder kept the "Head 
 Quarters." It has often been remarked, by the uninitiated, that it 
 looks singular to see so many of the largest and most able-bodied of 
 our fellow citizens engaged in the light-handed avocation of filling 
 fluids into bottles and glasses; but such persons should be informed 
 that the saloon-keeper is liable to have heavier vastly heavier 
 work upon bis strong hands. He may not often need the heft of his 
 heavy shoulders, but when he does need it he needs it very much. 
 Yet there are retail alcoholic dispersers on the Pacific slope life-long 
 veterans at the bar who have never laid a hand harehly on any 
 mortal. These be the few men of high administrative ability 
 stranded statesmen wasted by the wayside; probably the lineal de- 
 scendants of the c 'publicans and sinners" with whom Christ the 
 
QUAKTZ. 89 
 
 Saviour used to talk, or, at least so it reads, was accused of it by 
 the righteous Pharisees; and of such was Alexander Crowder, formerly 
 of various other localities, but now a resident of the new and thriving 
 camp yclept Mountain Brow. 
 
 At the Head Quarters was held the first meeting to raise a fund to 
 institute a school and prepare the way toward establishing that insti- 
 tution in a permanent school-house; because, by the school laws 
 passed by the keen legislators of the State of Silverado no public 
 money for school purposes could be obtained by any camp until the 
 "said camp shall institute and support a school, of not less than ten 
 pupils of the proper age (exclusion of Indians not twenty), for a 
 period of time not less than three months," etc. At the Head Quar- 
 ters were taken the initial steps towards providing the camp the 
 new town or city in mining parlance is always "the camp" with a 
 supply of good water and for the creation of a volunteer fire company, 
 of which latter, by the way , Alexander Orowder was unanimously 
 elected foreman. 
 
 At the Head Quarters the Central Committee of both our great 
 political parties met each committee on a different day in the week, 
 however to plant the seeds of national dispute and presidential 
 fervor along the advancing highway of "our glorious institution^." 
 Here the night-flying orator was wont to point out the dangerous 
 rocks of national navigation in tones of unmistakable alarm supple- 
 mented by the soothing scintillations of patriotic promise and political 
 hope. Whoop la ! The stars and stripes shall wave over a country 
 that must be saved. The little springs of far-off mountain-bowed po- 
 litical power shall borrow the white-souled purity of the shining 
 snows, and in the glad dance of the sparkling fluid follow the music 
 of the mountain stream down and away to where the great river of 
 our political power bears upon its bosom the commerce of a world 
 and the hopes of all mankind. (Cheers, but no note taken of the 
 miner who mutters, "'cept the dam Chinaman.") 
 
 At the Head Quarters which gradually come to be known as 
 "Crowders" was preached the first sermon from any Protestant 
 preacher at Mountainbrow; though the Catholic Padre bad been 
 around first as be usually is in such places to look after his 
 flock and get the Church's dutiful "divvy" on theyoung'prosperity. 
 The reason the Protestant preferred to preach at Crowder's was 
 

 40 QUARTZ. 
 
 partly owing to the fact that the Head Quarters was the building 
 in camp best adapted to congregational purposes; but mostly, it 
 was surmised, because Crowdev, out of the abundance o. his 
 mountain experience, was too wise to permit the smaller games of 
 gambling to be carried on under his roof. He rather contented 
 himself with private poker and faro rooms at the back end, with 
 billiards in all styles, in the bar-room and social cribbage in the 
 corners. So, when Brother Magath dropped into the Head Quarters 
 on a wintry Sunday forenoon, the house was full, the billiard 
 balls clicked their way through the pool-pine, the game-keepers 
 cried the score, the glasses clinked at the bar from time to time 
 as the hearty "here's to us" preceded the usual imbibation: and 
 the string band of three, with the cornet player, behind the piano 
 and the heavy German pianist (male, of course) discoursed musical 
 gems from the composers of all lands. The musicians were pres- 
 ent out of regard (financial) to the day of the week. Sunday is a 
 fine large day all over Silverado. 
 
 Upon this scene entered Brother Magatb, and modestly waiting 
 for an opportune moment to catch Mr. Crowder's ear approached 
 the highly polished bar-board in front of that worthy fluidical dis- 
 penser who instinctively looked the preacher interrogatively in the 
 eye and "set up" a glass tumbler. 
 
 "Ah, no-ah ! Not anything to drink; thank you." 
 
 Growler put out the cigar- box. 
 
 "Thank you; but I'm not a smoker. Excuse me; but I merely 
 wished to talk to you in private a moment." 
 
 "Want to strike me for a piece?" and Crowder opened his 
 money drawer. "Broke, I 'spose ! How much ?" 
 
 "No, sir, I want no money." 
 
 "Well, what do ye want ? Spit it out." 
 
 "I want permission to preach a sermon in this room this after- 
 noon at 2 o'clock sharp. That's all I want." 
 
 "Want to preach h'yer?" 
 
 "Yes, sir!" 
 
 "Well. That'll depend on what the boys say. I've no objec- 
 tion, myself." 
 
 "Would you be good enough to announce it to them, and let 
 us hear what they say about it ?" 
 

 QUARTZ. 41 
 
 "Well, I'm not much on the announce but Til try it a whack," 
 he walked to the outer end of bis long bar and in a big voice 
 said "See yer, boys. I want ye to lissen." 
 
 The games and the noise consequent upon them gradually sub- 
 sided. Pool-players dropped the butts of their cues to the floor 
 and stood at rest the music of the band lapsed into silence. 
 
 "This gent wants to preach and pays us the compliment by 
 sayin' its the most respectable place in camps for his business; 
 an' I've told him I'd leave it to you fellers." 
 
 "When d's he want to preach? Bight away, now?" said a 
 tall cue-holder. 
 
 "No; this afternoon at 2 o'clock. What d'ye all say? Preach 
 or no preach ?" 
 
 "Preach of course. D'ye 'spose we're dam heathens ?" gaid 
 one. 
 
 "Preach ! why cert'nly," said another. 
 
 "Of course," assented another. 
 
 Brother Magath whispered to Crowder. 
 
 "But he wants ye all to attend. Will ye do it?" 
 
 "You bet we will," said the tall man turning to take the shot he 
 had omitted, and added, "give him a drink and charge it to me." 
 
 When Brother Magath appeared in the Head Quarters, promptly 
 at 2 o'clock, P. M., he found the billiard tables draped in their white 
 night-clothes, the bar and its bottle-holding shelves clothed in similar 
 attire, the musicians dispersed and the audience silently, though a 
 little uneasily, waiting for him. He took his stand behind the piano 
 using that musical furniture as a sacred desk, and thereon, as a 
 "sport" phrased it, "spread his tricks to buck against the devil" 
 which "tricks" consisted of a Bible, a hymn-book and a white linen 
 pocket-handkerchief. Then first, as was his custom, he read a hymn, 
 but before, the reading he remarked: 
 
 "Gentlemen, among my misfortunes, one of the greatest is that I 
 have no ear for melody and no talent for singing; I shall therefore, 
 be compelled to call upon any person who can sing to raise the tune 
 for the lines I am about to read. 
 
 "Am la soldier of the Cross, * 
 
 A follower of the Lamb ? 
 
QUABTZ, 
 
 And shall I fear to own his cause, 
 Or blush to speak his name ? 
 
 Are there no foes for me to face; 
 
 Must I not stem the flood V 
 Is this vile world a friend to grace 
 
 To help me on to God ?j 
 
 Sure I must fight if I would reign ; 
 
 Increase my courage Lord; 
 I'll bear the toil, endure the pain , 
 
 Supported by the word." 
 
 "Part of the seven-hundredth hymn; common metre; please sing/' 
 
 There was a deep and depressing silence that followed the spirited 
 reading of these martial lines broken at first by no sound save the 
 low whisper in which one miner conveyed his idea into the ear of an- 
 other, thus: 
 
 "I think the parson's dead game there's a heap o' sand in the 
 hymn." 
 
 "Cannot some one raise the tune ? Surely there are several per- 
 sons in this room whose early training and musical talent fits them to 
 sing these sacred lines." 
 
 "What is the tune?" 
 
 "Unfortunately I cannot remember that either, but it is a very 
 common one," and still he stood with his book in his hand open be- 
 fore him as if supplicating some one to come forward and take it away; 
 but the tune did not arise. 
 
 "Where's them doggonned musicians gone to ? They'd ort to be 
 able to h'ist 'er up," said a new voice. 
 
 "What duz a dura Dutch musical cuss know about hymn-singiu'?" 
 exclaimed another. 
 
 Here the front door of the saloon was thrown open, wafting into 
 the room a sharp breath of the winter air: 
 
 "Hello ! There comes Wash White an' he's a reg'lar camp-meet- 
 in' psalmist. Yer Wash, come in an' h'ist the tune." 
 
 Wash took a hasty stare about the ro^ni as he closed the door be- 
 hind him and aslfed: 
 
QLAETZ. 43 
 
 "What the hell's up?", 
 
 "H-u-u-s-sh. This's meetin'." 
 
 '^'Miner's meeting ?" 
 
 "No; prar meetin*. Church. Religion. Ye dam fool, don't ye 
 know nuthiu' pious !" 
 
 "I-o-h. Whew !" responded Wash as he eyed the preacher and 
 took in the invitation, 
 
 "Yes, my friend," said Parson Magatb still holding the open book 
 in his hand, "we desire to sing a few lines pieparatory to a continu- 
 ance of Divine worship and we are waiting for some one to voice the 
 music. 
 
 "What is the hymn \" asked Wash. 
 
 "Am I a soldier of the cross," began the preacher to read, but 
 was interrupted by Wash continuing 
 
 "A follower of the Lamb ? 
 And shall I fear to own his cause 
 Or blush to speak his name ? 
 
 o' course I can sing them lines like a licensed exhorter. I was 
 brought up on that music. My ole dad used to fold his arms of a 
 Sunday morning an* walk up and down singing them lines till hell 
 howled an' Satan shook in his irons. But if I start the tune I want 
 all hands to chip in an' jine the uproar an' I don't want no squ^akm' 
 nor no half-mouthed mumblin'. Go ahead, parson; line 'er out." 
 
 Brother Magath once again read the initial stanza Wash, with a 
 voice trained from infancy to "revival" airs, launched boldly out 
 upon the melodious stream, and at first, was assisted in a wavering 
 way; but at length the crowd, seeing and hearing that he was fully 
 equal to the occasion, joined in with a will and boomed the lines, 
 couplet at a time, as Brother Magath, smiling blandly, delivered 
 them. For up and down the hills the echoes sped bearing with them 
 the true spirit of the Soldiers of the Cross. It was an able-bodied 
 noise not devoid of a rude spirit of harmony. 
 
 After the singing Brother Magath nodded his thanks to Mr. White 
 and proceeded with the subsequent spirituality, the general tenor of 
 which was that, whatever might be a man or woman's place in this 
 life it was a duty, and ought to be a pride and a pleasure, for such 
 person to do that duty boldly, cheerfully, respectfully and firmlj 7 for 
 
44 QUAETZ. 
 
 righteousness sake; "nor God, nor man, nor devil loves the coward 
 or the quitter." 
 
 "Them's my sentiments/' said Mr. Crowder, and Brother Magath 
 wound up the exercises with a fervent short prayer. 
 
 "Three cheers for the parson, Hip, hip, Hurray !" and the 
 cheers were given with a will, while Crowder disrobed the bar, the 
 bottles and glasses. 
 
 "Come down," exclaimed a short active man. "Come down 
 handsome in the contribution box/ 1 and he went about through the 
 crowd extending his hat to everybody. "'Taint no real genoowine 
 church 'thout a kerleckshun. Parsons kaint live on chin enny niore'n 
 other folks. Come down !" and while the hat grew heavy with 
 silver, the imbibations went on all around, and in the midst Brother 
 Magath was receiving hand-shaken congratulations, also refusing 
 numerous invitations to participate. 
 
 "There she is, parson" said the volunteer collector "salt 'er 
 down/' and he placed his heavy hat on the nearest billiard table. 
 
 "Gentlemen, this is, indeed, very kind of you and I hope God 
 will bless this gift in my hands to his own great uses; and I pray 
 that you may gather again, tenfold, this bread thrown upon the 
 waters," all the while as he talked, loading his light pockets with 
 heavy coin. Then at last, he politely returned the hat to its owner, 
 bid bis unique congregation an effusive farewell and went out upon 
 his way rejoicing. 
 
 Again the games went forward, the instrumental music resumed 
 ita sway and, sorry to say it, Wash White, proud of his opportune 
 assistance was fast approaching the meandering edge of inebriation. 
 And so ended the first lesson. Were these seeds of salvation, sown 
 by the wayside, lost all lost? Who shall say? Is the vim of 
 good in the evil of Nazareth worked out ? Qmen sabe ? 
 
CHAPTER THREE. 
 
 AT CROWDERS. 
 
 I was sitting in the saloon to-day reading the papers when a man 
 about fifty years old a heavy man, stout, stooped and hard-handed, 
 came in with a kind of weaving, slouchy gait, having hie hat in one 
 hand and an empty smoke-pipe in the other. He stopped in the 
 middle of the floor, gave a sort of goggle-eyed gaze around the room, 
 swung his body with the sweep of a weak old willow in the wind, 
 slapped his hat on his head pretty well over his eyes, put the stem 
 end of the empty, short pipe into his mouth and pushing his hands 
 down into his breeches pockets, took a weaving step forward and 
 said: 
 
 "H're ye, Crowder, old b-hoy! 5 ' 
 
 Crowder stood behind his bar with a napkin polishing that perpet- 
 ual tumbler, but made no reply. 
 
 T The man took another nearing step forward toward the bar, paus- 
 ed and said: 
 
 "1 say, h're ye, Orowder? Can you s peek t feller? A^hVr 
 putt-in' on dog wi' me for?" 
 
 "How are you, Daniel!" said Crowder. "you look sleepy, you'd 
 better go and take a big sleep." 
 
 "A'r right. I'm go'n to whe'r ge'r ready, no t b'fore." 
 
 "Better take a spin around the square, then," suggested Crowd- 
 er, still polishing the tumbler. 
 
 "No z-sir," and proceeding to pull up a chair by my side, he 
 added: "I'm goner talk sense to the old boss here." 
 
 "That's a man of family, Dan. If you want to talk some one to 
 death, go hunt up a single man. What'll his wife say when she 
 sees his corpse?" 
 
 Dan saw the old joke even through the fumes in his brain, and, 
 looking at me, smiled one of those twisted smiles which are not to be 
 described. Then he sat down on the chair, threw his hat on the 
 floor at his feet, commenced in a fumbling way to fill his pipe, and 
 said: "Crowder's g-ome! Knows been on a bu9t! A as all right. 
 Crowder 's 'noil friend use't wore 'gether in 'noil TVollomme." 
 
-V 1 -/.--' ' 
 
 46 v jf . > QUARTZ. 
 
 While Daniel was fishing up from the depths of his vest pocket 
 tobacco fine-cut, pinch by pinch, between his work -calloused thumb 
 and finger, and boozily crowding it down into his pipe-bowl, nothing 
 was said; but Crowder looked at me then at Daniel, as much as to 
 inquire if I was being badly annoyed. Seeming to see that as yet 1 
 was not, he continued to gaze out in the sunny street, as he ntood 
 erect with that ever-active tumbler and napkin in hand. 
 
 Daniel, after finally filling his pipe, hunted throughout all his 
 pockets twice over, and then said to me: "Boss, got'r match?'' I 
 gave him a lucifer match. "Boss, you're a gem-man! Don't put on 
 dog." Then fixing the match perpendicularly between his thumb and 
 finger, he raised his right thigh at an angle of forty -five degrees, 
 and rapidly drew the match from the hip forward toward the knee 
 over the woolen pantaloons, until it snapped and blazed into a light, 
 as he brought it around with a single motion immediately over the 
 tobacco in the pipe that was in his mouth. Silently puffing away 
 until his dim senses were satisfied with the result, he proceeded to 
 address me upon the subject that was uppermost in his mind. Why 
 he should have desired to tell me what he did, seeing that I was a 
 stranger to him, I know not. Who, indeed, can know the uncon- 
 Hciouy impulse that intoxication starts in the brain? Disrobed of its 
 inebriate blur here is what be said to me: 
 
 "Yes, Crowder knows Old Dan ! We used to work together and 
 cabin together in California. The last place we were at was in Tu- 
 olumne. From there we came over in the Washoe excitement to 
 Yirginia City, in Nevada Territory, and that's where Crowder left, 
 me and went to selling whisky. Crowder can sell whisky, he can; 
 but I can't. What do you suppose is the reason I can't sell whisky, 
 eh, boss?" 
 
 "Well, really, I can hardly say." 
 
 "Did you ever read Shakespeare, boss?" 
 
 "Yes, in a scattering way." 
 
 "Look here," said he, in a mock dramatic style, pointing first at 
 himself, then at Crowder, "upon this picture and this ! That's the 
 reason I can't sell whisky." 
 
 "I think I see it." 
 
 "All right, boss ! I left Virginia City and went north to Montana; 
 and kepi going north until I could nearly see the top of the north 
 
QUARTZ. 47 
 
 pole. Then I roamed around again and got away down into Arizona, 
 and New Mexico; and from there went to New Granada in South 
 America, where there is more trees and roots and vines and bushes 
 and brambles and snakes and bats and spiders and bugs and things 
 than you ever saw to the acre in any country and rains; je-e- 
 whillikens ! Why, it rains there down and up and cross-legged. 
 
 Then from there, I worked away further down into South America 
 and back again, like a walking bag o' bones, into California. But 
 California wasn't like home any more, so I weaved my way back 
 to Washoe to hunt up my old paid . I was flat broke, and wanted 
 to strike him for a stake. Crowder always opens out when I strike 
 him for a piece. Eh, Crowder, ain't that so?" 
 
 "Yes, Daniel, such is the fact so long as I've got a cent." 
 
 "But my old pard was gone. I wasn't able to work a lick; so I 
 rustled aronnd among the ole-time boys, and they came out, and 
 kept a-coming out to me, until I got onto my working pins again; 
 got a job saved up, paid 'em all back and put out again . And 
 ncrw I've worked round through Colorado, part of Arizona, and all 
 of eastern Nevada, and here I am, flat broke." 
 
 "What was the point in all this traveling ?" 
 
 "Gold, sir, gold. Placer diggings, with gold in 'em. Ah, God! 
 give me once more the old days of placer diggings ! I don't care if I 
 find it on the middle line of the equator, where the sun will cook 
 eggs on the top of a fellow's hat or I don't care where it is. That's 
 all I ask just once more." 
 
 "How does it come that' you didn't get a better advantage of it 
 when you had it?" 
 
 "Boss, that's what my lawyer called a leading question. Ain't 
 it the scripture says 'every soul knowethits own sorrow?' " 
 
 "I think is is in the scriptures, or ought to be," said I. 
 
 By this time, he began to speak much more plainly, and to the 
 point. He put bis pipe into his pocket, and throwing his legs over 
 the arm of the chair that was next to mine, he asked me : 
 
 "Did you ever look into the face of twelve mea for three days in- 
 side of a court-house, while a lot of lawyers were pulling and hauling 
 over a case, and your own life was the interesting subject of discus- 
 eion ?" 
 
 "No; I can't say that I have." 
 
48 QUARTZ. 
 
 "Did you ever marry a girl in the old States, and coine to Cali- 
 fornia, and work in the water, underground, and every way, like a 
 wild working machine, to make money for her and one little gal 
 baby; then be tried on a d m false charge of murder, and get clear 
 by spending half you'd made; and go home with the other half to 
 her, only to find out that she had thro wed off on you, and that the 
 law back there wouldn't give you your own child ?" 
 
 There was a fierceness in his expression that drove away entirely 
 the drunken look, as he paused in his link of interrogation. 
 
 "No, my friend, I'm thankful to say that I have never passed 
 through such a trial as that," I replied. 
 
 "Well, you may be thankful. Fve gone through all of that. 
 Ain't that so, Crowder?" 
 
 The saloon-keeper, as business was dull during the sunny summer 
 afternoon, leaning on his white-shirted elbows over the counter, pa- 
 tiently watching Dan in his increasing earnestness, went back to his 
 tumblers, simply saying, "Such are the facts, Daniel." 
 
 "Now, boss, there is nothing underhand about me. I'm up and 
 up, on the square, all the time. I never cheated any man, or woman, 
 or child, or Indian not even a Chinaman. I never went forward to 
 hunt a fight, nor backward to get out of one; and I don't think that 
 I ever thro wed off on a pard , or left a debt behind me in all my 
 travels that I didn't pay. How's those statements, Crowder, are 
 they true ?" 
 
 "The man who says they are not true is no friend of mine, Daniel." 
 
 "There, now, boss! I'm drunk, you see, but he ain't; and he'll 
 tell you if I strike the wrong lead, or go off on a spur. Now, what I 
 want to know, and want you to tell me if you know, is, why it is, 
 when a man wants to do the square thing, and does about do it, that 
 he has such infernal luck?" 
 
 "Indeed it is hard to say. Perhaps you, being strong yourself, 
 were severe upon others who were weak-spirited, and sternly de- 
 manded of them to stand up against all odds when they were not 
 able, and sneered at them for weaklings, when they failed in courage 
 and endurance, thereby raising up against you numerous weak but 
 silent and busy enemies. Such things have been, and such may be 
 your case." 
 
 "No; I think you must out there boss, that's too preachery. I 
 
QUARTZ. 49 
 
 never meddled with other people. I went about my own business." 
 
 " Very true, no doubt; and you, perhaps, left all other people, 
 save a very few, to think they might go to hell for all you cared. 
 Whereupon, these small people hunted for the weak place in the 
 strong man's arme, and found it; because there always is a weak 
 place." 
 
 He threw his legs off the arm of the chair and stretched them out 
 to full length, with his boot heels resting on the floor, reached down 
 for his hat, put the hat on his head over his eyes, put his hands deep 
 into his breeches pockets, and plowing his heels along the floor 
 slipped as far down into his chair as its form would permit, and in 
 that posture remained silent for some moments, while Crowder, with 
 oae elbow on the end of the bar-board, partly pursued a newspaper, 
 but mostly eyed his friend. 
 
 I was about to resume my reading, when he threw one of his legs 
 over the other, with a heavy thump of his heel on the floor; then, 
 thrusting his hand into his breast coat-pocket, he drew forth a letter, 
 handed it to me without moving his hat off his eyes or further chang- 
 ing position, and said: 
 
 "Read that out loud to Crowder and me." 
 
 Baltimore, Md., July 10, 1864. 
 
 MY DEAR PAPA: Oh, my dear papa, mother is dead, and I am 
 living with uncle John ! Mother died about a year ago, as I wrote 
 to you about, but never got any answer, and her husband has gone 
 away in the war, and uncle John says he thinks he is dead, too, for 
 he saw it in a newspaper that a man by the same name was killed 
 in Luray Valley. Fni working along with Mrs. Ellicott and her 
 daughter Mary, making soldier clothes at the factory. Uncle John 
 was thrown out of work at Harper's Ferry when the arsenals were 
 burnt down, and he has been working wherever he could get work, 
 mostly in the car factory for the Baltimore and Ohio, but he is going 
 now to Pittsburg to work on government wagons, because the rail- 
 road is all torn up by the war, and, oh, dear papa, Uncle John 
 is poor now and I will have to go with him, or else stay here with 
 strangers. Do let me come and live with you. I have got fifty 
 dollars saved up to come to you and, oh! dear good papa, do let me 
 come. It is so lonesome here except for Uncle John, and now he is 
 going away; and we do not know what minute Baltimore may be 
 
50 QUARTZ. 
 
 burnt to ashes, and there are so many soldiers here coming and go- 
 ing all the time, and marching and dramming that it is not a bit like 
 the nice, old place you took me to see when you came home here once 
 before the trial, and when mother took me away. Do let me come, 
 papa. I'm a big girl now, and can work and help you if you haven't 
 got much money, and I do want to see my own, dear father, and be 
 with him all the time. I read in the papers all, every single word I 
 can find, about California and Nevada Territory, and sometimes I 
 am so afraid that you will get killed in the mines, and T will never 
 eee my dear papa any more. Do let me come to you. Oh, please 
 do. Uncle John gays it is not a fit place for me out there, because 
 it is so rough, but I do not care; 1 can stay wherever my papa can 
 and 1 will, too, if you will let me. 
 
 I wrote to you a long, long letter all about mother's death, and 
 about how the money you left for me in Alexandria is lost, because 
 Mr. Smith has gone to Richmond with the Confederates. Uncle 
 John eays may be it is not lost, because Mr. Smith is an honest man 
 and your best friend; but I hear that everything at Richmond will 
 be lost and I think it must be, because the Federal soldiers are just 
 swarming into Virginia. 
 
 Uncle John says our nice home in Alexandria is a total ruin. Mr. 
 Smith was very good to me and sent me to school and told me to 
 learn everything, because you liked yonr people to be ed ucated , and 
 I did try to learn as well as I could when I was at school, and Mrs. 
 Ellicott says I am the best needle-woman and know more ab^ut a 
 eewing machine than any girl in the factory. 
 
 Papa, if you will let me come and live with you, I will be the best 
 girl I can, and never give you any trouble if I can help it, because 
 my poor, dear papa has had trouble enough. 
 
 Now, papa, do answer this letter soon, and let your poor, only, 
 lonesome daughter know how you are and if you are well, and if I 
 may come and be with you . 
 
 God bless you, my dear papa! No more at this time, from your 
 affectionate daughter, CALIFORNIA CALVERT. 
 
 Without saying a word, I handed the letter back to Dan, who was 
 mopping his eyes under his hat, never having altered his position 
 during the reading; while Crowder, with one foot on the lower round 
 of Dan's chain, had stood listening with a sad face. 
 
QUARTZ. 51 
 
 Dan took back the letter, replaced it in his breast coat pocket, and 
 springing to his feet, dashed out of the saloon, exclaiming in a husky, 
 choking voice : 
 
 "I'm the damnedest old fool in the world!" 
 
 He was gone, and Crowder said, partly to me and partly to him- 
 self: "That's what's the matter with him!" 
 
 "Singular character, your friend seems to be," I remarked. 
 
 "Well, no; he's not so singular only a little odd just now. As a 
 general thing he's one of the levelest-headed men in the mountains; 
 but he's been on his gin for two or three days an unusually long 
 drunk for him and I could see something bothering him ever since 
 he came to this camp, now about three months." 
 
 "1 should eay his home affairs are working on him." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Crowder, giving his bar-counter an extra flourish 
 in the way of polishing it off. "That daughter a good girl she is, 
 too, I reckon has been winding close round his tenderness, and 
 bringing a heap of trouble on the old man's mind. That's just what 
 he never could stand up under. Fight him buck against him, and 
 he's all iron and steel-pointed, come under, and cotton to him, and 
 you've got him got him, dead as a fish." 
 
 "Why is ic that a letter written so long ago should just now affect 
 him so keenly?" 
 
 "Why he never got the letter, I think, till he came here to me, 
 about three months ago. That same letter, if I ain't mistaken, has 
 been in my trunk since it was sent to my care, while he was away in 
 South America working for Harry Meiggs, and the devil only knows 
 who else." 
 
 "Did he not tell you of it after you had given it to him?" 
 
 "No, sir; that's not his gait. I gave him a whole lot of letters 
 when he first come, and he went away, I reckon to read them. 
 Then in about an hour he came back, looking as solemn as an owl, 
 and says, 'Alec, have you any money?' I said I had. 'How much?' 
 says he. 'Well,' says I, 'a few hundred.' 'Then,' says he, 'for 
 Jesus Christ's sake, lend me two or three hundred dollars, if you can 
 spare it !' I gave him the money in a minute, and he never said a 
 word to me what the matter was with him. But I know now that 
 letter tells the tale." 
 
 "-Queer idea in him to show it to me, was it not?" 
 
52 QUARTZ. 
 
 i 
 
 "Well, now, do you know, I think he's been trying to get that 
 out of himself , for my information, for two days; and after he sat 
 down there alongside of you it just popped into his boozy old head 
 that he could get the yarn off through you." 
 
 "What is his business miner?" 
 
 "Miner ! not much. He's the best general mechanic that ever 
 gripped a hammer. There is nothing in machinery that he don't 
 know or can't do. Did you ever notice his big, square head, and 
 the heavy bumps right over his great wide eyebrows ? If I knew as 
 much as there is behind them bumps, I'd shut up this gin-mill so 
 quick people would think there was a funeral on hand . He's a 
 poor talker with his mouth don't run much to jawbone; but he can 
 make wood and metal say his say, like a poet and a philosopher. 
 Humph ! no wonder his girl can get away with all the points on 
 a sewing machine." 
 
 "He seems to be a man of big feelings and a bitter sense of 
 wrong. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sir. Inside of him he's the biggest- feeling man you ever 
 eaw. It cuts him to the raw to have a man deceive him, and it cuts 
 him deeper to have any one suspect him of trying to go back on any- 
 thing; and when you cut him lift don't heal up by licking his wounds 
 with his tongue. He can't talk away his trouble, as some can." 
 
 "I have noticed the same trait in other mechanics, particularly 
 those who have to do with steam-boilers. Steam is an exacting 
 master, who will^not be put off with a lick and a promise. Such 
 work must be honestly done, in the smallest details, or the results 
 are disasters which ought to be called crimes." 
 
 "Well, that's Dan! Anything that's not done to a hair correct 
 worries him like a ghost; but when he puts his finish on a matter, 
 and gays 'that's all right/ then it's off his mind. What's worrying 
 him now is that girl, after he'd fixed for her, being thrown out by 
 the war." 
 
 "Ah! he has found out that when a government gets into trouble, 
 even private affairs will not stay fixed." 
 
 "I suppose so," said Crowder, whose instincts as a publican 
 prompted him to avoid drifting into matters political. 
 
CHAPTER FOUR. 
 
 STRICKEN. 
 
 Daniel Calvert hottest old Dan is dead. Urowder still dishes 
 tip the drinks for the convivial parties who come and go in front of 
 him; but the effort he puts up lo wear a smiling face only make us, 
 who know of the shrouded sorrow that lies prostrata across th e 
 threshold of his heart, all the more sensitive to his bereavement. 
 
 We are a rude set of fellows little schooled in the pretty ce.mbin- 
 ations of crape, and rose-wood grief and we don't know how to speak 
 glibly the sadly-rounded sentences of symbolic sorrow for our depart- 
 ed brother whom "It has pleased an all-wise God to take from our 
 midst; 3 ' but if you think we do not sympathize with Crowder, for 
 he was Crowder's pard, you ought to have been present when Dan 
 died, and when, without preacher or prayer-book, we buried him 
 we, a little squad of men only on a lonely knoll among the sage- 
 brush at noon-tide, when the sun was painting shadows of the trees 
 upon the crags. 
 
 You see, the way of it was, something got the matter with 
 the patent pump on the big mine of the Silver Cup Com- 
 pany, and they sent for Dan to come there and see- if be couldn't 
 find what ailed it and fix it. So Dan went out, and the next thing 
 we heard was that he was fatally hurt. Crowder got one of the boys 
 to look after the saloon, and taking Dr. Duugleson and myself with 
 him, hurried to Dan's bedside. 
 
 On our arrival in the wild little camp up among the rocks and 
 crags of a steep canyon, we found a few log and rough stone cabins 
 clustering around the boarded-up frame of the hoisting-works and the 
 company boarding-house; and in one of these little log cabins, with a 
 mud roof and a dirt floor, lay old Dan, mashed up but still alive, 
 upon a bunk made of peeled cedar-poles, 
 
 He had his senses; and when he saw Crowder before him, his eyes 
 locked the welcome which his paralyzed hands Gould not extend, and 
 the tears came big and fast down upon the coarse pillow. 
 
 Strange, strong men were there, going in and out, and the big nails 
 
54 QUARTZ. 
 
 in their heavy boots made queer pictures in the dust of the dirt-floor; 
 but there was no noise, no useless fussy moving about only quiet, 
 patient attention. They had kept constant guard over him for two 
 nights, with that aching suspense that waits, not knowing what better 
 to do, and watches wounded life, and listens for the Doctor's wheels 
 among the echoing aisles of mountain crags. 
 
 As the Doctor went forward and bent over Dan's prostrate body, 
 the men formed unconsciously a new circle behind him their beads 
 only a few inches from the low roof and looked and listened, each 
 chest heaving with silent, suppressed breathing, until the Doctor said; 
 
 "There is not enough air in this place/' 
 
 Then, instantly and quietly, each man left the little room to stand 
 outside and whisper, or gaze reflectively down the bank upon the 
 willows in the canyon, until the Doctor came out. No one asked any 
 questions, but, as the Doctor looked in the face of each and then 
 shook his bead in the face of all, they knew for certain that which 
 they nearly knew before. Crowder did not come out; but I, as in 
 some degrees his backer in this case, went immediately in and found 
 Dan's old pard sitting by his bedside, upon one of those clumsy wood- 
 en stools so common in mining camps. We were silent for some 
 moments, when Dan, poor fellow, as stoutly and cheerily as he could, 
 lid, 
 
 "Boys, my driving power is a total wreck. I'll never get up steam 
 again." 
 
 Nobody responded. Nobody knew any true word suitable for re- 
 sponse, and death will not accept a flattery. 
 
 f 'Crowder, old pard, you needn't introduce me to this gentleman. 
 I couldn't offer him my hand, but I know him I saw him once be- 
 fore and I'm glad to see him again; but if he'll excuse me a little 
 while, I've something to say to you." 
 
 * 'Certainly, certainly, Mr. Calvert ! I'm glad to see you again that 
 is, I would be glad if I wasn't so sorry," said I in a confused way, as 
 I left the cabin ; while Dan replied : 
 
 "Thank you, sir. It's a mixed case." 
 
 I don't yet know what took place between Dan and his old pard. 
 Perhaps I never will know. But I left them there, and after stand- 
 ing outside among the boys for awhile, talking about how the staging 
 or scaffolding gave way and dropped Dan to the bottom of the 
 
QUABTZ, 55 
 
 shaft, I said, through the doorway, to Crowder, that I would be 
 back presently, and went by their invitation up to the mine, to be 
 showed how it all happened, and to be told that no one would have 
 supposed that such a thing could happen so singularly surprising 
 is often the last summons, and yet that it did happen. 
 
 After it had all been explained to me, I met the Doctor at the 
 mouth of the mine, and asked, as much for the relief there is in say- 
 ing something, as for any other purpose. 
 
 "Doctor, is there the least show for your patient?" 
 "Not the slightest, sir. He may linger till morning. Let me see" 
 and taking out his watch, he added, "it is now twenty minutes 
 past four he may linger till morning. The reaction has set in, but 
 there is nothing to react on. His light will soon burn out. But he 
 may linger till morning linger, linger till morning, sir." 
 
 And the doctor walked away, kicking the broken particles of rock 
 in front of him, as studious men sometimes do when they have run 
 against a disagreeable moral certainty. 
 
 I went down the trail repeating to myself, "linger till morning, sir 
 linger till morning" and sat down on the rough wash-bench which 
 is found always outside a miner's cabin, beside the door. I could 
 hear the low mutter of indistinguishable words from within, as I sat 
 gazing upon the ragged, gnarled, and cheerless mahogany trees that 
 maintained an arid foothold in the jagged seams of the opposite side 
 of the canyon, while the white wandering fleece-clouds came and 
 went across the dry blue opening of the sky, between the mountains, 
 overhead; but there still kept throbbing in my mind the dull, sad 
 chorus of death "linger till morning, sir, linger till morning." 
 
 At length Crowder came to me where I sat by the door, and said, 
 in a low voice and subdued manner: 
 
 "Go in and stay with him; he won't last long. Beginning to 
 wander in his mind. I must go up to the mine and see the superin- 
 tendent." 
 
 "Certainly," I replied, and stepped inside the cabin. Dan, being 
 so crushed by his fall that he could move neither hand nor foot, made 
 no demonstration further than to show by his expressive face that he 
 recognized me. I sat beside him on the stool and gave him such at- 
 tention as his sad case would permit. Presently he said: 
 
 "That time I was tight in the saloon you remember you read a 
 
56 QUARTZ. 
 
 letter for me. I have not tasted a drop since; I was getting along 
 first rate. I've had two letters from my little girl since." 
 
 There he paused a long pause and, not having the use of his hands, 
 I had cause to assist him with a handkerchief about his eyes. 
 
 "I had hopes of going to see her this coming winter, but but " 
 
 He paused again; I laid my hand upon his forehead, and found it 
 hot and throbbing. Talking more to himself than to me he continued: 
 
 "Poor girl ! poor girl ! no, not little now. That's good that's 
 good not little. A woman my daughter; my daughter a woman. 
 Good woman, too; writes like a good woman no humbug no frills 
 head level. Give me some water, Cally. Throat dry and hot 
 as Death Valley. Yes, yes, Death Valley but I didn't mean that, 
 Cally. No, no. If I'm going of course I'm going I'll not whine. 
 I'm ready, ready, don't cry, Cally no use. Got to be, you know 
 got to be ." 
 
 Then he remained silent again, but soon resumed in a wilder key: 
 
 "Hot! Johnson, there'll bean earthquake. Everything is hot 
 and close and still be an earthquake, sure. Look out ! There she 
 goes! Didn't I tell you! We'd better get out of this this shop 
 will comtt down. All right, Johnson, old boy; we're a heap better 
 out of that. Here she goes again ! That was a bumper ! Look I 
 look, the Spanish running into that stone cathedral ! Why, d n 
 'em, that's no place in an earthquake; it'll come down, sure ! Now 
 she goes again whoop ! it makes me sweat like a horse. How do 
 you stand it, old boy?" 
 
 Evidently he was away in South America, going again through 
 scenes of terror with that queer compound of courage and curious ob- 
 servation go common to our countrymen . After another pause the 
 scene changed with him. 
 
 "Johnson, there's a storm upon us a terrible storm. Let's put 
 the blankets over the hut and fasten them down, for it's coming 
 coming fast. Hark ! don't you hear the thunder over the tree-tops? 
 It's going to be a hell of a night. If we're alive in the morning we'll 
 bid New Granada good-bye. Now she comes ! Don't you hear that 
 panther howl ? Listen ! yell, old fellow, you'll get a drenching . 
 Whew ! how it pours ! Tie the blanket down, Johnson let's keep 
 dry if we can it'll be cold here before morning getting cold now." 
 
 Thus he continued from scene to scene of his varied life, until 
 
QUARTZ. 57 
 
 Crowder came and desired me to go to supper. Leaving Dan still 
 muttering, but weaker and weaker each moment, I went; and when I 
 returned again he was silent not dead, but collapsed and surely dy- 
 ing. 
 
 The boys of the day shift, being off work, came and went; and, 
 among the rest, Dan's spirit went but came not, for before midnight 
 he was cold and dead. 
 
 The saw and plane and hammer of the carpenter of the mine 
 gnawed, squeaked and rang bueily for hours in the night; then all 
 was still as the man who lay roughly clad in the new-made coffin, 
 gave the regularly recurrent spells of coughing of the engine, as with 
 a rapid che-ch-ch-ch she raised the car of rock from the depths be- 
 low. 
 
 A short sleep for all except the watchers by the narrow-box, and 
 morning dawned bright, clear, warm, and dry. Quietly and stead- 
 ily we arranged for the funeral, without ceremony or officious man- 
 nerism. Not a hammer clinked upon the head of any drill not an 
 explosion of blasting powder to reverberate into a roar amidst the 
 naked, rocky peaks all silent or that silence disturbed only by the 
 low, slow throb of the pumping engine of the mine. 
 
 When the sun was up full and round, we brought forth the un- 
 painted, unvarnished, undraped, and unplated, heavy box, and by 
 the aid of a hundred willing and able hands, passed it down the nar- 
 row trail over the rocks to the wag on -road, that winds with the fee- 
 ble stream of willow -fringed water out of the canon, into the dry 
 waste of the valley below. 
 
 Voluntarily, without command, we moved onward and downward; 
 not toward the grave-jard, but toward the grave, wherever that 
 might be, among the sage-brush of the foot-hill, where never before 
 had a grave been made. Six at a time, strong men relieved each 
 other for a distance of two mile?, and the regular tread of iron-shod 
 heels crunched, crunched the gravel underfoot the only music of 
 the march. Then we rested a moment to drink where the road 
 leave? the stream as it winds directly out upon the hills. 
 
 Heretofore this had been a cheerless, sombre funeral; no hit of 
 color brighter than black, brown, and gray; no gaudy female head- 
 gear; no glitter of coach- varnish; nothing but the subdued (strength 
 of brawny men, clad in the useful colors of respectable labor, march- 
 
58 QUARTZ. % 
 
 ing silently between the everlasting rocky walls of the canon, to the 
 echo of their own firm feet and the tinkling treble of the stream. 
 But now, as we took up the load to move forward for another and last 
 mile, the six Cornish miners who carried the corpse were accompan- 
 ied by a seventh with a book in his hand; this seventh, placing him- 
 self in front of the coffin as we started, opened his book as he walked, 
 and read aloud two lines of the burial hymn of his home people. 
 Reading these lines aloft with a clear, ringing voice, he chanted as 
 he marched, and was joined in the chant by as many of his country- 
 men as were in the procession. Thus reading and singing, we marched 
 our way slowly out of the canon, leaving the echoes flying and dy- 
 ing behind us. 
 
 Arrived at the grave the grave alone in the desert (and many, 
 in many deserts, such there are) we found the native Indians, drawn 
 by emotionless curiosity, gathered in a picturesque and tattered group 
 of men, women, children, ponies and dogs, at a short distance from 
 the two miners who awaited our coming, leaning on their shovels by 
 the fresh -turned earth. 
 
 Slowly and steadily we lowered the coffin and settled it firmly in 
 its place; and there being no ministers, no ceremony, no near rela- 
 tions to cast the last tearful look into the open earth, the shovels were 
 grasped by skillful hands and in the briefest space the final work 
 would have been over, had not one of our number, doffing his hat, 
 said "Gentlemen." 
 
 Instantly the shovels stopped in the gravel, and all heads were 
 bared to the sun and sky. 
 
 "Gentlemen: In the absence of all customary funeral services, it 
 may not be amiss in this case if I say a few words words not of 
 balm to wounded hearts words not of religious comfort; but words 
 to indicate that however far we may be from the cradles of civiliza- 
 tion, we still bear in our hearts the elements of that civilization which 
 distinguishes our people from the wild man who now holds us under 
 the observation of his untutored eye. 
 
 "There is another land, known to some of us, which, though 
 kindred to this? where we now stand and shadowed by the same bright 
 flag, is not, as this is, a waste of wilderness. In that land, where 
 the great forests of many trees and the wide prairies of gras* and 
 flowers are nourished by generous and mighty rivers, this our 
 
QtARTZ. 59 
 
 dead, now in the open grave was born; and there he learned, at his 
 mother's knee, not only the common prayers, too easily forgotten, but 
 the humanity and kindliness of man to man, which endures through 
 life, and is best represented in sickness, death and burial. 
 
 <! It is well for us, in scene? like this, to remember what we have 
 been, to consider what we are, and to see what we must be; and, from 
 these facts, to be advised that life is not all a battle-field where man 
 goes armed against his fellow, but that it is and ought to be, a season 
 of peaceful industry crowned with a degree of mental trustfulness . 
 Here is the place or one place at least to call to mind that we are 
 dependant upon each other; that the life of each man is some support 
 to the life of all men. Here is the place to learn that if we are not 
 our 'brother's keeper/ we are at least his pallbearers no less than he 
 is ours. 'We are responsible each for the final repose of the other. 
 
 "Who, my friends, looking now into the grave and thinking of 
 home aye, home to us more dear when distance heares its moun- 
 tain-breast to shut the picture out who, I say, looking into this open 
 grave, thinking of home, of childhood, of mother, can go away to 
 belt upon his hip and nurse in his heart those designs upon human 
 life which are too common too frequent in our days and nights 1 
 Let us strive here to take a lesson against anger, illwill, and violence ! 
 Let us cultivate peace ! Let us foster contentment ! Let us bear 
 with the hasty spirit of others, to the end that we may ask forbear 
 
 ance 
 
 Gentlemen, here we must leave the dead, as, erelong, the living 
 will leave us. Let us now do so, with admiration for his courage 
 and ability as a true soldier in the army of intelligent industry with 
 a regret and pardon for his errors a tear for his fate, and a new re- 
 solve, born of this tenderness, to stand by each other in all good and 
 peaceful endeavors. 
 
 "Now, to the unknown and undiscoverable designs of the All- 
 keeper of the universe, who has written around us in mountain-lines 
 the evidence of his exaltation above the reach of our most majestic 
 thought, we leave, with the simplicity of childhood, the future of 
 this mystery we call the dead !" 
 
 At the last word the speaker replaced his hat, and simultaneously 
 all hats were replaced; and then, by those long used to handle earth, 
 the grave was quickly filled. Crowder drove down 'at the head of 
 
60 QTJABTZ. 
 
 the new aud narrow mound the plain board with its rude black paint 
 markings 
 
 DANIEL CALVERT. 
 
 BORN 
 
 In Alexandria, Virginia, 
 
 June, 1826. 
 Age, 47 years . 
 
 With the shovels, picks and ropes distributed among us, we wend- 
 ed our way in orderly disorder, with the noon-day sun high above 
 us, back to the mine, where the scream of the engine soon summon- 
 ed the appointed laborers to their task; for the link lost out of _the 
 chain of industry is ever replaced by a new one from the shop of 
 busy, effort-fostering nature. 
 
 Crowder and I the Doctor having returned at once left the 
 camp and rode far into the night to reach home. On the way, as we 
 rode along, Crowder requested me to ask some friend of mine to 
 assist him and myself to look over Dan's papers, fix up his business 
 and communicate the sad facts to the daughter; because, he said, he 
 was not used to writing long letters, and would not spell just proper, 
 always. Bidding Crowder a mid-night farewell, I went home to bed 
 full of reflections upon the matter of man's wanderings, both bodily 
 aud mental. I wondered much what the pious people in the older 
 States would think about on the morrow (Sunday) while they con- 
 gregated in the soft light, among the easy seats of highly-finished 
 churches, to listen to a sweetly toned and well-rounded rhapsody 
 upon the redemption of the world by preaching the Word. I said to 
 myself," Alas, these very respectable, pious, Sunday people have no 
 notion of the grandeur of their own vast country; no notion that 
 their piety is a mere beautiful rainbow-hued bubble, floating upon 
 the surface of the heaving, earnest active depths of life that bears it 
 up, and make its beauty possible. 
 
 While they listen in their painted play house, to the artificial gra- 
 ces of vocal and instrumental music, dashed with studied, eloquent, 
 displays, the great harp of the west wind playing over thousands of 
 
QUABTZ. 
 
 61 
 
 lonely and manly graves, sings through the aisles of the many moun- 
 tains the true, unpainted glory and goodness of the unexplained and 
 unpreachable All-keeper. 
 
 <S^fS% 
 
MEA CULPA, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Pass the coffin varnish this way, Lieutenant Miles O'Riely, and 
 then spread the cootents of the swill-tub you raided to-day. " 
 
 "Coffin varnish, indade ? I'd have you to understand, Major Kin- 
 took, that it was meself that paid fifty cints, this very day, for that 
 illigant bottle o' spirits. And ye ought to have seen me a-beggin' 
 the widda, up at the big house beyant, for these four bits ! I tould 
 her I had a big family of six to support and the divil a lie was it 
 aither, for there ain't one of yees can beg worth a cint and we 
 hadn't a mouthful for three days. She shelled out as illigant a lot of 
 grub as iver a gintleman thramp flopped his lip over, and there it is 
 jist wrapped up in my ould coat anent ye. Och, Major darling, ye 
 never had a better male in ould Kentooky than I'll sphread before ye 
 in a minute. When I seed she was affected loik, and had swallowed 
 me whole batch of lies, I tole her, God bless her, that I wanted jist 
 four bits to buy some medicine for me poor sick baby. She shelled it 
 out so aisy loik that I wished I had made it a dollar ! Begorry, I 
 ain't no lieutenant, me name is not Miles, neither is it O'Beily, I 
 haven't raided no swill-tub to day, nor have I the'contenta of a swill- 
 tub in me ould coat. So, old fel, subject as ye are to mistakes, ye 
 niver made more of them in one shovt sintence. Coffin varnish, iu- 
 dade ! But, I say, Major darlint, it will be precious little varnish 
 that the country that has the honor of burying ye will put on your 
 coffin ! So if it is varnish ye loik, ye bad better give that beautiful 
 nose of yourn another coat ! Begorry, Major, it's as beautiful a nose 
 as I iver " 
 
 "Oh, shut up that fly-trap. Pass the appetizer and spread the 
 banquet. Does that suit your humor any better ?" 
 
 "Considerin' the hard work I've had, and the imminent success 
 that attended me efforts, couldn't ye as well say plase ?" 
 
 "Please." 
 
 "Loik a gintleman." 
 
 Six men were lounging around a camp tire under a growth of wild 
 
MEA CULPA. 63 
 
 grape-vines which covered a thicket of young oaks, so denpe as to 
 shut out almost entirely the rays of the sun, as well as all sign of the 
 bleak north wind that was sweeping down the Sacramento valley. 
 The public road at this point was about one hundred yards from the 
 river, and the thicket extended from one to the other. The camp 
 was about midway between the two. It had for some time been a re- 
 eort for gypsies and those * 'gentlemen" who make a great show of 
 hunting work while hoping never to find it. The fall had been a very 
 dry one, so that even at the approach of winter there was no difficul- 
 ty in camping out in such a protected spot. These six men were all 
 poorly dressed. Some were positively ragged, while others wore 
 clothes that had evidently been made for some other person. They 
 were "tramps," but a close observer would not have taken either one 
 of them for a thief or a bad man. The one addressed as "Major" in 
 the above conversation, and with whom we shall have more concern 
 than with the others, was six feet and an inch tall, broad shoulders, 
 well made in every particular, and weighed about two hundred 
 pounds. One could easily see even beneath his uncombed hair and 
 heavy beard, that hung in tangled masses nearly half way to his waist 
 that he had been a strikingly handsome man. 
 
 The luncheon spread out by the individual addressed as Miles 
 O'Riely and we may as well call him Miles, for his real name at this 
 time is of no importance to our narrative while is was composed 
 more or less of the scraps from the table, was substantial, and might 
 have tempted the appetite of those far above the professional tramp. 
 
 "Now, be me sowl, this is what I call entirely illegant. There is 
 that home-spun light bread ! I bet a pipe o'tobacca the widda made it 
 with her own swate hands. And that slice o' cowld corn beef! And 
 ham! Ocb, Major, and if this be the schrapes wouldn't ye loik to be 
 a rigular boarder at the table ? Did ye ever see the widda, Major ?* 
 
 "I never did, and I think it is hardly worth while for me to call 
 on her, as you seem to be completely taken up with her, and I should 
 stand no chance against one so eloquent as yourself." 
 
 "Chance, is it? Listen, by s, to the loiks o' that? A thramp 
 talking about chance! But I tell ye, by s, I believe the Major did 
 make an impreshun. To-day while I was a stuffin the widda wid 
 me lois, who should walk by the house, big as life, but our Major. 
 
64 MEA CULPA. 
 
 He stopped for a minit until I could show him my purty countenance, 
 so he could know the claim was being worked . The widda she 
 looked at this thramp through the window, and turned a little red 
 in the face, and ses she to me, "Do you know that man ? Consid- 
 in' I had the precedent of St. Peter before my eyes in denying his 
 master, I sed, 'No, mum, but I suppose he is some drunken thramp.' " 
 
 "Then," interrupted the Major, "you improve somewhat on St. 
 Peter." 
 
 "Of course; isn't this the age of improvement ? As the chap wid 
 the puddin' head said at the Dimocratic spaking, Ain't this the 
 nineteenth cintury ? But, Major, can ye improve on that other 
 character ?" 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the appearance on the scene 
 
 of another per;?onag. 
 
 "Good evening/' said the Major ; "won't you have a seat ?" 
 "No, thank you; I left my team standing in the road, but I 
 
 wanted to hire a man, and hearing you folks in here, I concluded to 
 
 see if I could get one of you to work for me." 
 
 There was a silence of half a minute, when one of the men asked : 
 "What do you pay?" 
 
 "Well, considering there is not much doing, now, I think about 
 twenty-five dollars a mouth is about all I can afford." 
 
 "What do you expect a man to do?" asked another. 
 
 "Drive team, milk the cows, plow, harrow or in short, farm 
 work generally." 
 
 A derisive chuckle went round the camp. "All that," exclaimed 
 one, "for twenty-five dollars ?" 
 
 "And I guess a fellow would have to eat in the kitchen at that!" 
 put in another. 
 
 "And sleep in the stable!" said another. 
 
 "I guess," said the Major, "you have come to the wrong place to 
 find the man you want." 
 
 "It seems so; but I tell you what it is, such men as you are forcing 
 us rancbers to hire Chinamen," and the rancher walked off in NO 
 amiable frame of mind. 
 
 "There is that everlasting Chinaman again," said one of the men. 
 e< Whenever a decent man refuses to take beggarly wages, he has a 
 
MEA CULPA. 65 
 
 Chinaman thrust in his teeth. The cussed ranchers ain't wiling to 
 give a white man a chance." 
 
 "That's what's the matter with this country. If it wasn't for the 
 hellish Chinamen this State would be prosperous like the Eastern 
 States, and " 
 
 "With wages at twelve dollars a month," interrupted the Major. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?'' exclaimed several in a voice. 
 "Why didn't you take his beggarly twenty-five dollars, and take care 
 of his horses, and inilk his cows, and plow and harrow, and sleep in 
 hi* barn, and eat in his kitchen with his Chinamen ?" 
 
 "I didn't do it because I am a tramp; because I am a vagabond on 
 the face of the earth; because I long ago lost my grip /" 
 
 Here the Major took another long pull at the four-bit bottle of 
 "illegant spirits," and continued: "There was a time when I would 
 have taken that man's offer, and I would have made myself indispen- 
 sable to him; I would have saved my money and become independent. 
 But we who have grasped for better things, and waiting for somebody 
 to 'give us a chance/ as my friend just said, to make something 
 without the slow process of earning it, cannot bring ourselves to accept 
 decent wages, and do honest work." 
 
 "Hoorah! That's better than a Dimocratic speech," exclaimed 
 Miles: "let's run the Major for Governor!" 
 
 "Each one of you," continued the Major, "has a history. Yo 
 dreams of the land of gold have failed to be realized. You are n 
 satisfied to take the world as it is, and hence you have become 
 
 "Tramps and vagabonds," exclaimed Miles. 
 
 "I did not intend to say that; but let it go. I will submit the 
 question to the candor of each one of you, and ask if disappoint- 
 ment has not made you what each one of us is to-day a wreck of 
 human society, a drone in the busy hive, a consumer of garbage, a 
 wearer of cast-off clothes, a guzzler of rot-gut, a " 
 
 "Say, Major, darlint, there is a wee bit left; won't ye be after 
 agiving your stomach another coat of that same 'coffin varnish?' It'll 
 loosen up your tongue loik, so you can spake them hard words 
 berther." 
 
 The Major held out his hand, grasped the officers bottle, took a 
 long pull at its contents, and continued: " a disgrace to the mother 
 
66 MEA CULPA. 
 
 who bore him, a walking reproach to the God who made man in His 
 own image." 
 
 During the conclusion of the sentence the Major held the bottle 
 firmly by the neck, and as he finished speaking, as if to drown the 
 recollections that secerned to be crowding upon bis memory, he 
 drained it to the bottom, and then threw the empty bottle into the 
 bush. "Go!" he exclaimed; "Go! Yon are as valueless as a man 
 with the spirits all out of him!" 
 
 "But, be gory, it's noaisy job to fill it wid spirits again!" 
 
 "It takes money to fill the bottle, and money will put spirits into 
 the worn-out bulk of a man," grumbled one of the others. 
 
 "But there is a command," suggested Miles, "agin puttin' new 
 wine into old bottles. And I am afraid the spirits of prosperity would 
 burst such an ould leathern canteen as yourself, Jimmy Piske! Yees 
 couldn't stand the pressure !" 
 
 "There is too much truth in that remark," said the Major. "It 
 would be bard to find a man who had lost his grip on life entirely 
 who could stand prosperity. I imagine one would be constantly 
 pinching himself to see if he was not dreaming. He would always 
 be timid, halting and cowardly. That is, unless he was by nature 
 endowed with an extraordinary amount of good sense." 
 
 "Good since, Major; good since! Do you think a man of good 
 since would even be such a thramp as all of yees are, barrin and ex- 
 cepting myself of course ?" 
 
 "That may be s debatable question, but I am inclined to take the 
 affirmative." 
 
 "Be me sowl, I'd take tfie other eide; but see the jury we'd have 
 to leave it to ?" 
 
 "I have seen men whom the world said were talented, so overcome 
 by a single reverse of fortune as to commit suicide. I have seen 
 others recover from shock after shock until their money was all gone, 
 and they were left dismantled hulks on the sea of life, carried hither 
 and thither by the varying winds and changing tides. Men of the 
 finest talent have become inmates of the lunatic asylum. Of course, 
 if a man could always maintain his mental equilibrium he would 
 never lose his grip his energy would never lag; but that is impos- 
 sible. That one loses his equilibrium is no sign he never had it." 
 
 Here the man whom his companions had named Jim Fiske, because 
 
MEA CULPA. 
 
 67 
 
 he had at one time exhibited to their astonished gaze a twenty-dollar 
 gold piece, raised excitedly to his feet, gave the fire a vigorous kick 
 and said, vehemently: "Suppose an infamous crime had been com- 
 mitted and circumstances pointed to you as the perpetrator, and wove 
 around you a network of proof you dare not face; and then suppose 
 you should assume the guise of a tramp, in fact become one; who 
 would dare say you had not sense, to begin with ?" 
 
 "I should say," replied the Major coolly, "that such a one would 
 be a romantic sort of a tramp, and he might make his fortune by 
 relating his adventures in a dime novel. But Jim, did you ever see 
 such a tramp ?" 
 
 'Yes, I met such a one a few years ago. He is dead now, poor 
 fellow. I helped to bury him." And Jim stretched himself on his 
 blankets, which were half unrolled, filled his pipe with tobacco, took 
 a coal between his thumb and index finger, placed it in the bowl 
 of his pipe, and gave a vigorous pull at the stem . 
 
 "Now" said Miles, "for the story. We hain't had a dacent story 
 since we have been in this camp." 
 
 "Yes," said the Major; "the story. We have all had an 'illegant 
 male/ as Miles would say; the shadows of evening are creeping on 
 apace, and as we haven't said our evening prayers and are not ready 
 to be tucked in our little beds, we will while away the time listening 
 to the 'Story of an Unfortunate Tramp.' I suppose from the prologue 
 that would be a good name to give it." 
 
 "It is not a long story, gentlemen, and, as I have never attempt- 
 ed to write a dime novel, you will excuse me if I fail to interest you 
 for any great length of time. In fact my friend did not know the 
 whole story, and became a tramp, and died because he did not." 
 
 S->nie years ago this friend of mine never mind his name was a 
 bright, intellectual young man, who had just reached his majority. 
 Buoyant with energy, health and a firm self-reliance, it seemed to 
 him and his friends that life must be a success. But never mind sen- 
 timent; a tramp's camp is not exactly the place for that, anyhow. 
 He left Lake City, Nevada county, one autumn afternoon, on foot 
 for Nevada. It was after the first rains, and the roads were a little 
 muddy and the streams somewhat swollen. Near the top of the hill f 
 
68 
 
 >1EA CULPA. 
 
 just before he began to descend to the South Yuba, a deer ran across 
 the road. He took out his revolver and fired at it, but it bounded 
 on. He walked on down the grade, building many a castle in the 
 air, until within less than a quarter of a mile of the river he suddenly 
 came across a man lying in the road, dead. He took hold of him, 
 and found that while there was no pulse, the body was still warm. 
 If you ever traveled on that road you will remember that there is a 
 water trough in a little ravine that crosses the road about a quarter 
 of a mile from the river. It was not over fifty miles from this that 
 the man lay. My friend went back to get a cup of water. He took 
 the man's head in bis lap and bathed his temples, but no sign of life 
 appeared. In doing this his pistol fell from his belt and dropped into 
 a pool of blood, and his clothes became more or less bloody. He 
 started on, inter ding to give the alarm at the bridge. He had not 
 gone far when he heard the voices of men coming up the hill. For 
 the first time he became frightened. His clothes were bloody, and 
 he would be found alone with the murdered man. "Those men have 
 not seen me," he said to himself, "and I will dodge out of the road and 
 avoid observation." 
 
 He had not a momei t for reflection, but climbed out of the road 
 on the upper side, and from behind a clump of bushes saw four men 
 pass by, and then come to a halt at the dead man. They examined 
 him critically. Then one of them eaid: 
 
 "We can do this man no good: besides this knock on the head, 
 the ball has evidently pierced his heart. Let us capture the mur- 
 derer. As we came up the hill I got a glimpse of a man leaving the 
 road." 
 
 My friend did not hear this then, but he heard it afterwards. They 
 were all armed, and two of them carried Henry rifles. While he was 
 debating with himself the propriety of going down and making an 
 explanation, he saw the men preparing to move towards him. Two of 
 them tied their horses and started up the bank on foot, while the 
 other two rode down the hill where they could get out of the road on 
 horseback. 
 
 My friend then thought there was nothing else to do but keep out 
 of the way, and he fled. For nearly half an hour he eluded their 
 vigilance, but at last one of them got sight of him, and then a ball 
 from a Henry rifle came whizzing past him; but he sped on down, 
 
MEA CULPA. 69 
 
 down the hill, toward the canyon below the crossing. Another ball 
 struck the calf of his leg and crippled him, He was then captured, 
 put upon one of the hordes and carried back toward the scene of the 
 murder. When they arrived there the body was gone. 
 
 "This fellow was not alone in the murder," said one. "He has 
 had some accomplice who has boldly carried the body to prevent iden- 
 tification and an inquest." 
 
 They found where a man had gone down the grade towards the 
 river, and one of them remarked that, heavy as the dead man was, 
 he had been carried off by a single man, as but one track could be 
 found. 
 
 "It is hardly possible." said one, "that a man could carry such a 
 weight all the way to the river, and we shall find where he has laid 
 the corpse down to rest." 
 
 As the road and river are nearly parallel at this point, it was not 
 over a couple of hundred yards from the road to the river. It was 
 now getting late, and twilight was coming on, but the men were re- 
 warded by finding a pool of blood on the ground, and from there 
 down the steep incline to the river they found where the body had 
 been dragged and thrown over a perpendicular bank, some fifty feet 
 high, into the rapid current below. 
 
 The lateness of the hour compelled them to give up any furthe r 
 search for what they supposed to be an accomplice of my friend, and 
 they carried him over to Nevada and lodged him in jail. At the ex- 
 amination before a Justice it was shown that some men working 
 near by heard one shot at the spot of the murder; one chamber of my 
 friend's pistol had been recently discharged. The dead man had a 
 mark on his head apparently made with the butt of a pistol; the butt 
 ot my friend's pistol was covered with blood. All four men identified 
 the body as that of well, no matter about the name who had left 
 the bridge a short time before with several hundred dollars in his 
 pocket. 
 
 My friend told his story; but no one except his mother believed 
 it, and he was committed without bonds. As the Justice announced 
 his judgment, my friend's mother gare one piercing shriek and fell, 
 dead. It was a broken blood-vessel, or heart disease or something 
 of the kind; but ehe was dead, and the prisoner was hurried to jail, 
 
70 
 
 MEA CtLPA. 
 
 and not allowed to attend his mother's funeral. She was a widow; 
 he her only son. 
 
 He languished in jail a couple of months awaiting the assembling 
 of the grand jury, but found a chance to break jail. He skedaddled, 
 and wandered around the country in disguise. The family of the 
 dead man was rich and offered a large reward. I could have gotten 
 it if I had peached on my friend, even when he was dying. 
 
 During the recital of the story, the Major had been much affected, 
 and during the latter part of it Fiske had noticed it. When he had 
 ceased speaking, the Major sprang to his feet, strode up to Fiske and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "Are you sure that Allen Campbell is dead? By the eternal, come 
 what may, justice shall be done." 
 
 "You are one of those sneaking, mercenary sharks in disguise, 
 hunting for a reward, are you ? But you can take that !" 
 
 The report of a pistol rang out on the evening air, the Major 
 staggered and fell, and Jim Fiske left the camp in the direction of 
 the river. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 In an elegantly furnished bed chamber a lady is sitting alone in 
 front of a grate, in which is burning a bright wood fire; the thumb 
 and forefinger of the right hand press either temple; a solitaire dia- 
 mond ring, held on the middle finger by a simple band of gold, re- 
 flects the light of the fire and adds brilliancy to the scene . Her left 
 hand lies^ in her lap clasping a roll of manuscript, which is more or 
 less soiled. The lady is dressed in plain black, and the rings we 
 have mentioned are the only ornaments worn. The rain is falling in 
 torrents, and a stormy south wind is driving it hard against the win- 
 dow near her right side; but she hears it not, neither does she hear or 
 see the servant when she enters and places a lighted lamp on the ta- 
 ble on which her right elbow rests. The clock on the mantle strikes 
 five; the pendulum swings back and forth, marking the flight of time 
 with a monotonous tick, and once more the clear tones of the little 
 bell announces that another hour has been added to the dead past. 
 This woman, almost as motionless as a statue, is thinking, thinking, 
 thinking. Several years of her life's history have passed in review, 
 in her mental vision; a question of some moment to her has been 
 debated, and, as the tone of the clock's stroke dies away, her fingers 
 nervously grasp the manuscript, and she eays audibly, "I will read/' 
 And she reads : 
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 Dead, yet living ! Dead to alia man may hold sacred on this earth; 
 dead to family, to friends; dead to ambition, dead to hopes. Living 
 for bitter memories, for an aimless purpose; living, in fact, because 
 God wills the intensity of the punishment and holds back the dagger 
 that might end it all in sweet oblivion. One may court death, aye, 
 long for it, yet tremble at the idea of self-murder. While one may 
 have forfeited every claim on God's goodness and mercy, and be void 
 of all hopes for the world to c )me, yet it seems an awful thing to go 
 before the great Judge with one's own blood on our hands. Oh, that 
 I could be certain that death was a blotting-out of one's life; that 
 that which we call the soul of man could end, like the body, at the 
 grave ! How many, many times have I been tempted to follow th 
 
72 MEA CULPA. 
 
 advice of Job's wife, curee God and die; but I am here, and I suppose 
 I must listlessly and aimlessly follow the thread to the end. 
 
 Why have I commenced to write ? What purpose can it serve ? 
 Would the pleasure or the pain predominate in writing down, just for 
 my own eye, some of the reminiscences of the past? Pleasure ! How 
 dare I talk of pleasure. That's a good joke. Pleasure! Dare I even 
 hope for pleasure? For ten long years I have throttled every offort 
 of memory to dwell on the past; but to-day, in the solitude of this 
 wilderness,! feel an ungovernable desire to call up visions of the past. 
 Yes, I will try the experiment. I will write me down something of 
 the pant and destroy the paper before the eye of man can see it. 
 Who knows? There may be a bonanza of pleasnre in it after all. 
 Let me see. Who am I? From \vhence came I? I remember 
 myself fir^t as an orphan boy working for $5 a month during the sum- 
 mer, and going to the old-field school during the winter. Tho ? e were 
 lonely days. In fact my life has been a desert, with not a single 
 bright oasis in aU its dreary length. As a boy, I was subjected con. 
 tinually to oppression and wrong. One year, when I was about 15, 
 I worked for Judge Underbill. The Sundays and holidays of the 
 autumn were spent gathering nuts, which I intended to sell during 
 the winter to increase my little stock, so I could afford a Sunday suit 
 of clothes. I was going to where I had them stored in an out-house, 
 one day, when I found the Judge's wife busy removing them to her 
 own store-room. I came by on tbe outside of the house in time to 
 hear her little daughter say, "Oh, mamma, those belong to John." 
 
 "Never mind," said the mother, "he is working for us and his 
 time is ours." 
 
 "But," persisted the little angel, "he gathered them on Sunday; 
 then his time was his own/' 
 
 Without noticing the last speech of the little one, the mother and 
 her elder daughter walked off loaded with my property. Tbe little 
 one God bless her ! God bless her ! tarried for a minute or so, and 
 sobbed as though her little heart would break, and then walked off 
 to another pirt of the elegant grounds, and began to play with the 
 Newfoundland dog. I never told that sweet little angel what I had 
 seen and heard, but it gave me something to live for. I worked hard; 
 I studied bard, and the day I was twenty-one I grasped my license 
 to practice law, signed by Judge Buckner, the closest examiner in 
 
MEA CULPA. 
 
 73 
 
 the State. For some reason I became popular. The year after I reached 
 my majority Judge Underbill was nominated for the Assembly by 
 the Democratic party. The county was Democratic. The Whig 
 convention was composed principally of young men, and they put me 
 on the ticket against the Judge. I began a canvass without any 
 hopes of an election. I made some happy speeches. The young 
 men of all parties began to flock around me. The old men of my 
 party saw a chance to get even on their ancient enemy, and the can- 
 vast? became intensely exciting. 
 
 All the years since I had worked for the Judge I had been thrown 
 more or less in companionship with his little daughter Inez I would 
 constantly hear those noble words, "Those belong to John," and see 
 the image of the little one weeping over my wrongs. I loved her as 
 a superior being. Aye, I worshiped her as never Indian devotee wor- 
 shiped his idol. I had never thought of making her my wife. In 
 fact, while she was growing up and budding out into womanhood, I 
 looked upon her still as my little angel. 
 
 One evening, when the canvass was beginning to get very warm, 
 I met Inez at a party. We danced together, and then somehow 
 found ourselves out on the veranda alone. 
 
 "Do you know, John," she said, as she hung confidently on my 
 arm, "that this political contest is very unfortunate. My father 
 thinks- that you are going to beat him, and he is furious. He looks 
 upon it as an indignity to put a mere boy against him and then defeat 
 him. I wish, John,, for my pake, you were out of it." 
 
 "I would die for your sake, Inez," I said vehemently. 
 
 "I know you would, John Henderson," she replied caressingly. 
 "There has not been a time since I was 12 years old you would not 
 have done that." 
 
 "And how did my idol know that I bad been worshiping it all these 
 years T 
 
 "Know it! You great, big, awkward booby! You did not think 
 I was blind, did you? Haven't I seen what was spurring you on to 
 such extraordinary exertion ? I have seen you look happy so often 
 when I have given you a word of encouragement or a smile of ap- 
 proval." 
 
 "And can it be possible, Inez Underbill," I said excitedly, with 
 
74 MEA CULPA. 
 
 my heart almost choking me, "that you love me, the orphan boy, 
 without fortune or family connection?" 
 
 " Why, of course I do. You did not expect I loved somebody's 
 fortune or family connection, did you? Oh, I have been awful 
 proud of my big, gawky, talented lover when I could see that he had 
 set me up as his queen, high above all the world. Don't you know 
 your first political speech, when you took the town by storm, was 
 made entirely to me ? You were not caring a fig what anybody else 
 thought of it. I knew by experience that I could bring you out by 
 looks of encouragement, and I took that particular seat I there occu- 
 pied to be able to do it. No man ever looked more searchingly back 
 under the shadows of a sun-bonnet for tokens of encouragement, and 
 as each smile of approval brought forth new bursts of eloquence from 
 the boy-speaker that shook the house from center to circumference 
 with applause, I concluded that no one ever got more encourage, 
 ment from under a bonnet! You have your idol, John Henderson, 
 as I have mine. People who bow to idols must expect to offer sacri- 
 fices . Let us see which will be the truest in his worship!" 
 
 <f Then the first sacrifice shall be mine. I will go out of this 
 canvass." 
 
 "I am not certain/' said my little idol, "that you can do so hon- 
 orably. As for the honor of being elected, you and I could forego 
 that; but we cannot afford to do anything not strictly in the line of 
 honorable dealings with man. I understand enough of politics to 
 know that you are leading your ticket, and that there are others who 
 expect you to pull them through." 
 
 "When I accepted the nomination I did not expect to stand a 
 ghost of a show of election, and never once dreamed of making 
 your father angry. 1 thought I would make a little canvass as an 
 advertisement for the little office across the way, that you must un- 
 derstand is not crowded as yet with wealthy clients." 
 
 "I know just how that all came about, and I was foolish enough 
 to become elated, too; but since matters have taken the turn they 
 have, I find it rather uncomfortable to have my idol dissected every 
 day by some member of my own family. It must all go straight 
 along now. Vex my father as little as possible, and we will have to 
 trust to luck and a little good management for the balance." 
 
 Conscious of the fact that we would be missed, we sauntered back 
 
MEA CULPA. 75 
 
 to the ball room. Inez was instantly claimed for a dance, and I was 
 left to my own reflections. 
 
 I was in ecstacies of delight and dejected by turns. The being in 
 whom my whole soul was wrapped was mine, but I was so poor aa 
 to be hardly able to take care of myself. What would I do with a 
 wife reared in the lap of luxury ? I could not entertain the idea of 
 becoming a pensioner of her father. What could I do ? I wished I 
 was well out of this cursed political race. I felt that I must work 
 that I could not give time to complete the canvass or to serve if elected. 
 
 At my next appointment, after finishing the political part of my 
 speech, I said: "Gentlemen, when I was nominated I did not expect 
 to be elected, and, as God is my judge, I have no desire to be now. 
 I have had no experience, and my judgment would be at fault in a 
 hundred contingencies sure to arise. I am as yet a boy. On the 
 other hand, my opponent is a gentleman of mature years, of large 
 experience, of scholarly attainments and ripe judgment. He is ac- 
 quainted with all the public men of the State, and his influence in 
 carrying local measures would be very great ." 
 
 I then represented myself as an humble advocate of the grand old 
 Whig party, but as one who did not wish to be placed above his 
 years in merit. The speech was well received, but I was assured 
 that it made me many votes. The Judge was furious when he heard 
 of it, and said that that upstart of a boy had been so certain of his 
 election that he could afford to patronize him. When I met him he 
 was coldly formal. I tried to explain how I happened to accept the 
 nomination. I assured him that I did not wish to be elected . 
 
 "Then, sir," eaid he, "why don't you withdraw?" 
 
 "Judge Underbill," I eaid, "I have on more than one occasion 
 looked to you for advice as to a father. If you will lay aside any 
 feeling you may have in the matter, and will, with an unprejudiced 
 mind, view the situation and advise me as you would a son under the 
 circumstances, I will follow your advice." 
 
 "Fudge! All hypocrisy and deceit . Why should you desire to 
 gave my feelings in the matter? Why would any young man be 
 willing to forego such a triumph as an election under such circum- 
 stances ? I will not believe you sincere, sir, unless I can see some 
 motive." 
 
 "lean show you that also. I love Inez Underbill; she loves me, 
 
76 MEA CULPA. 
 
 and we expect to be made one some of these days. I know that this 
 situation is disagreeable to her, and I would sacrifice anything, gave 
 honor, for her sake." 
 
 The Judge turned pale with anger, and it was a full minute be- 
 fore he spoke. Then he said, with a cuiling lip and bitter sarcasm in 
 his voice: "Pray, then, why did you put yourself and Inez Under- 
 bill (without the formalities) in such a predicament ?" 
 
 * 'Because, sir, I did not expect to be elected." 
 
 ''And you count yourself already elected now, do you?" 
 
 "I hope I shall not be; but, Judge, you are aware of the fact that 
 the probabilities of it are very strong." 
 
 " And when, may I ask, do you expect to make my daughter a 
 beggar ?" 
 
 "Never, sir! Never!" 
 
 "Ah, you are a man of fortune, then; your pretense of poverty 
 has been only for effect !" 
 
 "I do not intend to claim her, sir, until I can offer her a home." 
 
 "When a child of mine," said the Judge, angrily, "contracts an 
 alliance with a beggar without consulting me, she must renounce it, 
 or no longer seek shelter in my house. " 
 
 "Beggar, Judge Underbill! Beggar?" I exclaimed, no longer able 
 to conceal or control my anger. "When, sir, did John Henderson 
 ever receive a single dollar he did not earn, and earn honorably, too ?" 
 
 The Judge tuined on his heel and walked away. At the election 
 I had a large majority of votes. I had no further conversation with 
 the Judge, and had not met Inez. In fact, I did not like tfo meet 
 her, as it would only serve to make her father more angry, and I 
 supposed from the fact of not hearing from her, that he was not in 
 earnest about driving her from his roof, if she did not renounce her 
 lover. After the election I was called down into Tennessee to attend 
 a protracted trial, and did not return home until a few days before 
 the convening of the Legislature. I saw Inez once, and asked her if 
 her father had talked to her about our engagement, nnd she said he 
 had not. Thinking it best not to trouble lie'- about it, I simply said 
 that we had talked some on the subject. 
 
 After I bad been in Frankfort about a month I was astonished TO 
 see Inez in company with an aunt of h r* in the lobby of the Assem- 
 bly chamber. I went out to see them, and was going to escort them 
 
ME A CULPA. 77 
 
 to a seat on the floor, when the aunt whispered, "Poor Inez is in 
 trouble; let us walk down towards the hotel." Of course I knew in- 
 etantly what was the matter. 
 
 "Well," said Inez, when we reached the street, "father and I had 
 a little discussion the other day, which ended in my being at your 
 side. My sacrifice has come first. Aunt Helen, here, is very kind 
 and offers me a home, but I come to consult you about what I am to 
 do with myself; you are my legal adviser, you know." 
 
 "Sweet one," I said "the world is before us we will make a liv- 
 ing some way. I am getting the munificent sum of $3 a day from 
 the commonwealth of Kentucky; but that lasts only a few weeks 
 longer." We walked on in silence to the hotel, and when seated in 
 our room, Aunt Helen said: "My children, I love you both very 
 dearly, and I think I can come to your rescue without wounding 
 the feelings of either. In the first place, I could offer Inez a home 
 with me, but her staying with me as Miss Underbill, and not visiting 
 her home, would occasion remarks which might be detrimental and 
 unpleasant to her, and hence we must have a wedding a very quiet 
 little wedding. I will then make some advance of money to John 
 Henderson, which he can pay at his convenience. It shall be strictly 
 a business transaction." 
 
 "Or, belter still," I said, "if you will board my wife until I go to 
 California and make a raise, I think I can remit from the very start." 
 
 "That shall be as you please." 
 
 There was a quiet wedding that evening in the parlors of the hotel. 
 Aunt Helen concluded to remain with us until the end of the season. 
 I began to make ready for my departure for California. In four or 
 five weeks after our marriage came the adjournment. My wife and 
 her aunt \\eut to the house of the latter. 
 
 This was 1852 eighteen long years ago ! Oh, Inez ! Inez ! how I 
 loved you ! How I love your memory still ! But for ten years until 
 this very day I have not allowed myself to think of her her name 
 has not escaped my lips. How happy we could have been but for 
 me! Yes, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! But I cannot 
 think long of her. I would go wild and throw myself into the Sac- 
 ramento, and drown memory with a worthle?s carcass. Shall I tear 
 up this paper here and indulge in no more bitter, bitter memories *? 
 Well, here we go to California. Accursed be the day I ever heard 
 
78 MEA CULPA. 
 
 the name California spoken. It has brought ruin to me and to mine. 
 And I am but a walking image of tens of thousands more. Of all the 
 ills of Pandora's box, the thirst for gold has brought moet misery to 
 men. Men say they want gold to buy pleasures with. Pleasure 
 may be bought with gold, but it has bought more misery than pleas- 
 ure. It has ; t times been an implement of civilization, but it brings 
 with it the inevitable seeds of sin, of crime, of destruction. The 
 more gold there is sown on the field of civilization, the more of the 
 tares of destruction must fall upon the soil. I fancied that happiness 
 "our being, end and aim" sat upon a golden throne, and that 
 none need woo her except with an offer of gold. I made the com- 
 mon mistake, and have paid the penalty thereof. 
 
 When I got to California this land of gold this land of wretch 
 ed hopes, suicides, and drunkards' graves, I could not think of wait 
 ing to build up a fortune by the slow process of professional life 
 Every day away from the side of my angelic wife seemed a year, 
 must make money quick, and get back to her. I therefore wen 
 into the mines the accursed mines! 
 
 When I left my wife 1 told her that I should be satisfied to return 
 with ten thousand dollars, if I could get no more in three years', but 
 she need not expect me until I had at least that amount. On the 
 steamer coming out I had fallen in with one Tom Allen, a regular 
 '49 miner, who had made some money and was returning from a vis- 
 it to his friends in "the States." He told me about what a big time 
 he had, and how he spent or gave away his money, because, he said, 
 "I know just where to go and dig plenty more." 
 
 When I told him who I was and where I was from, he familiarly 
 called me "Kentuck," and said I would find that all the boys had 
 nicknames up in the mines. 
 
 "I fell in," he said, "with a lot of Missourian?, and because I 
 was from Massachusets they called me 'Yank/ although I am not 
 one of those blue-bellied chaps you find up in Connecticut." 
 
 Before we left the steamer the mining firm of "Yank & Kentuck" 
 was formed, and the exact spot maiked out where we were to take 
 out our everlasting pile. 
 
 Poor Yank, a better heart never beat in the breast of man, but he 
 came to California too soon! 
 
 We purchased our mining outfit at Marysville, and perched on 
 
MEA (JULPA. 79 
 
 top of a Concord coach we struck out for the mountains. Up the 
 hill-side we went, past mining camps and up among the tali pines. 
 When at the summit Yank announced that our stage-ride was at an 
 end, and we must take it on foot. We had a couple of sacks of 
 flour, four pairs of blankets, a side of bacon, a ham, pick, two shov- 
 els, a couple of rifles, pistols, nails, an ax, hammer, saw and some 
 fifty pounds of et ceteras, such as salt, saleratus, etc. 
 
 "Now," said Yank, "we will just take them little traps on our 
 backs and strike off toward the Feather. It is only five miles down 
 there. We can make it before night." 
 
 Just about dark we reached the river, tired and worn out, for the 
 descent had been fearfully steep. 
 
 "This is the spot," said Yank, " where we. are to make our pile. 
 Prospected here before I went away. Nobody been here since I've 
 been gone. If the winter don't set in loo soon you can go back to 
 that little wife of yourn by Christmas." 
 
 Having confidence in my companion's words I slept soundly on this 
 my first night in the mines, and dreamed of a happy "old Kentucky 
 home." 
 
 Next morning, as I was a good hand with an ax, I set to work 
 getting out material for a shanty, while Yank went prospecting for 
 the best place to begin mining operations. By night he had collect- 
 ed in all about an ounce of dust, the r esult of his pannug around in 
 different places. "With a Long Tom," said he, "we can take out at 
 least two hundred dollars a day. Only a hundred days to get your 
 ten thousand, my boy." 
 
 I was overjoyed, and felt a full confidence in being the "luckiest of 
 men. "My good angel and Inez's good angel," I thought, "sent 
 this treasure of a partner across my track." 
 
 In five days we had our cabin built and everything ready for 
 mining in good earnest. On Sunday I wrote to Inez a letter, giving 
 an exact account of the situation, and walked up the hill to the 
 stage road to send it out. In a fortnight or so prospectors began to 
 call on us, and eoon shanties began to spring up around us. Min- 
 ing laws were made, and we were restricted as to our claims. In 
 couple of months we had taken out about ten thousand dollars and I 
 sent two thousand dollars to Inez. 
 
 "There/* I eaid proudly, as I saw the stage leaving with the check, 
 
80 MEA CULPA. 
 
 " my wife need not be a beggar any more. She can live on that 
 until I get home." Would to God that I had followed it ! Bat I 
 did not. 
 
 Our claim did not pay so well. We dropped down to about thirty 
 dollars a day, and we both became dissatisfied. But still we had 
 taken out a great deal of money. One day, along in September, 
 Yank came into the cabin, as I was placing dinner on the table, and 
 said: "Look here, Kentuck, I have been prospecting a little and 
 making some figures. If we could turn the river a little with a 
 wing- dam just below our claim, we could take out a bushel of gold. 
 It will cost some money to do it, but we have now about twelve 
 thousand dollars, and we can turn her nicely for that sum. We will 
 say nothing about that small sum sent to the little wife, but what is 
 here belongs to both of us." 
 
 After dinner we went to the river and figured out just how we 
 could turn it. We hired all the men we could and put them to work. 
 Yank was almost as large in stature as myself, and had been brought 
 up to work, and we worked, too. 
 
 No two men ever did more work in the same time than we did, 
 and we were wet all over from morning till night. In about six 
 weeks all our money was gone, but we had the river turned. The 
 first day we took out over one thousand dollars, and had a regular 
 jollification in the cabin that night. The miners all flocked in to con- 
 gratulate us, and they were all true and sincere in what they did 
 and said. I do not believe there was one in that camp that envied 
 us . But while the congratulations were going on it began to cloud 
 up, and by morning it was pouring down rain; but we worked in it 
 all day, and several of our friends volunteered to help us, so that we 
 cleaned out about two thousand dollars that day. The next day we 
 went to the site of our works, only to find them all gone ! 
 
 "Never mind," said my jolly partner, "the gold is there, and we 
 will commence on it earlier next year. It knocks your going home 
 for Christmas, though, pard !" 
 
 We found we could not work our claim on account of the water, 
 and finally concluded that we would go out to Marysville to spend 
 the winter. When we got there I found a letter announcing the 
 birth of a daughter. 
 
 That daughter is perhaps still living. She is a yonng lady, yet 
 
MEA CULPA, 81 
 
 for ten years I have not dared to seek to know one word of her. If 
 she is living, she thinks her father dead, as he should be. I have 
 not dared to think of her; but oh God ! what a yearning seizes me 
 to see that child. For the last few days I have imagined she was 
 near me. Sometimes I have started and turned, expecting to see her 
 but I never will ! I never will ! 
 
 "Look here, Kentuck," said Yank, on Christmas day, "you had 
 better take them slugs ($50 pieces). I am no good banker any more 
 In trying to make expenses off the monte bank last night I sank all 
 the balance." 
 
 I was disappointed and somewhat provoked, but of course said 
 nothing. Our claim up in the mountains was Worth a great deal of 
 money, and we would work in the spring. But why had I not tak- 
 en that same money when I first came down, and gone to see the 
 baby? I saw there was a great opening for me in my profeesion at 
 Marysville, and when I mentioned it to Yank he urged it very 
 strongly. "Send for the wife," he said. "She can come on what 
 you sent her before, and I will go up to the claim in the spring and 
 take out half a million or so^ in no time*" 
 
 The secret of my not doing this was thut I wanted to take out that 
 half million or so, and go back to my old home and show what I had 
 made under Judge Underbill's nose. This was a wrong feeling, and 
 some over-ruling providence may be punishing me for it now. 
 
 The early spring found us upon our mining claim making ready for 
 our wing dam. We had not a cent of money, and had to work our 
 placer claims to pay expenses, and do most of our preparations for 
 our winding dam ourselves. We had offers of partnership by men 
 who had money, but we preferred to carry it ourselves. By the 
 middle of August we had the river turned and commenced to take 
 out the gold. We took out easily from one to two thousand dollars 
 a day. 
 
 While at work at this we conceived the idea of carrying the entire 
 river in a flume through a canyon below our claim. The more we 
 thought of it and discussed it, the more practical it seemed. The 
 bottom of the canyon we argued was like the bottom of a sluice box; 
 every little corner would gather in the gold. We said nothing about 
 this, however, until we had worked our claim out, which was in the 
 
82 ME A CTJLPA. 
 
 first part of September. We had then sixty thousand dollars. We 
 were certain that with this sum of money and our own work we could 
 flume the river in a month long before the rains. 
 
 I argued with myself that as I had three times the sum that I had 
 made up my mind to be satisfied with, I ought to go home, but Yank 
 was so enthusiastic over our project that I did not mention it to him. 
 
 "Now," said Yank, one morning, "let's begin our flume. We 
 will make out a bill of lumber, and get out the pquare timbers while 
 it is being sawed. The mill just above us has just been completed, 
 you know. But I was thinking, Kentuck, that it will take about 
 all our money to make a proper success of our flume, and he had bet- 
 ter make a small remittance to the wife and baby. Suppose we send 
 them a thousand, and this fall, when we clear up our claim, and get 
 half a million or so, we will go back. Durned if I don't want to see 
 'em about as bad as you do." 
 
 For more than a year this man and myself had been as inseparable 
 as the Siamese twins. Every night we slept together; at every meal 
 we ate together; and when not at work, we read to each other or 
 talked together. The greatest joy either had was in the other's so- 
 ciety. All expenses, every remittance to my wife, was from a com- 
 mon fund . 
 
 Often when I have been tempted to curse the world and swear 
 there was no truth, no disinterested friendship in man, I have thought 
 of Yank noble, true-hearted Yank and have repressed its utter- 
 ance. 
 
 The eyes of the miners opened wide when our plans began to de- 
 velop themselves, and all prophesied success. We therefore went 
 boldly on with it. We could have sold out for many thousands ad- 
 vance before the work was completed, but the spirit of enterpriRe, or 
 of madnees, whichever it might be called, seized each of us. The 
 work was begun, the flume was finished and carried the water beauti- 
 fully but, when we went into the dry bed for the gold, it was not 
 there. All our money was gone, and we were in debt. We bad the 
 bed of the creek, or river, as it was called, and a flume. When we 
 realized the whole truth of the situation, we went to our cabin. 
 
 Tears stood in the eyes of my big-hearted partner, and as he threw 
 hie arms around my neck he sobbed out, "It is not for myself, Ken- 
 tnck, that I am a-caring; it is for the wife and baby. God knows 1 
 
ME A CULPA. 83 
 
 would lay down my life this minute to put you in possession of as 
 much gold as we had six weeks ago/' 
 
 "Never mind, old boy," I said, "we will make it up again; I 
 don't care anything about it." But my voice belied my words, for 
 too, was thinking of the little wife and baby. 
 
 "You have told me your fire t lie Kentuck. You not only care, 
 but your heart is breaking, all on account of the time for seeing your 
 wife and biby being pDstponed. But come, cheer up old pard it is 
 mighty strange it two great big, stout chaps like you and me can't 
 make a living for one little woinau and her baby. And the next ten 
 thousand we get yon sball take it back, and if 1 can't make it by 
 myself! will come and live with you. We must now go further out 
 in the mountains prospecting. There is nothing around here anymore; 
 and, Kentuck, to quiet your mind, I will promise that if anything 
 happens to you I will work my fingers off for that little wife of yours. 
 I have no one to care for but one sister back in Massachusetts, and 
 she has been married several yeare, and I did pretty well by her 
 when I was back there, you know; gave her all I had. " 
 
 Well, we packed up our blankets, strapped them and a prospecting 
 outfit on our backs, and struck out. We tramped, tramped, over 
 mountains, rivers and canyons, fordiys and weeks, but found noth- 
 ing that suited us. We struck several places where we could make 
 ten or twelve dollars a day, but we were after something better. 
 When winter overtook us we were high up in the Sierras. When 
 we found we were about to be snowed in we built ua a rude cabin 
 and wintered beneath the snow. 
 
 I began here, during this long night, to get discouraged; to imag- 
 ine that I had had my opportunity and had failed to grasp it. I be- 
 gan to think that "there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken 
 at its flood, leads on to fortune," and I argued that if that tide is 
 missed it will never come again. 
 
 AB soon as the snow melted off sufficiently we struck out again on 
 our prospecting tour. Of course I sought the earliest opportunity to 
 write to the dear little wife to account for my long silence. We 
 struck over on the North Yuba, and there found a claim out of 
 which we took several hundred dollars in a few days, and we were 
 much elated; but it "patered out" before we had as much as one 
 thousand dollars. The depth of my discouragement, as we pulled up 
 
84 
 
 MEA GULP A. 
 
 to leave this place, can hardly be imagined. "If we can find a claim 
 where we can get ten dollars a day each, let us stick to it," I said. 
 
 "That would take it about two years longer to get back to the 
 little wife and baby," said Yank. "It won't do. There are better 
 diggings in California, and we must find them." 
 
 And we resumed our tramp again. It would seem that the rich 
 strikes were being made just ahead all the while, and we nattered 
 ourselves that it would be our turn pretty soon. If we had only 
 looked about us we would have seen hundreds of others tramping 
 around following the same Jack-o'-the-lantern. 
 
 I felt discouraged beyond measure, but could not make up 
 my mind to give it up. I could not think of taking the 
 time to go to some place and build up a practice at the 
 law. It might require years at that business to make the 
 money 1 wanted. And, when I felt tempted to go back without 
 it, I could eee in my imagination a sarcastic smile on Judge 
 Underbill's face and hear him say in most withering tones, "I told 
 you so." 
 
 Another whole year passed by and we were still hunting for that 
 better mining claim in which we were to make our fortune. The regu- 
 lar letters we got from the dear, dear little wife, always full of en- 
 couragement, and an occasional one from Yank's sister, kept us from 
 becoming bar-room loungers, as too many of those who set out "to 
 find better claims" about the time we did had already become. Our 
 remittance to the wife bad now come down to $50 and $100 ai a time 
 and they were far between. I got ashamed to write the same, same 
 old story over again, and my letters home became less frequent. Not 
 that I had ceased to love, to idolize my dear wife, but when I had 
 nothing to tell but failure I could not write. In the summer of 1856 
 we struck a claim on the south Yuba that began to pay us fair wages 
 and we concluded to stick to it. One unlucky day he went to San 
 Juan. "I am going to take $100," said Yank, "and try the little 
 wife's luck at monte. If we lose that amount it won't hurt ue, and 
 if we win it shall go to her." 
 
 I expos ulated, but it did no good, and into the monte game we 
 went. Yank put the one hundred dollars on the card and won. He 
 
MEA CULPA. 85 
 
 then staked the two hundred dollars, then the four hundred dollars, 
 and then the eight hundred. Each bet was won. The excitement 
 around the table became intense. "Once more," exclaimed Yank; 
 "five successive winnings is not impossible. Here goes the sixteen 
 on the queen of hearts/' 
 
 Yank had looked the dealer constantly in the eye since the first 
 bet. This time he pulled the cards off until he found that the queen 
 of hearts must be the winning card. Then he held the pack in his 
 hand and said, "You cannot bet that way. Take your sixteen hun- 
 dred and go." 
 
 "Thirty-two or nothing," exclaimed Yank. "Pull out that other 
 card. I have seen it, and know what it is." 
 
 "I will not," said the gambler. 
 
 "Then I will," and Yank seized the dock aud exhibited the queen 
 of hearts to the crowd . A cheer went round the house, but with it 
 the sharp report or a pistol. I was on the other side of the table, 
 and saw my faithful friend fall. I was not armed, but 1 seized a 
 chair aud struck the gambler on the head. The crowd tried to inter- 
 fere, but I used the chair so furiously that no one dared to approach. 
 I broke it to pieces over the gambler, and then with my boot heel 
 mashed in his skull. 
 
 Talk about emotional insanity ! I was as mad as any lunatic that 
 ever wore a straight-jacket. I felt that I was strong enough to pull 
 the house to pieces. Several shots were fired at me by the friends of 
 the dead gambler, but none took effect. I felt that I was bullet- 
 proof. If repentance is necessary to salvation, I am afraid I shall 
 never be saved, for that is the great and only crime of my life unre- 
 pented of, and I am afraid it will always remain so. I took my dead 
 friend in my arms and wept like a child. I saw, in my boyhood, my 
 father and then my loved mother laid in the grave ; but 1 had never 
 had my heart-strings go completely torn asunder as now. It came 
 so sudde.i, so unexpacted, upon me, that I was overwhelmed as by 
 an avalanche. 
 
 There was but one other that I loved better than my poor dead 
 friend, and I loved both better than my life. He had been tried in 
 prosperity, tried in poverty. In all our privations for years it had 
 been a pleasure for him to endure more than his share. I had never a 
 thought that was kept secret from him. He knew all my hopes, all 
 
86 MEA CULPA. 
 
 my ambitions, all my despondency, all my fVars. When I had been 
 ill his touch was as gentle and loving as a wife's; and now, when I felt- 
 that I needed such a friend most, when almost on the poiut of losing 
 my hold on life, he was so rudely snatched away from me! But, 
 Sam Allen, you are happier in that silent grave than yo'ar surviving 
 friend. Oh, Gbd! What have I not been through ! 
 
 The gambler was dead, and an officer came in to arrest me, but a 
 shout went up from the miners, "Let him alone; he was right!" 
 
 "I know the law," I said to the officer. "Let me burymydeid 
 friend, and then take me where you please. These hands must dig 
 the grave these eyes be the last upon earth to look upon him/' 
 
 That night, as I sat watching by my friend, the expressman 
 brought a letter addressed to him. I opsned it, and found that it 
 was from his sister. She wrote that her husband had been sick for 
 a couple of years; things had gone ill with her, and now she was a 
 widow, with 110 means. Her son was a fine lad, who must now 
 leave school and go to work. 
 
 What could I do, without money and without friends to help me ? 
 And besides, there were other claims upon what little I could do. 
 
 Next morning early I was waited upon by a committee of miners, 
 who said that they had had a talk with the dead gambler's partner, 
 who had admitted that thirty-two hundred dollars of right belonged to 
 my partner, "and," continued the spokesman, "as you may need a 
 little we thought we would bring it to you.*' Should I take it? was 
 the question I began to debate in my mind, until I remembered the 
 sister's letter. I took it and sent it to her, telling her her brother 
 had died, leaving that much money, without telling her how or when 
 he died. 
 
 As luck would have it, no one knew the real name of either of us, 
 and the word "Yank" was all that appeared on tho pine board at the 
 head of his grave, and the law had to be satisfied with the alias 
 Richard Roes in my ca?e. 
 
 Now to the losk-up ! A year consumed before my trial came. Th 
 Court asked if it should appoint counsel. I said: "The defendant 
 will be content with his legal right to appear in hi* own behalf, with- 
 out the production of license." Several able lawyers volunteered, 
 when I said I might call on them for books and advice, but I pre- 
 ferred to take the management myself. 
 
MEA CULPA. 87 
 
 I was much applauded by the bar and audience in the management 
 of the case, and the jury brought in a verdict of "not guilty" without 
 leaving the box. 
 
 Never a word of all this had I dared to write to the little wife, 
 but at the outset had said that, being obliged to take a long journey, 
 she need fear nothing if she did not hear from me for several months. 
 After that I did not write until out of jail. 
 
 Then it was the same old, old story of baffled hopes. 
 
 How utterly wretched a man feels when he has to begin to ac- 
 knowledge to himself tint he is a failure. That not only is his life 
 to be miserable, but he is destined to have those whom he loves drag 
 along after him. When he begins to feel that his miserable life is all 
 that stands betweeir him and comparative happiness! When he be- 
 gins to think seriously of whether it would not be better to end one's 
 blighted existence. When one contemplates any undertaking and 
 finds himself saying: " What's the use? There is no success in that 
 for me," he's on the down grade. 
 
 It was thus I argued with myself. But I must go to work again, 
 and went back to the old claim. The miners had preserved my rights 
 inviolate. The ground was worked out all around, but that piece 
 was left untouched. It made my heart ache to work without my 
 old partner, but I drowned all recollections as far as possible in hard 
 work. The claim paid just ten dollars a day, and I determined to 
 be content. The first hundred dollars taken out was sent to the little 
 wife; so was the next and the next. But these amounts seemed so 
 very small. She kept writing not to worry, that Aunt Helen was 
 more than a mother to her. Aunt Helen was childless and rich: but 
 this did not satisfy me. What would Judge Underbill say to my 
 failure to provide for my family? In a few months five hundred dol- 
 lars had accumulated in the box buried in the dirt floor of my lonely 
 cabin, and as much more had been s^ent to my wife. This was a 
 small amount, but it encouraged me, although the claim was fast being 
 worked out. Some of the boys in the meantime had made some fab- 
 ulously rich strikes in the old river channel by drifting, and I bought 
 into such a claim, paying my last dollar therefor, and once more hope 
 began to find a resting place in my breast, and the blessed little wife 
 got the first hopeful letter that had been written for many a day. 
 For months and months we worked on taking out next to nothing, 
 
88 MBA CULPA. 
 
 while others that seemed to be similarly eitua f ed were getting gold by 
 the thousand. I felt discouraged, but worked on harder than ever, 
 as we were liable to strike it rich at, any minute. Letters to the 
 wife grew far between again, ^o more remittances could be made. 
 She wrote me that her sister had died, and that her father had pre- 
 tended he could not live without her, his only child, and wanted me 
 ocorne back and live with them. " 
 
 This set me back more than ever; it was impossible for me to ac- 
 cept the offer; and was I unsuccessful, worthless I to stand be- 
 tween Inez and her father? Was I to drag her down further with 
 my worthlessness ? It caused many a pang to write the letter advis- 
 ing her to accept, her father's offer, but it was written. 
 
 Mouths passed. The year 1859 was drawing to a close, and often 
 came the words to my lips: "What's the use? 'My life has been a 
 failure, and it is destined to continue so." More and more did I real- 
 ize the fact that I was "losing my grip." That is the way Calif or- 
 nians express it; and there are no three words, coined by people seek- 
 ing force at the expense of elegance, that expreses more. Thousands 
 of men are every day illustrating the lost grip! Our mine was 
 worked out. It seemed that he had staked everything upon it even 
 our future hold our "giip" upon life, and the game was against us. 
 We quit with nothing. 
 
 But there came an unexpected turn in my affairs. A man by the 
 name of Bates, who had been on the jury in my case, was accused of 
 murder. About the time utter and complete despair had taken pos- 
 session of me, he came to engage me to take his case. It was a case 
 of mistaken identity, but the witnesses were positive. Bates had 
 recently made a big strike and had plenty of money. He told me if 
 I would drop everything else and help him for a few months he 
 would give me a large fee. "Go into it with a vim," he said, "and 
 if success crowns our efforts I will make you well off/' 
 
 The case was to come off at Marysville, and I was to go there, or to 
 Sacramento or San Francisco, or wherever nlse I could, to find author- 
 ities and draw on him for all expenses It, was to be my duty also to 
 help him hunt up testimony. We traveled together for weeks hunt- 
 ing up every circumstance that could have a bearing on the case. I 
 wrote down all the testimony that could be brought in on either side, 
 and studied the weakness and strength of every point. 
 
MEA CULPA. 
 
 It was getting late in the fall again when our trial finally canoe on 
 for a hearing. All this while my client had had no attorney, but 
 acting under my advice, had attended to all minor matters himself. 
 We had concluded that it would be better, for effects sake that I 
 should not change my miner's garb, and I stalked into the Court-room 
 wearing a red shirt, duck pants and a pair of miner's brogans. 
 
 "If your Honor please," I said, "I desire to be entered on the rec- 
 ord as attorney in the case of the People vs. Stephen Bates, set for 
 to-day, and I suppose a license from the Supreme Court of Kentucky 
 will entitle me to do so." 
 
 A titter went round the Court-room, and a smile spread over the 
 faces of the attorneys. Three or four of the best lawyers had been 
 retained for the prosecution, and the Marysville bar at that time was 
 counted the best in the State. 
 
 The Judge examined the paper passed to him, and said to the clerk: 
 "Enter John Heuderson as attorney in this case. Have you assistant 
 counsel, Mr. Henderson?" 
 
 "None !" 
 
 The name "John Henderson," pronounced by the Judge, sounded 
 strangely to me; almost frightened me. I had not heard it a dozen, 
 times in almost seven years, and it was hard to realize that I was 
 the person named. I had no books with me in Court, for I had for 
 months delved into everything I could find that could bear on the 
 case, and I had it in my head. I could repeat whole pages of law 
 on questions of evidence arising in the case, for I had so studied all 
 that could bear upon it, as to be prepared for any and all emergency. 
 
 In my opening address to the jury, I called attention to the fact 
 that I was a miner who had paid no attention to law for years, and 
 showed them as hard and horny a pair of hands as handled a pick. 
 We did not expect to bring a law book into Court, but relying on 
 the justice of our case, we were willing to put inexperience against 
 experience; a rusty memory of the law against the library the gen- 
 tleman had brought into the Court. I tried to make no points that 
 could not be maintained. The attorneys themselves were astonished 
 at my familiarity with the law on every point raised, and before the 
 trial was half over I could hear such expressions as "Wonder where 
 the deuce they dug that chap up?" "He is a nail-driver," etc. I 
 took no notes, for I knew as much about the case before as after the 
 
90 MEA Ct'LPA. 
 
 evidence was iu. When I was to make nay argument every avail- 
 able space in the room was occupied. The speech was a magnificent 
 success. I surprised myself, surprised my client, surprised every- 
 body. It was with difficulty the officers could keep the applause from 
 bursting forth from the crowd. The verdict was in our favor, and 
 before I left the Court-room a lawyer who had the largest practice 
 of anyone in northern California, offered me a copartnership. I could 
 step right into a lucrative practice. 
 
 What a fool I had been not to have gone into the practice of law soon- 
 er. But I came to California, like many another fool, expecting to 
 get rich in a few months and go back to the "States." The ordinary 
 way of making money was too slow. 
 
 But once more I was buoyant with hope as the day I first got my 
 license to practice. I returned to the hotel to write Inez a long letter, 
 and then I began to think it had 1-een three months since one had 
 been received from her. But 1 wrote her one full of hope for the 
 future, telling her that she must make up her mind to come out here; 
 that my fee in this case was ten thousand dollars, a portion of which 
 I would send her in a few days to come out on. , In fact, as soon as 
 I got my new partnership fixed up I might go back for her. I went 
 to bed and dreamed of a brilliant future. 
 
 Next morning three letters were laid on my table. One was from 
 my client, containing a check for $1,000, and saying that he had been 
 called suddenly away, but would remit the balance in a week. The 
 next was from Tom Allen's sister, saying that she had moved to Cal- 
 ifornia and was living in Lake City, Nevada county, and from the 
 report of the trial had learned for the first time where her brother's 
 old friend could be found ; the words of the third burned into my 
 very soul dried up, as it were, the marrow in my bones. In the 
 agony of my despair I cursed God, that I might die. These words 
 burn in my memory like the branding iron in the flesh. I can see 
 them standing out in bold relief now in that delicate hand. I have 
 not dared to think of them for years, I wonder if I have courage to 
 write them over again. Let me see. 
 
 LEBANON, Ky., September 2, '60. 
 
 S;r: I am pained beyond expression to find that all these years I 
 have been cruelly deceived in you. I had no idea of the depth of de- 
 
ME A CDLPA. 91 
 
 gradation into which you were cipable of falling. Your way through 
 life lies in one direction; mine in another. Henceforth you must not 
 cross my pathway. I hope this is plain enough for you to compre- 
 hend. 
 
 INEZ HENDERSON. 
 
 I scrutinized the writing there could be no mistaking it; I could 
 swear that it was hers. The address on the envelope was certainly 
 genuine. Then it stated a simple fact JL had gone down, down, until 
 I almost hated myself. Well, of one thing I was certain she would 
 never hear from me again . I was astonished at my own calmness. 
 After the first few minutes it was the calmness of despair. I could 
 only say "God bless her she is right." 
 
 Then came the old saying, " What's the use? Why hope against 
 hope?" 
 
 Listlessly and aimlessly I took the stage for Nevada City, and from 
 there to my old claim on the South Fork. From there I started out 
 on foot for Lake City, to see the sister of my old friend, intending 
 also to visit Tom Allen's grave. I had most of the thousand dollars 
 with me that my client had sent, and while at the bridge took out my 
 purse to pay a trifling bill. I had not gone far when I was struck on 
 the head, from behind, by some one I did not see, and fell senseless 
 to the ground. When I came to I found I had been shot immediately 
 over the heart, but that it was a mere scratch; the ball had glanced 
 round. Two horses, which I recognized as those of two of my best 
 best friends, were standing hitched near the road side. I had left 
 these men at the bridge, and they were going my way. From this I 
 concluded that they had found me, thought me dead, and were gone 
 for assistance. My money was all gone, so that robbery was the 
 cause of the attack. As the world was then no more to me, I con- 
 cluded to go and throw myself into the river; but as I went down 
 towards the river I found a recently slain deer. While death never 
 had any special terror for me, and I would on more than one occasion 
 have welcomed it, still I had a dread of self-murder. 
 
 An idea seized me ; I would drag this deer down to the cliff and 
 throw it over. My friends would find my traces, find where a bloody 
 carcass had been dragged along and thrown into the river. As my 
 name was well known there, Inez would learn positively that I was 
 dead, and I would leave the country, and she would never, never 
 
 OF TEH 
 
92 MEA fcULPA. 
 
 know any better. If the robbers were captured and hanged for mur- 
 der it would serve them right. 
 
 When the deer fell over the bank I fled from the spot, and kept 
 going. I went down into Mexico and stayed until the war broke out, 
 and then joined the Southern army, and courted death through all that 
 terrible struggle. Never one word have I heard of Inez. God bless 
 her, I hope she is happy. I am afraid to hear from her; afraid to 
 think of her, because, oh, my God, how I love her. Hers was a just 
 sentence passed upon me. If my worthless life would give her one 
 moment of pleasure how gladly would I surrender it, by any means 
 except self-murder. 
 
 But now I am a listless wanderer on the face of the earth. Every- 
 where I strike a lot of tramps those that labor and those that loaf. 
 They give me the best they have, and I have never suffered for a 
 meal and have never begged one, I always give them that old name 
 "Kentuck," because that was Yank's christening. Out of respect 
 they sometimes call me Captain, sometimes Major, and occasionally I 
 get to be Colonel. 
 
 I said I was listlessly wandering over the face of the earth. That 
 was true a short time ago, but not now. I have a purpose now. 1 
 learned accidentally, that Allen Campbell had been arrested for my 
 murder: that be had escaped from the jail and had never since been 
 heard of. This is the son of Tom Allen's sister, There is some 
 fearful mistake somewhere, and I will travel this earth all over to find 
 him if he is alive, and clear the stain off the nephew of the truest man 
 God ever made. I begin to feel some energy in me as I think of the 
 work before me . But even if I should find him how could he be com- 
 pletely vindicated and I remain dead f 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The sun rose bright and clear on the morning of December 25, 
 1870, and as he sends his rays through an elegant farm mansion near 
 the town of , in the Sacramento valley, a man in one of the up- 
 per rooms thereof walks across the floor of the room absorbed in 
 some mental struggle. After a time he goes to the window and looks 
 upon the outer world. His eyes rest first upon an orchard and a 
 vineyard, a short distance from the houee, now entirely divested of 
 both fruit and foliage. A little beyond he sees a field of wheat, 
 
ME A CULPA. 
 
 which, a few weeks after the heavy rain, has covered the ground with 
 a rich carpeting of green. Then he lets his eyes fall upon the scene 
 immediately beneath his window, and gazes upon grounds covered 
 with blue grass and ornamented with trees, shrubs and flowers . Near- 
 er still he observes a conservatory in which can be seen tropical and 
 semi-tropical flowers and plants in great profusion. He stands there 
 leaning against the window-facing, enjoying the scenery before him; 
 yet his mind is not at ease. As he stands there, lost in contempla- 
 tion, with his mind sometimes upon things away back in the misty 
 past, a servant enters the room, spreads a cloth upon the table and 
 bringa in an elegant breakfast. This being done, the servant touches 
 him on the elbow and calls attention to the fact that his meal is ready. 
 Mechanically he partakes, and when it is cleared away, and he is 
 once more alone, he resumes his walk around the room. Finally he 
 exclaims: "This is too much ! Too much !" Then throws himself 
 into a seat at a table before a grate, in which burns a cheerful fire, 
 rests his elbows upon the table, and covers his face with his hands, 
 and his thoughts become audible: 
 
 "I am more and more mystified by my surroundings here. Some- 
 times it seems that I am only dreaming, and that I will yet wake up 
 at the old camp in the brush; and, at. other times, I question if what 
 purports to have been a long period of my existence is not, has not in 
 reality, been all a dream, and I may wake up a young man by the 
 side of the truest wife a man ever had. Who ami? Do I really 
 exist ? Let me see. How does the mystery stand at present V I 
 wormed out of Miles (that is, if there is a Miles and I am myself), 
 the other day, that I was shot, that he squealed murder, and that 
 just then the "widda," as he calls her, came along in a carriage, took 
 me in and brought me here, where I have been ever since. I was 
 delirious, he tells me, for a wek or so, during which time this widow 
 waited on me with her own hands, but I have not gotten a glimpse of 
 her yet. It seems to me that when I first came to myself, that I 
 frightened a young girl almost out of her senses by throwing my 
 arms around her and calling her my own sweet wife. She vanished 
 into thin air, and I have not set my eyes on her since . Miles and 
 one of the best old Udies I ever knew have been my nurses. Mile 
 says the nurae is not the widow, but that she is young and haidsom e . 
 but Miles has been so mysterious lately that I can get nothing out O f 
 
94 MEA CULPA. 
 
 him. When I ask him why I am not allowed to leave this room, he 
 gays the doctor ordered it; but I am now as strong as I ever was. I 
 have just drifted along on the current of events. O, this mystery, 
 this mystery ! No king could fare better, he could not have more 
 attention paid to all his wants than has been paid to this poor mis- 
 erable hulk of a man. Paintinga that I admired most in my youth 
 have been brought in and hung up in my room; fresh bouquets of 
 costly flowers have been daily brought to me. I have 
 only to wish for anything and it is here. The clothes 
 brought me to wear were evidently cut to my measure, and 
 1 have been barbered and fixed up until when I look into the glass , 
 extending from ceiling to floor, I can find no trace of the tramp. Wel! T 
 I have been told that this day 13 Christmas, and 1 could to-day go 
 whither I pleased. But where can I go? What is in store for me? 
 Miles, the sly rascal hinted to me last evening that my hostess was 
 much smitten with me, and that I could marry her and become pos- 
 sessor of ali her wealth. But, oh God! I hope this is not true! I must 
 be true to my Inez . She may have married again and have forgotten 
 me. I have never dared inquire about that; but I would not for a 
 million dollars put another in her place in my heart. But what if my 
 hostess should be Inez married and widowed? What if she should love 
 me still? But no, no; I must not think of such a thing. I have 
 wronged her too deeply for that. God would not be a just God if he 
 sent such happiness to so great a sinner to one the burden of whose 
 song must be: 'Mea Gulpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa!' Oh, 
 Inez! Inez! Could you ever forgive me?" 
 
 When he first seated himself at the table, a lady had stolen softly 
 into the room and stood near him unseen, and as he uttered the last 
 exclamation she put her arms gently around his neck, kissed him on 
 the'forehead and said; "Yes, dear husband, I can." 
 
 The man sprang to his feet and stood for a moment or two and 
 glared at her like a maniac. Then he seized her in his arms, as 
 though she had been a baby, and walked across the floor, covering her 
 face with kisses. "Oh, my God!" he exclaimed. "How can it be 
 possible that I once more hold my darling in my arms! It would be 
 too cruel to have this turn out to be one of the mad dreams of a 
 broken-down tra,mp!" Seating himself in a chair by the window, still 
 holding her in his arms, each hand, each finger, received its separate 
 
MEA CULPA. 95 
 
 kiss and caress. When he became more calm he looked lovingly 
 down into her eyes, and saw the love of old reflected back. 
 
 ''John," she said playfully, and if to reassure him, "John, you 
 are still my great big; awkward booby ! Here I have been for more 
 than an hour curling my hair and dressing my self so as to look my 
 very best, aad in two minutes I look like a fright. One would not 
 suppose it had been combed for a month ! Look at it !" 
 
 "Oh, In^z, do tell me do make me know that I am really with 
 you, and that I am not in the midst of one of those dreams of happi- 
 ness that will follow the poor, broken-down creatures who have lost 
 all hope of the future ! Oh, I have had so many, so many just, such 
 dreams in which the maximum of all earthly happiness would be 
 reached, only to bs followed by the realization of bitter degradation 
 and shame !" 
 
 "Let us hope, dear John, that it will be a long, long dream this 
 time, extending from this anniversary of our Saviour's birth to the 
 moment when one or both of us shall stand at his feet to receive the 
 sentence of eternity. But, John," she continued, while a mischievous 
 smile played* around her lips, "I have forgiven you for letting ill 
 fortune befall you. Now, dear, can you forgive me ? Forgive me for 
 that letter, and for that that other marriage, yon know John !" 
 
 'There is nothing in the wide world, darling to forgive. My idol 
 can do no wrong. When I received the letter to which you refer 
 your last I could but acknowledge its overwhelming justice, and I 
 had to bow down in humiliation and exclaim, 'Meet Culpaf But, 
 Inez, it cannot b? that you belong to some one else; that would be too 
 cruel. But what els? can expect? All my pleasures have been like 
 the apples of Sodom touch them, and they are gone. No, No ! it 
 cannot ba. Miles said you were a widow, and besides you said we 
 would be always together. Thank God for that !" 
 
 "But Miles was mistaken. I am not a widow, but am, a I have 
 been for eighteen years, the true and lawful wife of well kiss me 
 and I will tell you his name. There! there! that will do, I said one 
 kiss, not forty, John Henderson ! And now, dear husband, not to 
 keep you in suspense any longer, permit me to say that I have read 
 that sketch you wrote just before you were shot, and until I read that 
 I did not know that you had received such a letter as the one which 
 caused you to become dead to the world!" 
 
96 MEA CTJLPA. 
 
 "Then it was all a forgery ! Oh, the fool that I wa* !" 
 'I cannot say that it was exactly a forgery, for I have not been 
 without my crosses and trials, John. That letter business came about 
 in this way : After I went back to my father's to live, I became ac- 
 quainted with a man whom I learned to regard very highly. I was 
 open and frank in my friendship; and presuming that it was love, he 
 wrote me a letter, proposing that I get .. divorce and marry him. 
 Smarting under the insult, I wrote him the note you received. As my 
 letters failed to reach you, I suppose he must have had some clerk in 
 the postoffice in his employ, and captured them. It would then have 
 been an easy matter to change the envelopes." 
 "Who was this man this villain ?" 
 
 "To prevent trouble in the future, I prefer to keep that to myself." 
 "But Inez, tell me how you ever happened to come to California ?' ' 
 "A strong impulse, with a faint glimmer of hope, moved me in 
 this direction. I did not dare to hope to find you, yet I did not feel 
 that you were dead . Aunt Helen passed away some time ago, leav- 
 ing me her sole heiress; and when some five years ago my father died 
 I found myself in possession of a large fortune, and entire mistress of 
 my own actions. I immediately set out for this State, and purchased 
 this farm, which I have since improved. The impression or presenti- 
 ment, or whatever name the feeling may be called, that you were 
 still living and keeping out of the way for some unknown causes grew 
 stronger and stronger, until about two years ago I organized an effort 
 to find you. I had paid emissaries in every walk of life. James 
 Burns, or the man you have nicknamed Lieutenant Miles O'Riely, 
 who had been in my employ ever since I came to the State, undertook 
 the task of searching among those men, of whom there are so many 
 in this State, who have given up life's battles and settle down in the 
 belief that there is nothing more in store for them. Although ho 
 firmly believed that the proof of your death was beyond a cavil, he 
 went to work as earnestly as though he shared my impressions, fle 
 had been most of the time for two years on the tramp. He had 
 pictures and descriptions of you as minutely as I could give 
 them with your complete history. When he found you 
 at Los Angeles last summer he felt encouraged, and the longer he 
 stayed with you the more he felt that he was right; but he could not 
 draw you out enough to make him certain enough to inform me of the 
 
MEA CULPA. 97 
 
 progress he was making until the day you were brought here, shot. 
 Under one pretext and another he kept bringing you nearer and nearer 
 to me. He wanted me to see you. If you remember, you saw him 
 here when you passed by on that day. Up to that time he had not 
 told me of his suspicion; but as you looked toward the house, and 
 hesitated a moment as you saw him, somehow my heart told me who 
 it was, and I took an eager look after you. 
 
 "'I am right/ he said; 'that must be John Henderson.' My heart 
 fltood still, the room whirled around and I staggered and fell. It was 
 the only time in my life that I had ever fainted; but never mind that. 
 James, or Miles as you would call him, said he would find some pre- 
 text for bringing you around the next day. When you were shot, he 
 aent one man to town for a doctor, and hailed a passing wagon and 
 brought you here. With all this ingenuity he eaid that he had never 
 gotten anything out of you except that you had once practiced law, 
 and that there was a woman somewhere, dead or alive, whose msuxory 
 you worshiped. It was his talks to you that put you to writing that 
 sketch I read. Oh, the ec3tacy of knowing that through all your trials 
 and misfortunes I have reigned queen of your heart I" 
 
 Henderson again covered his wife's face with kisses, and she 
 nestled her head against his heart. 
 
 "Why hive y >u not told me all this before ?" he said. 
 
 "Becuise, Joha, in the first place, I wanted yoa to get perfectly 
 stroag before subjecting your feelings to the strain of such a discov- 
 ery; and in the second place, Christmas, the anniversary of our dear 
 Lord, was so nsar that I thought it fitting to give you a happy 
 Christmas. There are others in the house besides ourselves who will 
 acknowledge this day as the merriest and happiest Christmas of their 
 lives u 
 
 "Others, Inez? What others? Oh, yes, we have a child. O, 
 wife, tell me if that child is still alive.'* 
 
 "1 will show you in a minute." And Mrs. Henderson went to the 
 dx>r of another room and said: "Jennie, you can come in now. 
 This," she continued, as the young lady appeared, "is our daughter." 
 She had hirdly finished the sentence before he had gathered her m 
 his arms. -~*^. 4 
 
 "Aid this is another accusing angel, "' he exclaimed, "cjme to bear 
 wrtnee* to ray want of uunhood; oae whose young* life has been 
 
98 MEA OULPA. 
 
 robbed of its happy childhood, and whose young heart has been op- 
 pressed wiih sadness and all through ay fault; my mo*t grievcue 
 iault." 
 
 "Why not allow me, dear papa, to be a messenger of light, if I am 
 to be clothed with celestial attributes ?" 
 
 "Ah, heve is my little Inez over again. Whatever I once made of 
 myself was owing to the inspiration received from a little girl who 
 looked just like you, and the great mistake of my life was in getting 
 too far away frcm her influence. "But," he continued, putting one 
 arm around his wife's and another around his daughter's waist, "I am 
 yet comparatively a young man and with God's help I will wipe out 
 all the past and will devote every moment of my life to making up to 
 my wife and child the years of happiness of which I have robbed 
 them/' 
 
 After a little more conversation between the three, the wife re- 
 marked that some company awaited them in the parlor, "and remem- 
 ber," she added," "this is your house and you are the host to-day and 
 must act accordingly." 
 
 "My house, Inez! Impossible! It cannot be! I am a beggar, a 
 tramp, a vagabond on the face of the earth ! Do not, oh, do not, say 
 that anything is mine until I shall have an opportunity ci earning 
 it," 
 
 She putfber hand acrcss his mouth to stop further utterance, and 
 said: "This is our merry Christmas; we must have no more such talk 
 as that. There are further explanations to be made to-day that 
 will satisfy you on every point." 
 
 A B Henderson walked into the parlor with hie wife and daughter 
 on either arm, a middle-aged gentleman arose to meet them. "I be- 
 lieve, Mr. Henderson," she paid, "that you have met Mr. Stephen 
 Bates ?" 
 
 "My old client, my dear friend; the man who once raised me from 
 the depths of despair to think something of myself. Who would 
 have made something of me, even after I bad lost my grip, had not 
 other unfortunate circumstances intervened. From the bottom t-f my 
 heart, I can wish you a merry Christmas !" 
 
 "You do not know yet how good a friend he has been to you,' 
 said his wife. "But here is another gentleman waiting for an intro- 
 
MBA CITLPA. 99 
 
 Auction. Mr. Henderson, let me introduce you to Mr. Thomas Allen 
 Campbell." 
 
 "My God !" exclaimed Henderson; "can this be true? Have I, 
 indeed , the good fortune of meeting under such auspicious circum- 
 stances the nephew, the almost son, of the dearest and best friend I 
 ever had?" He threw his arms around his neck and wept like a 
 child. 
 
 "Can you forgive me, Mr. Henderson, for that shot I gave you, 
 while in the character of Jim Fiske ?" 
 
 "Forgive ! "Don't anybody ask me to forgive anything ! All the 
 hardships, all the mistakes, all this unhappiness has been brought 
 about through my fault. It is ever with me the same refrain Mea 
 Culpa I But let us drive dull care away, and make the merriest 
 Christmas California ever saw !" 
 
 "But here is yet another," said the wife. "Let me introduce Mr. 
 James Burns, for several years the business agent on this farm." 
 
 "Oh, Miles ! You rascal ! How will T ever get even with you for 
 toting me several hundred miles, to get me into such a scrape as 
 this ! M 
 
 '*! am thinking that if you had known as much about the place I 
 was a-bringing you to as you do now, I should not have had such 
 hard work of it. You were the hardest person to get anything out of 
 I ever tried. When I told you the story of John Henderson's mur- 
 der, and Allen Campbell's hard times, I watched you closely all the 
 time and got but slight reward for it; but that one swallowing down 
 of a lump in your throat gave me encouragement. I was going to follow 
 up the Fiske story with one that would have pressed you for an in- 
 troduction next day, had it not been for that little episode which fol- 
 owed." 
 
 "Did you know that Jim Fiske and Allen Campbell were on* and 
 the same person ?' ' 
 
 "Not until aftef the story was told and the shot was tired. Then I 
 knew that the two men I wanted to bring together had met, and that 
 I had not been quick enough to avoid a disastrous consequence." 
 
 "I see, Miles, that you have left your brogue out in the camp with 
 the other accouterments of the tramp. Bat there is one other person 
 to whom I want to be introduced. Where is the old lady who nursed 
 me so kindly ?" 
 
100 MEA OULPA. 
 
 "1 am afraid you would waut to kiss her/ 5 said the wife, "and I 
 would be jealous. But if you will wait until lean go and pad up, 
 and get on a wig and some paint, I will try and represent her/' 
 
 "Well, I'll kiesher any way," said be, suiting the action to the 
 word. 
 
 ''Well, now/' said Jennie, "don't you want to be introduced to[the 
 little girl who was sitting by your side when you came to yourself 
 one day, and who you wanted to claim as your little Inez?" 
 
 After a while the conversation turned upon Thomas Allen, when 
 Allen Campbell said: "Don't you know, Mr.* Hendeson, that the 
 fact of a monument having been erected over my uncle's grave after 
 your reputed death puzzled me no little. I could not imagine you 
 living yet, as with my own eyes I had eeen you dead; but I could 
 not imagine who did it/' 
 
 "Yes, I hewed that granite out with my own hands, but did not 
 put it up for fear of discovery ; I had energy enough to hire that 
 done." 
 
 "And I," said Mr. Bates, "thought that monument an evidence 
 that Allen Campbell was still around, and caused me to redouble my 
 my efforts toward capturing him. All of which, I now believe, has 
 led to gcod results." 
 
 "It may be more satisfactory, both to my husband and Mr. Camp- 
 bell/' said Mrs. Henderson, "if I should enter in to a little explanation 
 just here. Soon after the supposed murder of my husband, Mr. 
 Bates sent me the rest of the fee he had agreed to pay, and hence 
 Mr. Henderson can see that he has quite an interest in the property 
 hereabouts. In addition to this, he proposed we should jointly offer a 
 reward of tive thousand dollars for the capture of Allen Campbell, 
 the supposed murderer. This reward was offered by the Sheriff, Mr. 
 Bates not being known in it, which gave him a better chance of work- 1 
 ing to the same end himself. Some five years ago, one Thomap C. 
 Allen discovered and located a rich quartz claim. A company was 
 formed and the mine was opened. Mr. Bates was interested in mining 
 property, and became a large owner in this mine. Although the 
 heavy beard of the man had taken the place of the smooth face of the 
 stripling, Mr. Bates began to think that Thomas C. Allen and Thomas 
 Allfn Campbell were one and the same person. He communicated 
 this to another gentleman interested in the mine, but it happened that 
 
HTEA CtTLPA. 101 
 
 this gentleman was a friend o Mr. Allen'?, and intimated to him that 
 he was suspected, and that detectives would probably be on his track* 
 Allen left the mine, and Bates concluded that he left because suspect- 
 ed, and set a guard on all the avenues of escape from the State. 
 Allen, in the guise of a tramp, fell in with my husband, and what 
 followed they both knew. After that sad event I sent for Mr. Bates 
 and explained to him the identity of each. We knew that Allen 
 Campbell would not be taken alive, and we wanted to avoid a collis- 
 ion with the officers. He went to see Allen's friend, whom he was 
 satisfied could find him. That friend came to see me, and to satisfy 
 him that there was no trick about, I had to show him my husband, 
 show him the manuscript he had written, and bring Burns in to tell 
 all that he had done, before I could get this cautious friend to agree 
 to anything, and then he only said may be so. In a couple of days 
 Allen called on me, and satisfied himself about the truth of the mat- 
 ter, and has since walked in the light of day, feeling lighter and hap- 
 pier than he has felt for years. It is through the activity of Mr. 
 Bates that we are all here together on this happy, happy Christmas 
 Day !" 
 
 "He caine near being too active for me," said Allen, "but I honor 
 and respect him for his straightforwardness to the memory of a Friend 
 whom he supposed dead." 
 
 "And now," said Mr. Bates, "I have the strangest part of this 
 Rtorytotell: A few days ago one Chas. Guthrie died, and on his 
 death-bed confessed that he had instigated the murder of John Har- 
 rison, for which I came so near suffering through a mistaken identity. 
 He said that his man bad mistaken Harrison for John Henderson, 
 both being known by the said name of 'Kentuckg' The object he 
 said of getting Henderson out of the way was that he might get his 
 wife. He then, he said, proposed a divorce to her, which she stout- 
 ly refused, and after stealing letters from his wife to Henderson and 
 vice versa, he concluded to have the killing job perfected, and the at- 
 tack for which Allen Campbell was arrested was the result ?" 
 
 "Mea Culpa!" exclaimed Mw. Henderson, 'it is through my fault 
 
 this time. This man came to my father's house, and I treated him as 
 
 a prince, the same as I have James Burcs and Mrs. Bates: but the 
 
 poor man lost his mind. Let ue hopa and pray that God will not 
 
 hold him responsible for his acts." 
 
102 ME A OULPA.. 
 
 The recital of this last episode threw a gloom for a few moments 
 over the assemblage, but they all felt in a happy humor, and soon 
 laughter, and music, ai d song reverberated through the house. This 
 was kept up until dinner was announced , and when they had ar- 
 ranged themselves around the table, and before they were seated, 
 John Henderson said: "This is the first time I have ever been called 
 upon to preside at my own family table, and as we are brought to. 
 gether under circumstances in which the finger of God is plainly vis- 
 ible, let us return thanks." 
 
 Then with this tall form erect, and with eyes and hands uplifted, 
 be said, "Oh, God! Thou who holdeth myriads of worlds in place 
 by the power of Thy will, and yet who marketh the fall of the spar- 
 row, look down upon this family and the friends assembled, on this the 
 natal day of the Savior of the world, around this board spread with 
 Thy bounteous gifts, and incline each heart to return thanks to Thee; 
 and may each be so impressed with Thy Divine goodness that he may 
 go hence strong in his faith in Thee, and an earnest soldier of the 
 Cross/" 
 
 John Henderson was master of elocution, and this simple prayer 
 brought an earnest "amen!" from each one present. 
 
 At every Christmas since the above, the anniversary of this jovial 
 reunion has been commemorated by the Hendersons, and the same 
 guests have met around the festive board. The name of one of them 
 however, has longed since been changed. High chairs have to be 
 - placed at the table for the grand children, and Mrs. Allen Campbell 
 has a seat by her husband. John Henderson holds that, as one can- 
 not enjoy a good meal who has never felt hunger, so one cannot fully 
 appreciate genuine happiness who has not seen the reverse; and he 
 and his are reaping the benefit thus arising, by comparison, of those 
 bitter days when in anguish of spirit he cried out: "Mea Culpa"- 
 through my fault. 
 
f I 
 
 Liz," 
 
 It was midsummer in the heart of the Sierras. All the air was 
 fall of quivering heat, which beat against the mountain side, wither- 
 ing the petals of the wild-flower and forcing the ferns to bend their 
 heads and drink from the clear streams that trickled down the 
 slopes. 
 
 The birds, overcome by the heat, were too indolent to fling; and 
 only occasionally could one pee the bright wing of a blue-bird or the 
 red breast of a robin, as it darted through the air, half eagerly, to 
 snap at a fly asleep in the purple and white wanothies thicket . 
 
 The miners put down their picks and shovels to wipe the perspira- 
 tion from their brows, then lay down to doze under the pine shade, 
 for it was too hot for work. They looked longingly up at Sugarloaf , 
 whose summit, almost touching the clouds, seemed so inviting and 
 cool. 
 
 It stood, like a rock, boldly out in relief from the undulating sea 
 of foothills covered with dry grass, and the sight was as tantalizing 
 as the mirage of the desert to a worn traveler. 
 
 The dust in the roads was yellow and thick, and when the stage 
 made its daily entrance and exit into and from Nevada City, their 
 leaders were obscured in a fine, penetrating mist of dust. It covered 
 their flanks until they looked as if they were emulating the poetical 
 bee, who "powders his wings with gold.*' It settled over the pas- 
 penger^, until the most renowned physiognomist could not well have 
 discovered a line of distinctive character in their dirt-grimed faces . 
 
 Nevada City lies in a gorge in the mountains, a town born of the 
 mines, and of mushroom. Men in the old days of California chiv- 
 alry had little time to waste in architectural design, acd the cabins 
 and houses scattered here and there were without regard to any reg- 
 ular plan. The town was built by men who had come to work, to 
 wreet from the earth by muscle power, their fortunes men of 
 indomitable will and courage, who bad little time to spend on thft 
 mere comforts of living. 
 
104 xiz. 
 
 5 ' <, ** r 
 
 All the heat was concentrated in that spot, and poured down in 
 full vigor upon the rude cabins, scorching the leave.* of a few pre- 
 viously guarded rosebuehes in the gardens, even exhausting the en- 
 ergy of the hardy pioneers, who were content to sit indoors idly; 
 while the chickens drooped about the yards, and the ducks reveled in 
 the waters of the ravine, which were very low and muddy, for the 
 nun had drained it almost dry, and only a shallow stream flowed over 
 the yellow clay. 
 
 While the men dozed, a young girl worked steadily, panning out 
 dirt in the upper part of the stream, with her head bare, in the 
 scorching sunlight. She was tall and brown. Her eyes were dark 
 and expressive, and her rich auburn hair fell down her shoulders in 
 unkempt profusion. Her shoulders were broad, but her face was 
 young the face of a child, who had lived more in the years of her 
 existence than was well for her. She looked as Joan D'Are might 
 have looked when she knitted in the cottage of Lorraine, while 
 France lay bleeding, and the nameless ambition was stirring in her 
 breast. 
 
 Her feet were encased in an old pair of men's shoes. There was 
 something pitiful about the expression of those shoes, supporting her 
 slender, bare, brown ankles, which looked too slight to bear such a 
 weight. They were aristocratic-appearing shoes, but their original 
 color was lost, for they were torn, patched, run down at the heel, the 
 soles ragged; still, they had an air of gentility, as if they had seen 
 better days. 
 
 They turned up at the toes, as if they shrunk in disdain f roia their 
 surroundings. 
 
 They rolled over at the ankle, as if they shuddered at contact with 
 bare flesh, and had been accustomed to silken hose. The tracery of 
 arabesque patterns on their instep stood out clearly, and reminded 
 one of Mrs. Skewton's frippery and artificial roses, after the decay 
 of youth. 
 
 Liz did not mind the shoes as she worked, although they were go 
 large they impeded her progress, and gave her a sort of shuffling gait. 
 She loosened the handkerchief around her throat, twisted her mass 
 of hair carelessly on top of her head, tucked her ragged, calico dress 
 further up from the water, and shook her rusty pan to and fro, her 
 eyes bent eagerly in their search for particles of gold. She glanced 
 
IAZ. 105 
 
 occasionally from her work at a figure sleeping under a tree near by, 
 which filled the air with a chorus of enores that reverberated through 
 the mountains like distant growlings of thunder. 
 
 "Well, Liz, what luck to-day ? I see the old dad is quietly 
 snoozing. It's a burning shame you are working out in this eun. 
 It is hotter than Hades?." 
 
 She blushed, as the speaker came in view from behind a clump of 
 manzinita bushes, but answered : 
 
 "I'm sort of used to it. I can't get much blacker and poor dad's 
 head ain't just right, you know, Dick." 
 
 Dick whistled significantly, but his countenance did not express 
 much sympathy for the aforesaid head, for he thought rightly, whis- 
 ky and laziness were the things that were not ''just right." 
 
 Dick Beech was one of the numerous crowd of young men who had 
 drifted along with the tide in the the early days, landed in Califor- 
 nia, and patiently sat down, waiting for fortune to come to him in- 
 stead of troubling himself to search for her. He counted on stum- 
 bling on a big thing some day, so despised the humble panning for 
 gold dust, but somehow or other he always managed to obtain a 
 share of the world's goods. 
 
 A man down in Grass Valley had found a nugget as big as his fist, 
 one day, without any eftbrt on bis part, and Dick Beech reasoned 
 *that if the man from Grass Valley found a nugget as big as his fist, 
 there was no reason why Dick Beech shouldn't pick up one as big as 
 his head.' He therefore quieted his conscience by this questionable 
 logic, and spent most of his time in waiting for the above mentioned 
 result. 
 
 He possessed a smattering of a college education, and was conse- 
 quently looked up to as an oracle of learning by the simple-hearted 
 miners. He had befriended "Drunken Harry,'* as Liz's father was 
 dubbed by his associates, and so had earned her eternal gratitude. 
 
 She was not accustomed to being noticed, and did not court it, for 
 the few women in town drew back their skirts in pharisaical dismay 
 when she pa?sed near them . 
 
 The daughter of a drunkard, a giil who could shoot a deer, ride a 
 bronco like a man, and work in the digging, was a ihing never 
 dreamed of in their philosophy . 
 
 Liz was a waif, motherless and alone, she bad nourished like a 
 
106 LIZ. 
 
 weed in rich soil, and had grown into a tall, handsome maiden, de- 
 fiant of the laws of society and the creeds of man, "free as the moun- 
 tain wind*," a true child of the Sierra. 
 
 The mountains and her dissolute father were her sole companions. 
 
 His faults were only forces of circumstance to her and she idolized 
 him. 
 
 She had been taught by an old man named Hugo who lived a her- 
 mit's life in an old cabin, so she was not entirely ignorant. 
 
 Dick Beech was a revelation to her. He belonged to a class she 
 only saw in her dreams and while she often treated him scornfully as 
 she did the rest, she reserved a higher place in her heart for him be- 
 cause he had helped her father. 
 
 "I'm used to the heat," she said: "I like work only there's noth- 
 ing to pay for it to-day." 
 
 "Come Liz! Your dad's asleep. Come sit in the shade. I want 
 to talk to you. 
 
 She shook her head determinedly. 
 
 "I shall stay here all night, until I get something when I make up 
 my mind to do a thing I intend to do it if it kills me." 
 
 "Dear me! Heroism in calico. A new Judith a coming Portia 
 of the Sierra!" 
 
 "I'm just Liz Byrnes. No fooling, Dick Beech," she said stop- 
 ping her work, her dark eyes sparkling, as if he had intended an in- 
 suit. 
 
 "Well," he laughed, "don't show fight. It's honorable company 
 I placed you in." 
 
 Then he stretched himgelf out full length on the dry grass idly 
 stirring the water with a stick; and regarding Liz curiously. 
 
 The sunshine brought out every tint clearly on the hillside the 
 blue green of the pine tassels the purple brown brinks, the rich red of 
 the manzinita wood, the gloss of the madrona leaves mingled with the 
 emerald of the live oak foliage and the surrounding mountains reveal- 
 ed dark against a eky of intense cloudless blue. 
 
 The granite bowlders sparkled like monster diamonds in the strong 
 sunlight which beat down upon Liz's head causing each hair to shine 
 Mke a thread of gold. 
 
 She would have well served for a model of the vestal Taccia as she 
 
LIZ. 10T 
 
 raised the pan over her head to relieve her arms from their cramped 
 constant motion. 
 
 Dick Beech lay there listlessly watching, anathematizing her drowsy 
 father but never imagining that he might relieve her for awhile. 
 
 "You will have a sunstroke," he said. "I insist upon you covering 
 your head, or I shall borrow that inverted basket from that China- 
 man down there." 
 
 "Liz, do you know that you are very pretty ?" 
 
 She opened her eyes wonderingly. 
 
 "You are as bad as the boys who call me names. I never looked 
 at myself." 
 
 "I wish I could paint you just as you are. Unfortunately I have 
 never learned how. " 
 
 "These duds would be pretty things in a picture," she replied 
 touching them. Why don't you go 'long and talk to Nancy Brown? 
 I'm busy." 
 
 "Because you interest me, and she don't like you Liz, just as 1 
 prefer a wild flower to a cultivated one. I'ts a matter of taste. I think 
 we were intended for each other and I love you Liz " 
 
 He moved a little farther into the shade as he looked at her stead- 
 
 iiy. 
 
 She laughed though her heart beat fast with happiness. 
 
 "I could work and you be a gentleman. I would like a man like 
 old Hugo used to read of a knight who would fight for me, go 
 through everything for me, die if need be and kill bears," she said 
 merrily. 
 
 "Dick, I heard about your hunt the other day. If I had had your 
 chancel would have shot him instead of climbing a tree. I will love 
 you on one condition: that you bring me a young grizzly for a pet." 
 
 "I don't care about sharing affections, and I'm afraid the bear 
 would be the strongest party Liz," he said suddenly. "OaeofHaiii 
 Jones' girls is going to be married to-night. Going to the wed- 
 ding?" 
 
 It was intended as a Koland for her Oliver, she looked at him. 
 her eyes snapping with anger. 
 
 "How dare you ask me? I'm not good enongh for them. Any- 
 way weddings are curious things. I see them dancing and kissing; 
 in a year they fight like wildcats, then two to one they leave one an- 
 
108 LIZ. 
 
 other. It's like dad's game. Head or tails. I don't believe in 
 weddings ." 
 
 "But Liz, suppose two people love one another?" 
 
 "Well Dick, what is love ?" 
 
 '"That's a stunner. Oh! I don't know exactly. A sort of a a 
 kind of a feeling when two people care for each other, and one can't 
 live without the other. There was Abelard and Heloie, Romeo and 
 Juliet." 
 
 Liz tossed her h*ad scornfully. 
 
 "I can tell you. It's always sorrow and trouble for one of them. 
 There was the baker's Lize. She was in love and stepped round as 
 if she was walking on eggs; but Tim married another woman and in- 
 stead of eggs. I reckon she thought it was pretty heavy and now she 
 is a half-witted creature. That is what love does. Don't talk to me 
 of that nonsense. Weddings and funerals are mighty like. Some- 
 times the first is a living death, the other a restful one." 
 
 A slight breeze blew down from the summit of Sugar-loaf, stirring 
 the pines into motion, fanning the air and creating a purer atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 The shadows of the pines were lengthening and the color of the 
 mountain crests changing to a golden purple in the setting sun. 
 
 Liz pulled down her sleeves, called to the figure underneath the 
 tree, which grunted in reply, and, grasping a black bottle, started to 
 its feet. The rags, unfolded, developed themselves into a resem- 
 blance to clothes, and a man rose, blinking in the light with blood- 
 shot eyes, and waited until Liz shouldered the pick, shovel and pan; 
 then lazily joined her. 
 
 She whispered to Dick: "Go ! Dad can't bide you. He gets in 
 such temper sometimes, he might hurt you." 
 
 Dick obediently slipped back through the thicket from which he 
 had come. 
 
 "Got anything to-day Lazybones?" he growliugly asked. 
 
 "Not much, dad," Liz answered, gently; for her voice was al- 
 ways soft to him. 
 
 They walked together up the lonely pa*h to their board shanty, 
 which stood across the ravine opposite the town, in a grove of ma- 
 drona trees. No miner ever possessed .such a rickety, desolate old 
 cabin as "Drunken Harry,*' and like its owner, it looked as if it wag 
 
LI*. 109 
 
 intoxicated and ou its last legs. The planks were nailed on the frame 
 unevenly, at a tipsy looking angle; the nails were half out, as if 
 bound for a spree, and the shingle roof was patched ia uneven heaps 
 with cloth, hrush, odd bits of lumber and old petroleum ans, until it 
 appeared as if it were suffering from a mild form of delirium tremens. 
 Handsome Liz looked as much out of her place in the hovel as a 
 queen in a stable-yard, or a yellow primrose growing out of the bar- 
 ren rock cliffs by the sea. 
 
 "Dad," said she, leading him in, "don't take any more of your 
 medicine to-night, it makes you so cross." 
 
 "Shut up ! tend to your pertatoes. This is jest the stuff that puts 
 life into a fellow. When I feel sick or down sperited, I jest take a 
 sip from this bottle/' patting it affectionately, "then I feel straight, 
 and says to myself, 'Harry, you're a gentleman.' " 
 
 Liz left him while he continued talking to himself in a maudlin 
 way. She suspected the quality of the medicine but said nothing, 
 because he was her father, the only person in the world, near to her, 
 the only one who had spoken kindly to her during the lonesome nine- 
 teen years she had lived in the world . 
 
 The women in the town were cruel to her and avoided her as they 
 would a crotalua on the mountain rocks, so ehe lived a strange life 
 alone, with nature and a drunken father. She had learned the les- 
 son of silence, and however hard she worked, however heavy her 
 burdens, she never complained. 
 
 "Dad, supper is ready," she called. 
 
 <Ugh," he growled, "a few ashy potatoes." 
 
 "There's a bit of meat for you.' 
 
 "That's well; your pore dad's sick, Liz; you wouldn't take it 
 from him, would you?" 
 
 She pushed the morsel towards him. 
 
 "I'm going down town; mind you keep close to the shanty. Got 
 any dust 'bout you?" 
 
 She took the little she had found from her pocket, and looked at 
 him beseechingly, laying her hand on his arm. 
 
 "Do you think, dad," she said, looking up into his face, "that 
 you need more medicine," slightly emphasizing the word. "This is 
 all I have for bread, and we have no more in the house." 
 
110 LIZ. 
 
 He pushed her roughly from him and whined : " You'd let your 
 pore old dad die and you'd never keer." 
 
 She handed him the dust silently and went out of the rojm, while 
 he slunk down the trail quickly toward the town, for his throat was 
 dry and parched, burning for liquor to moisten and relieve it. 
 
 Tears gathered in her eyes as she watched his shambling figure 
 disappear down the slope, but she brushed them away impatiently 
 and returaed to the house, to straighten up a bit, which did not take 
 her long, for Liz had not besn taught that great principle " which is 
 akin to godliness," and is never inherent. 
 
 She went out and sat on a stump of a pine tree which stood near 
 her door. The air was sweet and balmy, redolent with pine fragrance 
 and odor of plumy buck-eye blossoms. The feverish heat was gone. 
 Nature's pulse beat faster, and a pleasing cool reigned over valley 
 and mountain. Venus peeped over the tops of the pines, and peered 
 down upon the girl sitting all alone in the forest. The new moon, 
 bent like Diana's bow, shone in the skies, while all around clustered 
 myriads of bright stars, like golden-winged baes round a wondrous 
 tropical bloom. The lights twinkled down in the town like glow- 
 worms' lanterns, and the breeze wafted up to the heights faint echoes 
 of laughter and merry life. Liz gazed at the stars, and wondered 
 " if beings who lived up there were ever poor and lonely as she was." 
 Hugo had told her " they were other worlds," and she conjured up 
 many fantastic fancies in her mind in regard to their inhabitants. 
 " They were PO bright, people must be happy there," she sighed. 
 " There is so much misery here, I know the world cannot shine like 
 that." 
 
 She looked down at the town, and rebellious thoughts stirred in 
 her breast as she thought of Dick Beech and his pretty speeches. 
 Puttijg a shawl on her head, she concluded that she would go down 
 and see the wedding, where she could see him also. She walked 
 down the bill, crossed the narrow flume that spanned the ravine, and 
 went to the house where the merry-making was. It was a typical 
 miner's wedding. The fiddler was sitting on a chair placed on an 
 old dry goods box, busily spinning off reels, Tom Tucker's various 
 medleys, and calling out " alaman right, alaman left." 
 
 Some of the miners who had slept in the daytime were dancing in 
 their beat style, cutting innumerable pigeon wings as they swung: 
 
uz. Ill 
 
 their partners. The windows were open and Liz crowded close to 
 the wall, watching Dick Beech eagerly as he danced with the rural 
 belles, 
 
 Her eyes bnrned with jealousy as she watched him look at Nancy 
 Brown with the same tenderness he had bestowed on her in the after- 
 noon, and she felt as if she could gladly plunge a knife into Nancy's 
 heart. " Indian blood flowed in Liz's veins," they said, and surely 
 she possessed a haughty, deep, passionate nature, that might well 
 have descended to her from an Indian princess. 
 
 She watched them as they played games and drank whisky. The 
 noise grew louder, the men more hilarious, and when the fiddler 
 called out, (s salute your partners," they availed themselves of a lib- 
 eral interpretation, and imprinted a rousing kiss on each buxom 
 maid's lips. She did not know how long, but the company showed 
 signs of dispersing, and she stole away home. 
 
 When she reached the bottom of the hill she noticed a light burn- 
 ing in the cabin, and her heart almost stood still, for she knew her 
 father's moods were not plea&ant after he had been indulging too 
 freely in " medicine." As she came near she saw him walking back 
 and forth, looking very savage, but Liz did not know what terror 
 was, so she went boldly in. 
 
 'Where hev you ben this time o' night ?" he growled, showing 
 his teeth like a wild animal. " A pretty time fur an honest gal to 
 be prowlin' round the country. ' ' 
 
 He came near to her, raising his arm as if to strike her, but she 
 looked him steadily and defiantly in the eyes. "It's no matter; I'm 
 used to looking out for myself." 
 
 "A fine care you take. They are talkhV 'bout you, an* that cur- 
 ly-headed, smooth-tongued chap down town; and I tell you, Liz 
 Byrnes, if I ketch him 'round here, I'll crack his head quicker than 
 you can say 'Jack Robinson.' ' 
 
 She did not answer, biting her lips to keep down the angry words. 
 
 "You defy me, do you? I'll show you!" 
 
 Then in a sudden fit of rage he picked up a gnarled manzanita log 
 and struck her. Its aim was sure, it hit her on the shoulder and 
 the blood oozed through her thin calico dress. 
 
 He looked at her as if afraid . She started to speak. Her face 
 
112 LIZ. 
 
 turned deadly pale, while the red blood slowly dropping, stained her 
 drees. 
 
 A look of hatred flashed in her eyes; then she turned away silent- 
 ly, wiped off the blood, while he slunk into the next room as if afraid 
 to meet her gaze. It was the first time he had struck her. He had 
 cureed her, but the sound was familiar to her. That one cut burned 
 into her very soul, and she felt she could never forgive him. 
 
 The next morning she went to her work as usual, and he sneaked 
 off down town before she was up. 
 
 The July sun had gathered a renewed force, but she worked sul- 
 lenly on, only stopping once in a while to pour some water on her 
 throbbing head. The heat was so intense a steam arose from her 
 damp hair. She worked savagely, trying to stifle the bitter feelings in 
 her heart, which hurt far more than the burning pain in her shoulder. 
 
 "Harry's Liz has struck a good streak to-day," the miners said as 
 she found an unusual quantity of dust, but she never heeded nor 
 answered them. 
 
 Dick Beech sauntered down about the usual time in the afternoon. 
 
 "How goes it, Liz?" 
 
 She vouchsafed him no answer. 
 
 "Liz what's the matter? Sulks to-day?" 
 
 Still no answer. She kept on working. 
 
 "Don't be so hard on a fellow. It'e confounded hot, I wanted a 
 sight of you to refresh me." 
 
 She lifted her eyes for the first time, and looked at him with a 
 peculiar, searching expression and answered: "I think you could 
 find refreshment nearer home. Nancy Brown is good enough for 
 some folks to look at." 
 
 " *O, Jealousy, thy name is woman!' " he laughed. "Why Liz, 
 your little finger is worth her whole body. But you know," he con- 
 tinued, "a fellow has got to have some fun. He can't sit in a cor- 
 ner. Some day when I get rich it will be different. What makes 
 you look so fierce? I believe you would be equal to the Moor of 
 Venice, if I loved any one else, and smother me as he did poor 
 Desdemona." 
 
 "I could smother you or kill you, Dick Beech, if you were false 
 to me. I suppose I am not good enough for the likes of you, but 
 
uz. 113 
 
 none of them will love you any better, Dick." And her expression 
 grew tenderer as she said the words. 
 
 "I wish that you didn't have such an awful temper." 
 
 Mr. Richard Beech's private opinion was that he was too good for 
 Liz Byrnes; and they were both attracted to each other by the law 
 of opposition. She was handsome and strong. He was polished 
 and weak, and an ardent admirer of the beautiful. He was kind'to 
 her, and she placed him in a niche of her heart,;with her father,*as 
 the priests place the images of the saints in the ^cathedral, giving to 
 each a shrine above the world below. 
 
 "What is that stain on your dress? It looks like blood. Has 
 anybody hurt you?" 
 
 "No," she answered, looking away from him. "I only fell down 
 on a stone and cut myself ." 
 
 She despised a falsehood, but was too loyal to expose her father, 
 even to the man she loved. 
 
 "Liz, if it were not for your father we would be married." 
 
 "Yes?" she said dreamily, 
 
 "But I never could stand him." 
 
 "The knights, Hugo read of stood everything for the ladies they 
 loved. They killed giants and overcame dragons. They were strong 
 to stand everything, and Dick, they would have waited patiently, 
 with brave hearts. Poor old dad would not trouble you. You don't 
 know him as I do, and I can never leave him alone." 
 
 "In this nineteenth century, Liz, knights are not as plenty as black- 
 berries. The Bound table is a romance after all. Their wonderful 
 Sir Lancelot, was not so fine, he was human." 
 
 "But," she said earnestly, the color creeping into her cheeks, like 
 the rosy glow over the summit of the Sierras in the eventide, "peo- 
 ple don't need to fight battles with their hands, old Hugo says. The 
 beasts are in the heart we must conquer. Sometimes I feel as if a 
 liou was caged in mine, and it is hard work to keep him quiet." 
 
 Then, as if half confused at her own confusion, she worked on. 
 
 "Life is short enough, without so much trouble. I will see you 
 again. I must go, for I have an engagement." 
 
 She nodded good-bye cheerfully, and her heart felt lighter as she 
 went home in the evening. 
 
114 LIZ. 
 
 The cabin was deserted, no signs of her father anywhere. 
 
 She lighted a fire, and tried to cook an inviting meal. She waited 
 for an hour; still he did not come, and, being tired from her work, 
 ehe laid down on her cot, and fell asleep. 
 
 When she awoke it was dark, arid the moon was shining in her 
 face. She looked out of the door, down the lone: aisles of pines, but 
 he was not there. The night was misty, so she thought she would 
 walk down to the flume, where he usually crossed, and wait for him 
 there. She sat there for hours, it seemed her heart filled with tender 
 hopes and fears. "Dick loves me. He loves me/' she said over and 
 over to herself. The words sounded sweet to her. Her heart soft- 
 ened towards her father, as she eat there breathing in the pure moun- 
 tain air. The air was heavy with the intense odor of wild azalea 
 blossoms. The moon had gone down and it was very dark. She did 
 not mind the blackness, for Dick loved her. She knew it, she felt 
 it. The wound on her shoulder smarted, but she smiled, as she drew 
 her shawl cloer around her, and half laughed to herself, when she 
 thought that yesterday, she had minded so small a thing so small a 
 thing. 
 
 At last through the stillness, she heard a step coming towards the 
 flume. The trail was covered with dried pine needles and every step 
 was very distinct. She saw as he came nearer, that he staggered 
 more than usual. She roee and called to him through her hands. 
 
 "Don't cross. Go up to the bridge." 
 
 He answered her with an oath, and stepped on to the narrow en- 
 closed flume, which was just the width of a plank. Liz started to 
 go to him, but he waived his hands wildly, commanding her to "go 
 back." 
 
 Through fear for his safety, she obeyed* Her heart beat fast as 
 she watched, with strained eyes, through the darkness, and saw his 
 form swaying from one side to the other. 
 
 She saw him stumble, and regain his balance. He reached the 
 middle. She breathed more freely. He stopped, and continued 
 gesticulating. Throwing his arms up he missed his balance and fell. 
 Liz heard a sickening sound as he struck the rocks below. He 
 groaned once and all was perfect silence a terrible quiet. She 
 stood on the bank alone, a* one petrified, She tried to move, her 
 
LIZ. 115 
 
 liinbs seemed bound with icy chains. At last she screamed, and 
 scrambled down the steep declivity as rapidly as possible. Her cries 
 reached the ears of a passing miner, and he hurried to the spot, and 
 peered down into the darkness with his lantern. Liz was sitting 
 there, helplessly holding her father's head on her lap, and beseeching 
 him to speak. The man went to her, and felt old Harry's pulse. 
 
 "It's all up with him. Wait till I get some help. How did you 
 find him ?" 
 
 "Lying with his face in the water. But he is not dead. It was 
 so shallow, and he has only one cut on his head. He is not dead," 
 she cried, wildly. 
 
 The miner shook his head, and said roughly, but kindly: 
 
 "I've seen 'em drown in an inch, when the jim-jams was on 'em, 
 and it's as good to die by water as whisky." 
 
 Liz wrung her hands. She could not cry, and her eyes burned 
 like fire. The miner obtained assistance, and they bore the lifeless 
 body to the cabin, and proffered their rude help, but she preferred 
 to be left alone. 
 
 There was no woman's hand to soothe or comfort; not one came 
 near to whisper words of consolation to relieve her aching heart. 
 She hoped Dick would come to her, but she was left entirely alone 
 with her dead, and when the men came to bury him, they said: 
 
 "She was so white it was hard to tell which was the corpse." 
 
 She grieved for him passionately, mourned because she could not 
 tell him she forgave. Her pan lay idle in the corner; money was 
 so little to her that she had no incentive to work; still, unless she 
 roused herself she must starve. She started out one afternoon more 
 with the secret hope of seeing Dick than with any other object. She 
 looked white and worn, a mere shadow of herself, walking in the 
 sunlight like some poor soul, out of place in the worlt She sat 
 down on the bank and a familiar whistle startled her, which brought 
 the color into her cheeks. 
 
 "Hello, Liz," he exclaimed, "so you have crawled out of your 
 shell at last." His face had an uneasy expression. "I thought that 
 I wouldn't disturb you/' he said apologetically. "I could not do any 
 good, and I hate funerals, and such reminders. Now, Liz, what are 
 you going to do?" 
 
116 LIZ. 
 
 She looked at him earnestly, but he turned away, on pretense of 
 plucking a cluster of manzanita berries that hung above his head. 
 
 "I well, the fact is, I'm poor, Liz. We must wait for a while 
 still." 
 
 A disappointed expression stole across her face for a moment ; then 
 she replied simply: 
 
 "lean wait, Dick." 
 
 O woman ! thy faith is infinite, thy heart long enduring, long suf- 
 fering; when love enters it it is blind, and feels not fault or defect in 
 the loved one, content to be happy, even in waiting. 
 
 Liz took up her work and said to herself: * 'I shall work for Dick; 
 now I have another object in living." 
 
 August, with its heat, passed by, and the few orchards were laden 
 with ripe, red-cheeked peaches and golden pears, a fortune to their 
 pOFsesFors in the early days of California, when peaches and pears 
 sold for a dollar apiece. Gold was more plentiful than fruit. 
 
 September's breezes were cooler, the young quail filled the canons 
 with the whir of their wings, the dog-wood fruit clustered ripe and 
 red as berries of coral, and the dry graFS waved long and yellow in 
 the sunlight. 
 
 One morning Liz went down town to obtain some supplies, for 
 Dick had gent her some money as a present by a boy that day. 
 
 She was quietly making preparations little by little, when she 
 could spare a hard earned dollar, for the happy event she looked for- 
 ward to as being near. 
 
 She saw knots of men gathered in the street, discussing something 
 very excitedly. She went into a store and asked: 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "They jist took Dick Beech up to the calaboose for stealin' Long 
 Tom's pile last night, who lives above you, and they are going to 
 try him right off. Better go down to the court-house. He is a tri- 
 flin* sort of chap, anyhow." 
 
 Liz put down her purchase, took up the money, and walked out. 
 
 She Faw a man she knew on the street. 
 
 "Is this true I have heard ?" she asked. 
 
 "Bet yer, it is. There's bin lots of theivin' done here lately. I 
 hope they'll string him up." 
 
LIZ. 117 
 
 She turned away, and followed the stream of men, women and 
 children who were running toward the large, wooden courthouse. A 
 crow 1 was already gathered there, the judge seated a platform, the 
 prisoner on one side, the two attorneys on the other miners who 
 possessed a smattering of law, law suited to their prejudices, who 
 were acting for the prosecution and defense . The court preserved a 
 semblance of order. 
 
 The jury was impaneled, the men constituting it, of course, were 
 miners, and their threatening looks towards the prisoner at the bar 
 did not tend to reassure him. Liz stood in the back of the room lis- 
 tening breathlessly. 
 
 Dick sat with his head bowed, tjembling like a man with the 
 ague. The prosecuting witness was called. 
 
 Long Tom shuffled up, attired in his Sunday best, a suit of but- 
 ternut which his hair and eyes matched exactly, proclaiming his de- 
 scent, unmistakably, "from Pike county, Missouri." He appeared 
 as uneasy as a young barrister wrestling with his maiden speech. 
 
 "Waal," he began, "I jest handed over the dishes and truck, for 
 Topsy, my dawg, to lick, when I thought uv somethin' I wanted 
 down town, so I left my pile in an 'ole sack under my bunk, some 
 dust and pieces of silver, 'bout a handful, I reckon. I was gone 
 jest 'bout an hour. When I come in the bag was settin' in the mid- 
 dle of the floor. I tuk it up and shook it. It was as empty as Job's 
 turkey, and I'd seen Dick Beech skulkin' 'round thar awhile before, 
 and no one else was near. I'd know that silver this side uv Halifax, 
 'cause I cut an X, my mark, on each of them four bit pieces." 
 
 Liz started, and looked at the money in her hand. There was 
 the mark, ill cut and jagged, but plain as day. 
 
 She closed her fingers tightly over the pieces, and a faintness came 
 over her. She staggered, caught hold of a bench near, for now she 
 knew Dick Beech was a guilty man, a criminal, and she loved 
 him. 
 
 Long Tom descended from the stand with a well satisfied air. 
 The attorney for the defense spoke a few moments, evidently as a 
 matter of form, for hia argument was lame and weak, showing his 
 spirit was not in the work. The jury returned, and rendered their 
 verdict of guilty. The judge said: 
 
118 LIZ. 
 
 "Prisoner at the bar, the court has found when a man is found 
 guilty of the crime of theft, he should be hanged by the neck until 
 he is dead." 
 
 Being prompted by a man standing near, he hurriedly added, 
 " May God have mercy on your soul." This was a first case and 
 the honorable judge was not quite posted. 
 
 "Do you know any reason why the law should not take its 
 course?" 
 
 A hush fell upon the crowded room, and they looked intently at 
 the prisoner who never lifted his head. The flies buzzing in the 
 sunshine on the window panes were the only sounds that broke the 
 intense silence. The expression of the faces of the people was as 
 eager as that of the spectators in old gladiatorial conflicts, for the ani- 
 mal was rising in their natures, and they thirsted for blood. To 
 them a human life was very little, but a man's property by the laws 
 of the mining camp was sacred. 
 
 Dick lifted his head, looking haggard and appealingly towards the 
 crowd as if seeking sympathy, but there was none for the guilty in 
 all those upturned faces. Before he could reply Liz pushed her way 
 through the crowd, and stood before the judge, who regarded her 
 sternly. Two bright spots burned on her cheeks. She looked straight 
 at Dick when she spoke, and the people listened breathlessly. 
 
 " If it please your honor, I am guilty," she said proudly, looking 
 steadfastly at Dick. A gleam of joy and relief passed over his coun- 
 tenance. The color died from her face. A weary look came into her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Does the man recognize this ? " she asked, holding out a few dol- 
 lars in her hand. 
 
 Tom came forward. " Yes," he said joyfully, " that's my mark. 
 I could swear to it." 
 
 Dick covered his face with his hands and would not look at her, 
 but her eyes never left him, looking at him as if she could read right 
 through hi'? cowardly soul. 
 
 " I am willing to die, judge, only let it be soon. You shall have 
 the rest. Only let me speak once to this gentleman." 
 
 Groans of derision burst from the crowd, A boy threw a sone 
 
LIZ. 119 
 
 which struck her, but she stood there as if turned to stone and did 
 not utter a word. 
 
 "Bad blood, bad stock coming out," she heard them say, and 
 there was not one voice in all the town lifted in pity or sympathy for 
 her. 
 
 " What you've got to say, say quickly," commanded the judge. 
 
 She went to Dick and whispered to him. He tried to kiss her 
 hand, but she snatched it quickly away, rubbing it as if his touch 
 contaminated it. 
 
 " You will find everything in my cabin to-night," she said quietly 
 to the judge. " I have nothing more to say. I am guilty. 
 
 Dick Beech walked out of the room a free man. He was pitied 
 and praised while she was reviled by every tongue, and he did not 
 say even one word in defense of her. As the officer was escorting 
 her to jail, they passed by a door of a saloon where he was in the act 
 of drinking. The glass was raised to his lips . She merely glanced 
 at him, but there was a world of love, misery, disappointment and 
 reproach in that single look. He let the glass fall. It shivered in a 
 thousand atoms on the floor, and he went home to his room. 
 
 Far sweeter and calmer was her rest on the straw in a prison cell 
 that night than his. 
 
 They mitigated the sentence because she was a woman, but many 
 long years Liz Byrnes expiated Dick Beech's crime in the Nevada 
 jail. He left the town. They said he prospered well in 'Frisco, 
 while she worked hard and endured patiently for his sake . Surely no 
 human love could be greater than this, for she bore disgrace, was 
 willing to suffer death, while he lived honored in the world. She was 
 so young, it was pitiful. 
 
 After her term was served she went back to her old cabin on the 
 hill, an outcast, an object of scorn to all people; a martyr, a, saint 
 in the eyes of angels above. 
 
 She waited for him, hoping that he would come back to her pome 
 day, and she would forgive. 
 
 It was winter time, and the rain descended from the heavens in 
 solid sheets. The wind swept around the mountain peaks like 
 mighty monsters, seeking to wrest them from their foundation. The 
 pinea mingled their voices, sighing and moaning, while a torrent 
 
120 uz. 
 
 roared down the ravine, in mad frenzy, dashing over rocks and leap- 
 ing over bowlders. 
 
 JJiz sat with hands folded, watching the storm; but she was not 
 afraid, though the wind threatened to blow down the old shanty at 
 every gust. Through the storm some one was beating his way to 
 her door, and, as a fierce blast blew it open, it blew a man with drip- 
 ping clothing into the light. 
 
 "Tom," she asked, gently, "what do you want here ?" 
 
 "Liz," he said, hesitatingly, "won't you shake hands with me ? 
 I know all; Dick Beech is dyin' down at the tavern. He's told us," 
 he said, wiping a suspicious moisture from his eyes. "You're an 
 angel, Liz, which wimmin folks ain't often; but if ever thar was one 
 on airth, you're that one, Liz Byrenes. He wants to see you 'fore 
 he pegs out, the scoundrel." 
 
 "Is Dick Beech there ? " she asked excitedly. 
 
 "Yes; he came back a day or two ago. I never seedsich a change; 
 and he deserves it." 
 
 "You shall not eay anything about him," Liz retorted, angrily. 
 
 "They sed how be was doin' well," Tom said, "but it seems now 
 he wasn't. It was well in whisky, I 'spect. He got shot in a row 
 at Black's saloon to-night, and he keeps callin' for you." 
 
 She hastily threw an old shawl around her shoulders, and fol- 
 lowed Tom. The rain and wind beat in their faces, but they kept 
 steadily on, Tom holding a Ian tern before them, which illuminated 
 the wet and slippery trail. At last they reached the saloon. It 
 seemed hours to Liz, who threw off her dripping wrappings and 
 went into the room where he lay slowly dying. Men were laughing, 
 drinking, betting in the next room, one life was very little to them. 
 
 "Liz," he said, feebly rising up as she entered, "I knew you 
 would come to me. "Don't look at me so. It was that look that 
 maddened me, it has haunted me day and night," he moaned falling 
 back on his pillow. 
 
 "Only say you will forgive me. I have told them all. I would 
 scarcely know you, you are so changed. May I kiss you once, Liz? 
 For I love you," he said, looking at her wistfully. 
 
 She clasped bis hand in here, while a light, bright as a halo round 
 the head of a saint, shone in her face. 
 
LIZ. 121 
 
 "Yes, Dick, I forgive, freely, freely, if you will only live. I don't 
 care for these years, they are gone, and my life was not meant to be 
 like other women. 
 
 The wind swept around the house like the wail of a lost pirit, 
 and Dick held her hand in his and smiled peacefully, for he was too 
 feeble to talk any more. 
 
 As morning neared, the storm died slowly away, the embers faded 
 into ashes in the fireplace, and Dick's life ebbed quietly away. His 
 soul was summoned before the Higher Tribunal. Liz sat there mo- 
 tionless by his side, through the long day, praying in her heart for 
 death to be merciful unto her. 
 
 The Judge shook hands with her; the people crowded around 
 bringing offerings. They tried to make amends for their wrongs to 
 her, but she only said wearily: 
 
 "It is too late now. It is all the same to me. When you could 
 have been merciful you turned away. Now it is all over. Justice 
 can never make amends for my sufferings. 1 ' 
 
 And then she said softly to herself: 
 
 "It was all for his sake." 
 
MIRANDA HIGGINS. 
 
 lie was a drummer; a moon-faced, big-eyed, round-cheeked, inno- 
 cent drummer. He had been in California but a short time, and had 
 been forwarded by his firm to secure the trade of the then booming 
 town of Josie. 
 
 He drove a span of greys attached to a light spring wagon, loaded 
 clown with samples of dress goods, dry goods and small wares. He 
 was innocent, I say, because this was his first experiment in that line 
 of business, and his saucer eyes had not yet become contracted and 
 steeled by unflinchingly gazing in the clear depths of honest pur- 
 chasers; his peach-blow cheeks were not yet browned by the sun and 
 conscientious resistance to insinuating bargain-drivers. 
 
 He sat back on his seat, permitting the lines to lie loosely on his 
 knees, while he rea,d a volume of Bret Harte's stories of California 
 life. 
 
 " Well, here I am at last," he said to himself, * 'among the very 
 pcenes he pictures; breathing the very mountain air once inhaled by 
 Tennesee's partner; rattling over the very road that may have been 
 trodden by Jim and Kentuck. How strange it all seems ! To think 
 that I, Samuel Kingston, am here among the genuine Californians, 
 where I can see M'liss, and the rest of his heroines and heroes. No- 
 body ever opened up the pure, untainted streams of human life as did 
 Bret Harte. Simplicity, honesty, honor and classic ignorance com- 
 bined with rugged beauty and unadorned sweetness must be, as he 
 represents them, found in their purest forms among the denizens of 
 the grand forests, and ah ah gr-rand canons. I am wearied of 
 the stilted formalities of city life; I am tired of the assuming beauty 
 of civilized females. Sam, my bay you have struck it ! If you can 
 find one of the simple, pure children of nature, with a generous heart, 
 a self-sacrificing nature, and, of course, of the female sex, marry 
 her, and be happy. I'll do it ! I will search for one of the untamed 
 savages, and she shall share my lot as certainly as my name is Sam- 
 
HIQGIN8. 123 
 
 uel Kingston. How we will astonish the natives at Sacramento I 
 Bret Harte was right. Here is the place to find the feminine soul 
 untainted and pure as the leaping waters of the mountains. Get up, 
 you lazy brutes !" 
 
 Sam jogged along, leaving first the fig and nectarine, then the oak 
 trees behind him as he climbed higher and higher toward the divide 
 which overlooked Bobtail Canon. His horses squirmed up the 
 dusty, stony grade, puffing and blowing, as they worked from side to 
 side of the ever ascending gimlet . Sam, deeply engaged in following 
 the equally winding careers of Bret Harte's characters, looked up 
 only now and then and bent searching glances to the roadside. His 
 whole being was on the alert for the appearance of some of these 
 peculiar individuals. 
 
 Bret Harte's work was his guide-book; it was his Murray. He 
 was fond of Dickens, and had he visited London, he would have 
 taken Pickwick as his model of an English gentleman, 
 
 Sam's notions of Californians, simon-pure Californians, were not 
 derived from California or Montgomery street, or from the business 
 men of Sacramento. They were but hangers-on, but excrescences. 
 Genuine Californians, according to his views, as derived from his 
 constant perusal of Bret Harte, were to be found only among the 
 everlasting mountains, in the gulches, canons, and among the 
 sluice boxes of the mines. 
 
 Sam reached the top of the divide, and, as his greys spread them- 
 selves loosely in the harness, swished their tails and tossed their 
 beads, delightedly at the prospect of the downward trot, his eyes 
 caught a glimpse of the gulch below. 
 
 There they are, just as his imagination had pictured them ! Ramb- 
 ling, straggling streets tumbled up, jumbled up, rickety houses. 
 Windows of glass and wood and potato sacks. (Jhimneys of stone, 
 mud-plastered wood, kerosene cans and fire-proof, but rusty and con- 
 tradictory , stove pipe. 
 
 "Bobtail Canon" said Sam to himself, "Harte never wrote 
 about it that I remember, but how unique it looks, how breezy, how 
 picturesquely suggestive, the name ! What legends must cling 
 around such a distinctively characteristic California name as that." 
 
 The team of greys drove downward and around until, after rattling 
 
124 MIRANDA HIOCHNB. 
 
 over a decidedly nervous bridge which crossed the creek, they trotted 
 gaily in among the houses of Bobtail Canon. 
 
 A sign attracted Sam's attention. "Miners' Rocwt," it said in big 
 black letters on a sign-board which wearily rested one end upon the 
 ground and hung convulsively with the other to a rusty hook on the 
 equally wearied porch which leaned against the bosom of a disgusted 
 looking tavern that stared at Sam with wide open doors and windows. 
 Not a soul was to be seen, The place was as silent as a grave-yard 
 at full moon. 
 
 Sam, somewhat dazed, got out of his wagon and pounded vigor- 
 ously upon the front door, which stood invitingly open, with the butt 
 of his whip. 
 
 "Hello ! Hello the house !" he bawled. 
 
 A cloud of dust floated through the corral rapidly, and a figure 
 vaulted with a handspring over the fence. 
 
 "Hello y'eelf an whart's the matter ?" said the figure as it came 
 right end uppermost in front of Sam in the shape of a girl about 
 eighteen years old. 
 
 She was tow- headed, freckled-faced, pug-nosed and blue-eyed. 
 Her feet were bare as well as a lengthy portion of limb visible above 
 them, bare that is of artificial covering, though plentifully frescoed 
 with dust . She wore a grimy calico dress and was otherwise un- 
 adorned. 
 
 "M'liss?" said Sam slowly but insinuatingly, looking at the lady 
 in amazement. 
 
 "Say it agin an' say it louder, stranger," said the girl placing her 
 hands on her hips. 
 
 "How artistically simple !" muttered Sam. "Isn't your name 
 M'liss?" 
 
 "No 'tain't ! my name's Randy, whart's your'n ?" 
 
 "Mine?" answered Sam. "O mine is Sam Kingston. But tell 
 me, isn't this a hotel ?" 
 
 "Twar onct, but tain't now." 
 
 "Can't I put up here to-night ?" asked Sam; "I have come a 
 long way to-day." 
 
 5?" Reckon so. Whare yer doin' up hyer anyhow ? Say you Long 
 Jim an you Snakey Jake c'ra yer an' see te ther horses. Recken 
 
MLKANPA JUGGINS. 125 
 
 '* - X . 
 
 ye'll hevter put up't our cabiu if yer stay hyer all night. C'm long." 
 
 She led the way around the remains of the old tavern to a cabin, 
 rather more substantial in the rear, and introduced Sana to the in- 
 terior without further ado. 
 
 The furnishings were rough but neat and clean" enough and Sam 
 was soon in the wakeful dreams of "Hartey" romance. 
 
 Here was everything as described. He rambled around through 
 the little straggling streets and made mental note. Here was a bar 
 room, the bar indented with a multitude of arcs of circles where 
 whisky Bill and Snorting Jerry had slammed their glasses down 
 in emphatic argument, and there in the ceiling were bullet holes 
 where some Black Daisy or one-eyed Tom had applauded the 
 emphasis. 
 
 Kingston was in ecstacy . It seemed to him that he had but to 
 touch a hidden spring somewhere, and the slouch hats, long boots, 
 revolver belts, clinking glasses and historic dog fights and human 
 conflicts, would all put in an appearance and begin their operations. 
 It was a group in marble, it needed but life to make it a romantic 
 feast. 
 
 "Anyhow," said Sam, "I have found the girl. She is a thorough- 
 bred. Such eyes, such freedom from conventionality, I never saw. 
 What a heroine ehe would make for Harte. I'll capture her 
 if I can." 
 
 He labored hard for the three days he stayed, during which his 
 firm suffered from his negligence, and the siege he laid to her heart 
 was something tremendous. 
 
 He opened treasured samples of Smith, Brown & Co., and gave 
 her a choice of knickknacks. It was a heavenly joy to him to hear 
 her little screams of delight as she tried on the buttoned boots and 
 displayed one trim booted ankle in contrast to its begrimmed 
 comrade. 
 
 "Keep them , Miranda/' he said with the air of a prince. 
 
 "Shore yer ain't jokin', stranger?" she whispered sliding up to 
 his side. 
 
 "Now could I joke with such a creature of nature as you are?" 
 said Sam. "But you must call me Sammie." 
 "Call yer Sammie? Course I'll call yer anything for them boots. 
 
126 MIRANDA BIGGINS. 
 
 Yer a enakin' good feller," she whispered again as she threw her 
 brown arms around Sam's neck and implanted a resounding kiss up- 
 on his cheek, much like in sound to the pull of a horse's hofffrom an 
 adobe road. 
 
 A quiver of delighted conquest went all over Sam. He drew her 
 frowsy head to his manly bosom and said, "Oh Bandy, did you ever 
 love?" 
 
 'No," whispered she. 
 
 'Don't you love me just a little?" plaintively whined Sam. 
 
 'Yer bet," she replied anchoring her head on his shoulder. 
 
 'Will you be mine?" asked Sam trembling with apprehension. 
 
 'Your'n? Yer mean will I tie to you?" 
 
 'Yes," said Sam, "marry me," 
 
 "Ya-a-as," answered Mirande dropping her plump form into 
 Sam's arms. 
 
 "Your father will not object, will he?" inquired Sam. 
 
 "My ole man? Wai now yer whispering. Te! he! He'll be 
 something doggoned new ef he does. Count me in as your'n, 
 Sammie." 
 
 Samuel Kingston, Esq, drummer, drove off the next morning to 
 hasten through the business of his firm at Josie, which he accom- 
 plished in three or four days and returned to Bobtail Canon. 
 
 Agreeably to the arrangements privately and previously made, he 
 took Miranda Higgins and drove to the nearest Justice of the Peace 
 at the county seafj and was duly made a happy man in the possession 
 of the untamed savage. He persisted in insanely calling her M'liep, 
 much to the disgust of Miranda Kingston. 
 
 Sam was on the constant outlook for the outburst, which he ex- 
 pected, of some remarkable self-sacrificing deed on Miranda's part , 
 and even meditated deliberately upon getting himself into some serious 
 physical danger just for the sake of arousing the mountain spunk of 
 his heroine, so that he might relate the wonderful prowess of this 
 piece of unpolished nature to his friends at Sacramento. 
 
 The opportunity came, but not exactly as laid down in Sara's pro- 
 gramme. 
 
 They had started on the grade to the valley . Miranda was profusely 
 decorated in brilliant calico and gay streaming ribbons, and perctud 
 
MIRANDA HIGGIN8. 127 
 
 her buttoned shoes upon the dash of the wagon, where they were ever 
 present for her constant admiration. Sam complacently smiled and 
 delighted in the happiness of having given this unsophisticated lady 
 an opportunity to breathe the first breath of worldly fashion. 
 
 They were winding around up the grade when suddenly the sound 
 of clattering hoofs and rattling wheels was borne on the breeze down 
 the mountain to them. Sam looked up quickly, and up the grade two 
 turns of the road from him he caught a momentary glimpse of a span 
 of wild eyed horses and a buggy tearing down in a cloud of dust. In 
 a minute they would be at the next turn and be upon him. The 
 grade was wide enough for one wagon only. On one side a deep and 
 precipitous wall fell away for two hundred feet; on the other a sheer 
 precipice rose fifty more. There was but one crevice in the upper 
 wall where a foothold could be had. 
 
 Miranda clinched her teeth, turned pale, and screaming, "a run- 
 away !" climbed down from the wagon. 
 
 "Ah !" thought Sam, in the flash of a moment, "she is a heroine; 
 she goes to throw herself upon the brutes and stay then* course. '* 
 
 Miranda did nothing of the sort. She made 2:15 time for that 
 crevice in the upper wall, and perching herself safely there, shouted 
 as the cloud of dujSt drew nearer: 
 
 ' 'Shoot ! Yer blamed fool, why don't yer shoot?" 
 
 "Sure enough," thought Sam, and as the wild team came round 
 the bend he blazed away with his revolver. One horce fell, and in 
 the twinkling of an eye a $400 span and a buggy were crashing dowa 
 the precipice below. 
 
 Miranda climbed down. 
 
 "Nothing like such presence of mind, M'liss, Miranda, I mean," 
 he remarked, as ehe seated herself in the wagon once more. 
 
 "Ain't nothin* like cold lead an' heaven' a man with yer at sich 
 times," replied Miranda, with a grin. 
 
 They reached Sacramento, and Sam, to give his wife an eye-opener 
 on the wide, bad world, away from the pure atmosphere of the moun- 
 tains, gave a reception to his friends at the Golden Eagle. They 
 came in claw hammers and white kids. Drummers every one of 
 them. 
 
 "Miranda is stunnning," thought Sam. 
 
128 MIRANDA HIGGIN8. 
 
 She wore a blue silk, and twined orange blossoms 
 ornamented her head. The wild, sweet picturesqwness of bare and 
 frescoed feet and ankles was gone; the untamed expression of the 
 wide-open eyes was lost under the banged, flaming hair; the freckles, 
 fashionable as they were, glared angrily in - contrast to the blue 
 dress. 
 
 Sam swept her regally into the center of the room and introduced 
 her: 
 
 "This is my mountain heroine, boys. She is a specimen of pure 
 and undefiled nature. She's a mountain gem." 
 
 "Kingston," whispered a brazen-faced drummer to him on the sly, 
 "you've done it now, you know. ' 
 
 "I know it," answered Sam, "I always intended to get onex>f her 
 stamp. I am sick of cultured loveliness, and I found her, a wild 
 rose, blossoming amid the rubbish of one of the most romantic mining 
 camps you ever saw." 
 
 ' That night, when the guests had all retired, and while Miranda 
 was unbuttoning her boots, she glanced up at Sara and said: 
 
 "Say, ain't it about time to let up on this hyer mountain gem 
 business?" 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, Raiidy ?" asked Sam, aghast. I am 
 proud of your mountain origin; you are like a fresh breeze on the 
 sandy desert." 
 
 "I'm glad yer think so," muttered Bandy, with a mouthful of 
 pins, "only 'taint quite the kerrect 'thing." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," replied Kingston. "The people here ap- 
 preciate that sort of a thing. You'll be quite a heroine. 
 
 "'S'nice fer yer to say so, Sammie, 'cause yer see I'm among stran- 
 gers like. DadV I only kem out from Missouri, from the old 
 Massysip, three weeks ago. 
 
 Tableau. 
 
 WILLIAM ATTWELL CHENEY. 
 
THE MARQUIS OF AGUAYO. 
 
 [The point of Jaw involved in this story needs explanation. In our country a ques- 
 tion of fact, such as whether a man committed such and such a crime, is left to the jury. 
 In Mexico, there is no jury, and the Judges decide both the law and the fact. However, 
 they require two witnesses to the overt act. In this respect they follow the Mosaic 
 law, which is retained in that part of the Constitution of the United States referring to 
 treason, where a man can not be convicted of treason without the testimony of two wit- 
 nesses, or "confession in open eourt." Our readers will appreciate the force and mate- 
 riality of these distinctions in the story we give below.] 
 
 Broad were the lands of the Marquis of Aguayo; far as the eye 
 could see his acres stretched; up to the high ridge of the Sierras, 
 where straight against the sky a fringe of fearless pines were growing, 
 unconscious that, if the Marquis willed, they too might be bought 
 and sold. From Mazapil to Patos, from Parras to Monteclova, and 
 even further, for all we know, did the Marquis of Aguayo *s lands 
 extend. 
 
 If the traveler had inquired, "To whom does this or that field be- 
 long?" as of the Marquis of Carabas of old, for miles and miles, the 
 answer would still be, "To the Marquis of Aguayo 1" 
 
 The Marquis, to be sure, had tenants; but if they held the land, 
 the land held them; and none would be so bold as to affirm that the 
 Afarqwis was not their master as well as their landlord. In spite of 
 his enormous wealth, however, and almost kingly prerogatives, the 
 Marquis bad little of the luxuries the modern rich man could com- 
 mand. He had more land than money, and more of money than of 
 the things which it could buy. Yet if he had less of the comforts of 
 life, he bad at least the proud satisfaction of knowing that whatever 
 he did own he owned absolutely, without let or hindrance from any 
 of his neighbors. He was the best swordsman in Mexico, and when 
 he bestrode a hor*e, his strength in riding, it was said, was eo great 
 that he could make a horse squeal by the mere pressure of his knees. 
 He lived in a rude, middle-age sort of a way, moving to and fro 
 among his numerous haciendas, his body- secant sleeping like a 
 hound before his door. 
 
 On the 16th of April, in the year 1737, the Marquis of Aguayo 
 
130 THE MARQUIS OF AGAAYO. 
 
 was holding court (the expression is iiot too inaccurate) at his hacien- 
 da near Mazapil. The occasion was one of high festivity. The 
 glasses clinked merrily around the board, sparkling with the wine of 
 Parrae. Twelve young Mexican girle, in white chemise, gay petti- 
 coat, and blue and white ribosa, were moving noiselessly about the 
 table, waiting on the numerous wants of the guests. The menu was 
 the usual oue on such occasions Twtillas, Olla Podrida, Guisada, 
 a dieh of olives, eggs and oil, a particularly fine roast kid, and at 
 the finish the inevitable Frijoles. In the center of the table was a 
 huge glass of water from which all drank. 
 
 The marquis bad summoned all his friends, or rather all his satel- 
 lites, for he had no friends. He made it a rale, he said, to avoid 
 these entanglements, and he bad easily succeeded in carrying the 
 rule out. For the Marquis was rather feared than loved, and it was 
 whispered in certain circles that, though he could control almost all 
 else, his wife's affections were somewhat errant. Base rumor had it 
 that a certain major-domo, now at Patos, had estranged the beauti- 
 ful Donna Ignacia from her rightful lord and master. But whether 
 this was true or not, the Marquis gave no sign of ether outward ro 
 in ward suspicion. He sipped his coffee and smoked his cigarette 
 import urbably, with a calmness which at least betokened self-control 
 if not self-possession. 
 
 It was noticed that on that evening he was particulaily affable to 
 his guests. He had even joked and smiled primly at his own hu- 
 mor. Indeed the lion of Patos, as he was familial ly called, had so 
 relaxed his usual severity that one of the company, Don Jose Ybarra, 
 the young superintendent of the minfs at Mazapil, was bold enough 
 to hazard a remark . 
 
 " Where is the Donna Ignacia this evening, if one might ai?k?" 
 
 Now Don Jose Ybarra had no cause to love the Marquis. It was 
 he who had sought the fair Ignacia's hand hi marriage before her richer 
 suitor came along. It was said what will they not say? that the 
 beautiful Ignacia was not averse to the young engineer, and that 
 family influence, powerful in all Spanish countries, had been exerted 
 in hie rival's behalf. Be this as it may, every one in Mazapil knew 
 that the young engineer had taken his die appointment much to heart. 
 He had become dissipated and impudent, and the noble and open 
 
THE MARQUIS OF AQUAYO. 131 
 
 countenance which God had given him, had been disfigured with the 
 marks of sin's defilement. Many thought, too, that he was lacking 
 in proper spirit in breaking bread with his arch enemy, the Marquis . 
 But others, for the must part women, in whose heart the superintend- 
 ent had still a soft place, argued that they were friends now, and 
 that altered matters. 
 
 There was this much to confirm the latter view; the Marquis would 
 stand from his young acquaintance what he would never have allowed 
 from any other; who else would have dared at such a time to have 
 asked : 
 
 " Where is the Donna Ignaeia?" 
 
 The Marquis gave a puff to his cigarette. 
 
 "I believe she is at Patos," he said carelessly. 
 
 So reckless had Don Jose become with troubles (for besides his 
 tendency to drink, he had begun to gamble, and was heavily in debt 
 both to his conscience and the world) it was quite in the cards that 
 he should have gone on and inquired the whereabouts of the Major 
 domo, who was also conspicuously absent. 
 
 But the Marquis gave him a quiet but terrible look, which seemed 
 to say, "Go on if you dare." 
 
 In spite ot himself, the young man's courage o< zed out; and 
 though he despised himself for the weakness, he felt quite relieved 
 when the Marquis indulgently changed the subject. 
 
 After the supper was cleared away the cards were brought out, 
 and the gambling began to run high. It was quite the usual thing 
 at Patos to welcome in the morning light at play. And the present 
 occasion promised to be no exception. But the Marquis held himself 
 aloof from this amusement . He seemed above all petty passions; 
 an 3, trusting to his guests' absorption, was in the habit of withdraw- 
 ing well before the midnight hour. This evening he retired even 
 earlier than usual. But what was that to the gamblers? They cared 
 only for what he had to give; feared him for what he might take 
 away; bated them for what he had already deprived them of. The 
 Marquis, too, had the heaviest purse and the coolest nerves. It had 
 long teen a standing rule at both Mazapil and Patos that none but 
 guests should play. On one occasion, distinct in the memory of some 
 
132 THE MARQUI8~OF AGUAYO. 
 
 at least, the Marquis had "takenja hand," k but no one [wished the 
 experiment to be repeated. 
 
 The din grew louder ^and louder and the evening longer, until 
 finally each player lost either his hopes or his money; and, overcome 
 with the fumes of wine, and oppresed with that sickening sense of 
 self-contempt, which is*the a?h of passion, betook himself to bed. 
 
 The whole house was wrapt in quiet. 
 
 In the morning the sun rose as usual and proceeded on his west- 
 ward journey. Not long after the menials of the hicienda also arose 
 and began their daily avocations. Most of the guests at Mazapil 
 were in the habit of taking their coffee in bed and then rising for the 
 almuerzo or late breakfast. On this occasion they were later in get- 
 ting up than usual; but then, on the other hand, they bad largely 
 discounted the evening before. One by one they began to collect on 
 the pavement, in the shade of the building at the entrance to the patio 
 whence they commanded an extended view of the treeless country 
 and of the road to Patos, by way of the Punta Santa Helena . 
 
 They were in no too good humor. But one man had won (and 
 even he, as is the custom in such a case, was out of pocket), Don 
 Manuel Sanchez, the rich banker of Mexico. Stingy, close and un- 
 scrupulous, he turned everything to profit, even gambling. 
 
 "So you lost like the rest of us," said the irritable Delgado, who 
 could not bear to lose or to keep silent. 
 
 "Jesus Maria, did 1 not have 200 pesos, and what have I now?" 
 said Manuel, with injuied innocence. 
 
 "Carramba," said Delgado, "your pockets are well filled; I'll 
 dare swear." 
 
 Nothing makes gentlemen so impolite as gambling. Self-control, 
 under loss, is not, as is generally supposed, the characteristic of a 
 gentleman at play. This sort of stoicism is rather the characteristic 
 of a professional sharper who makes gambling a business. Conse- 
 quently, this fine morning when all nature was rejoicing, our gentle- 
 men of Mazapil were "out of humor, even rude, if Spaniards are ever 
 eo, and were secretly cursing each other in their hearts. 
 
 Perhaps, also, their irritation was increased by an untoward event. 
 Strangely enough, the Marquis was late, and had not yet made his 
 appearance; in consequence breakfast was waiting. 
 
THE MARQUIS OF AGUAYO. 133 
 
 "Mine host has been under the weather of late," said Don Manuel 
 wishing to appease the company, by introducing a congenial topic of 
 conversation. 
 
 "Family cares/' said the superintendent with almost a sneer. 
 
 "And the Donna Ignacia not present to console him too bad," 
 said Delgado. 
 
 "Too bad! Too bad !" echoed this arrant pack of cowards, who 
 dared not, even in the absence of the subject of their hates, speak out 
 too plainly the envy in their hearts. 
 
 In this instance their caution was not amiss; for, faultlessly dressed 
 in full white shirt, his long pantaloons cut open at the side, and a 
 broad sombrero on his head, cigarette in hand , cool and imperturbable 
 as he had left them the evening before, the Marquis had just shown 
 himself at the door. 
 
 "Good morning, gentlemen. I hope you passed the night agree- 
 ably," said the Marquis, courteously, holding out his cigarette in the 
 two fingers of his left hand, and calmly blowing out into the air a 
 perfect ring. 
 
 As he did BO, however, the careful observer might have noticed 
 that he looked toward the west, where a cloud of dust was rising on 
 the highway. 
 
 The cloud drew nearer, until finally, a horseman could be per- 
 ceived urging his steed with his huge spurs, as if eome life were at 
 stake. It was Miguel, of the first estancia, on the road to Patos. 
 
 "Senor! Senor!" cried that worthy man, fairly throwing himself at 
 his master's feet: 
 
 "Lopez, the vaquero, has been found dead before my door, stabbed 
 in the back!" 
 
 The Marquis of Aguayo kept on smoking. 
 
 The company, transfixed with terror, looked' alternately from the 
 messenger of death to the owner of three provinces, whose slight fig- 
 ure, as if of bronze, stood out so grimly against the sky. 
 
 "What did you do with the body?" said the Marquis, quietly. 
 
 "I laid it out in my room, Senor." 
 
 "You did well," said the Marquis; and then he added; "You may 
 go." 
 
134 THE MAKQUIS OF AGUAYO. 
 
 The company shivered with unknown dread, but the Marquis atill 
 looked toward the western sky. 
 
 Soon again another cloud of dust could be seen, and in time, another 
 messenger appeared, also in haste, and bearing a message similar to 
 the one which had preceded him. This time it was another poor 
 vaquero who had been murdered. He had been stabbed, in the 
 same mysterious manner, at a station further on towards Patos. 
 
 A third messenger came, and then a fourth, each bearing tidings 
 of a fresh murder still further on towards Patos. 
 
 At last came the end. 
 
 The unhappy wight who brought the news was too frightened to 
 talk. The substance he stammered out was this : 
 
 A vaguero, the Marquis' major-domo, the Marquis* wife and bis 
 four children bad all been murdered at Patos. 
 
 When the dreadful intelligence was announced to him, the Mar- 
 quis only said. 
 
 "I am indeed unlucky to-day." 
 
 And he went on emoking, stopping even to brush off the ashes 
 that had fallen on his spotless shirt. 
 
 ****** * 
 
 For some time after these occurrences all Mazapil was thrilled 
 with horror. It was an open secret that the Marquis had something 
 to do with the murders; but how were they accomplished ? Whose 
 was the hand that, in a single night had, over a distance of one hun- 
 dred ^miles, sent no less than ten souls into eternity? Was it not at- 
 tested by all those present at the dinner given by the Marquis on 
 the fatal night, even by Don Jose Ybarra, that his Excellency had 
 retired early, and that the next morning he appeared only a little 
 later than usual. The knowing ones remarked even this delay was 
 the least suspicious circumstance of all. A man who had been on a 
 death hunt the night before, would be particularly careful not to ex. 
 cite any suspicion by departing from his usual habits in the morning. 
 
 But these doubts were all laid to rest by no less a personage than 
 the Marquis himself. The horrid rumor began to spread about Maz- 
 apil, and from thence to Mexico, that the Marquis not only was the 
 author of the crimes in question, but that he was openly boasting of 
 it. In his cups he would, with fiendish pleasure, to one companion 
 
THE MARQUIS OF ACHJAYO. 135 
 
 unfold the manner of the killing. This confession was made invari- 
 ably to one witness, and always in the privacy of his room. 
 
 The substance of that confession was this: 
 
 When the Marquis retired on the evening in question his plans 
 were all arranged. He had ordered four relays to to be ready on the 
 road from Mazipil to Patos. By changing horses he counted upon 
 making the whole distance of fifty miles in four hours. His calcu- 
 lations were not far astray. Arriving at Patos in the dead of night, 
 he found his worst suspicions confirmed , 
 
 Before two in the morning his wife, his major-domo and his four 
 children were all cold in death. 
 
 He had left his vaquero some distance out of the town. 
 
 "I wished to surprise the Senora," he had eaid grimly to the un- 
 fortnnate man. 
 
 On the way back to Mazapil he rode just behind the vaquero, 
 and before arriving at the next station stabbed him in thfi back. 
 There was thus one witness less to his crime. 
 
 Arriving at the next estancia, he found another horse and vaquero 
 waiting for him. Behind this vaquero he also rode, and just before 
 the next estancia he also stabbed him. 
 
 At the third estancia another victim was ready, as well as at the 
 fourth. There were no longer any witnesses to his crime. By eev- 
 n in the morning the Marquis was in his bed. His ride of death 
 was over. 
 
 His plans had been calculated with most fiendish premeditation, 
 and had met with the most complete success. And he took partic- 
 ular delight in detailing them to the one witness who cared to listen. 
 
 When asked why he had murdered his children, the Marquis had 
 only answered: 
 
 "I exterminate the whole brood. When an Aguayo doubts at all, 
 he doubtt? everything. ' 
 
 In a month's time, no less than ten men in Mazapil had been told 
 the story; and yet on no occasion could the Marquis be induced to 
 tell it but to one witness at a time. 
 
 Don Jose Ybarra was not yet among the number. 
 
 Down into the lowest steps of degradation had he sunk. He had 
 lost his position in the mines. His hand, once steady, now trembled 
 

 186 THE MARQUIS OF AGUAYO. 
 
 with the excess of dissipation; his bloodshot eyes glared out their 
 disappointed hate on the very children he passed along the street. 
 When he heard the fearful story that was freezing to the marrow of 
 all the people of Mazapil, his heart leapt within him at the thought 
 of reveuge revenge, the last passion of a wasted life: revenge, the 
 sweet solace of a disappointed life. 
 
 "I will bring this vulture to justice," thought he. "Yes, if there 
 is law in Mexico/' 
 
 Then he looked back on his lost existence; he remembered the fair 
 face of the young girl that he had so hoped to make his bride; he 
 thought of all the misery the Marquis had brought on them both, 
 and with clenched fist he leapt into the air. 
 
 "Curse him! Curse him!" 
 
 That day Don Jose Ybarra was one of those who knew. Merrily, 
 cheerily, as if it were some sailor's yarn, the Marquis had reeled off 
 to him the confession of his crime. Ybarra fled from the mocking 
 laugh; fled from the polluted board which had witnessed his enemy's 
 triumph and his own shame. 
 
 But his despondency was but for the moment, A thought came 
 to him which cheered his soul. 
 
 "The snake will not confess but to one at the time. I will catch 
 him in his own trap; he shall see but one there will be two." 
 
 Don Jose Ybarra rubbed his hands in glee. And then he stopped. 
 Who would be the other ? An accomplice in such an undertaking 
 would not be easy to secure. In order to have the plan succeed, he 
 must manage to entice the Lion of Patos from his lair. Who should 
 be stool pigeon ? The drunken priest of Mazapil came to his mind. 
 
 "The very one," said Ybarra to himeelf. "I will go to him at 
 once." 
 
 When Father Gomez was, by delicate approaches, informed of 
 Ybarra's intention, he did not take kindly to the plan. The luxuri- 
 ous priest saw no pleasant prospect before him. 
 
 "Besides, was not the Marquis a friend ?" he said. 
 
 "Is he not a murderer?" said Ybnrra, with quiet intensity. 
 
 "I'll not do it," the priest answered, finally. 
 
THE MABQUIS OF AOUAYO. 137 
 
 "You will do it," hissed Ybarra, "or I will write to Mexico and 
 inform the Archbishop how you cure souls at Mazapil." 
 
 Such is the force of persuasion, that Don Jose, partly by threats 
 and partly by holding out the hope of future advancement, succeeded 
 in making the priest an accomplice to his crime if, indeed, bunging 
 a man to justice can be truly said to be a crime. 
 
 In accordance with instructions, the priest called on the Marquis 
 and invited him to dine at his apartments in the town. 
 
 The Marquis accepted without demur. 
 
 The priest reported the success of his interview to his principal, 
 and the two men took their precautions. A table, with an unusually 
 long cloth was prepared, and a little before the appointed time Don 
 Jose Ybarra secreted himself in its folds. 
 
 The Marquis came as he promised. There was a cold glitter in 
 his eye. "Does he suspect anything?" thought the priest. "No it 
 is impossible. How can he since the secret was buried between us 
 two?" So stifling his fear when the guest was in his cups, he led 
 the conversation, with great tact, around to the desired point. The 
 Maiquis looked at him with surprise. 
 
 "Who do I think murdered my wife and children, and my major- 
 domo, and my four vaqueros?" 
 
 The priest's fingers grew cold with fear. 
 
 "I will tell you who murdered them. I did!" hissed the Lord of 
 Patos, as he leaned over the table with a drunken leer. 
 
 "Oh, my son, my son, how could you murder your poor wife?" 
 
 "Because she deceived me." 
 
 "And your children?" 
 
 "Because they were not mine." 
 
 "Are you not "afraid to confess this to me?" said the priectgrowing 
 bolder. 
 
 "No, why should I be?" 
 
 "Are you not afraid that I might hand you up to justice?" 
 
 The Marquis laughed. 
 
 "What, are you alone? The word of one witness is not sufficient." 
 
 With a quick movement the priest disclosed Ybarra concealed un- 
 der the table. 
 
 "Now, Sir Marquis, there are two witneesep." 
 
138 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF AGUAYO. 
 
 A flash and a report; 'twas soon over. Don Jose Ybarra lay dead 
 at the priest's feet with a hole in his head. 
 
 "And now," said the Marquis of Aguayo, "there is only one." 
 
A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES, 
 
 There had long been a sensation in the orange groves of Los An- 
 geles county, on account of the presence there of the notorious Tiburcio 
 Vasquez. On the 16th day of May, 1874, at 4:30 p. M. as the 
 Clerk of the City Council of Los Angeles was about to read the last 
 communication to that body, an unusual stir outside attracted quick 
 attention, and in a moment more City Fathers, City Clerk, City 
 Surveyor, City Reporters, and everybody else in the room, were 
 making for the front door. Instinctively I supposed Vasquez had 
 something to do with the hegira, and I was right. Vasquez was ly- 
 ing pale and bloody in a light wagon, in front of the entrance to the 
 city jail. A surging crowd was gathering around. Two men who 
 were taken in his company, at the time of the capture, were hurried 
 into jail and locked up. In a moment after, Vasquez, himself, was 
 lifted from the wagon and was borne into the city prison. Dr. Wise 
 soon after presented himself; and, assisted by several other medical 
 gentlemen of the city, rendered the wounded robber such surgical 
 services as he required. The result of the examination showed a 
 buckshot in his left arm, one in the left leg, one in the left side of his 
 head, one in front of the pectoral region, passing out under the left 
 arm, and one in the right arm. The balls were extracted, the wounds 
 pronounced not dangerous, and opinion expressed that he would be 
 well in a few days. 
 
 During the time referred to, Mr. Charles Miles, who had beeu 
 robbed by Vasquez near San Gabriel, a few weeks before, entered the 
 room. He was at once recognized by the wounded man in fact, the 
 recognition was mutual. Mr. Hartley, the Chief of Police of the 
 City of Los Angeles, had taken Mr. Miles' watch into hie keeping. 
 It was returned to the proper owner. Mr. M/s chain was missing, 
 however; Vaequez said nothing about it at the time; but, after Dr. 
 Wise and his ; ssociates had dressed his wounds, he requested Dr. 
 Wise to take bis portemonuaie from his pocket. It was done, and 
 
140 A SENSATION IN THE OBANQB GBOVES. 
 
 Yasquez opened it, and handed the missing chain to Dr. W., and 
 requested him to return it to its rightful owner. He remarked, "It 
 belongs to him, now," emphasizing the last word, aw much as to say, 
 "he might have whistled for it if they had not caught me." While 
 his wounds were being dressed, Mr. B. F. Hartley, Chief of Police, 
 one of his captora, asked him why he (Vasquez) had asked him (Hart- 
 ley) what his name was. Quoth Vasquez, "listed es un hombre 
 valiente lo raismo que yo." (You are a brave man like myself.) He 
 bore the probing and opening of his wounds without a murmur. In 
 personal appearance, this robber chief was anything but remarkable. 
 Take away the expression of his eyes, furtive, snaky, and cunning, 
 and he would have passed unnoticed in a crowd. Not more than 
 five feet seven inches in height, and of very spare build, he looked 
 little like a man who could create a reign of terror. His forehead 
 was low and slightly retreating to where it was joined by a thick 
 mass of raven black and very coarse hair; his mustache was by no 
 means luxuriant, his chin whiskers passably full; and his sunken 
 cheeks were only lightly sprinkled with beard; his lips thin and 
 bloodless; his teeth white, even and firm; his left eye slightly sunken. 
 He had small and elegantly shaped feet. Perhaps 130 pounds was 
 as much as he weighed. His light build made it an easy task for 
 the horse that bore him to perform forced marches. The reign of 
 terror which he had been answerable for was at an end. No attempt 
 was made to interfere with the law by the crowd which surrounded 
 the jail. A feeling more of relief than of revenge or exultation seemed 
 to be uppermost in the minds of all. The history of the capture of 
 Vaequez forms one of the most interesting chapters that has ever 
 been written. The captured robber had defied pursuit,- mocked at 
 strategy, and eluded for months the skill of the bravest and most 
 celebrated detectives on the coast. Once afoot or on horseback, with 
 three hours the start of his pursuers, Cuban bloodhounds would not 
 have compassed bis capture. A sudden, well-arranged surprise was 
 the only chance to secure him. It had been effected, and in the 
 manner hereinafter related . 
 
 After the futile pursuit of the robber up the Tejunga Pass, a short 
 time before, Mr. Wm. Rowland, Sheriff of Los Angeles county, came 
 to the conclusion that any further prosecution of the quest in that 
 
A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 1 
 
 manner and direction was a waste of time, energy and money. His 
 subordinates were ordered to desist, and many and loud were the 
 complaints lodged against him for inaction and inefficiency. 
 
 Mr. Rowland, however, kept on in the even tenor of his way; 
 and, availing himself of every possible source of information, at 
 length became satisfied that the long-sought-for prize was within his 
 grasp, and he quietly arranged for a capture. On Wednesday night, 
 May 15tb, the evening before the capture, he received positive in- 
 formation of the whereabouts of Tiburcio Vasquez. 
 
 The pursuers left Los Angeles at 1:30, Thursday morning. About 
 4A.M., they arrived at the bee ranch of Major Mitchell, one of the 
 party. There they took breakfast, and held a council of war. The 
 ranch is up a small canon, off the usual lines of travel, visited occa- 
 sionally by neighboring ranchmen for wood. After consultation, 
 Messrs. Albert Johnston, Mitchell, and Bryant left the party and 
 followed a mountain road about one mile and a half, until they came 
 to a point opposite Greek George's ranch. Turning square north 
 they climed to a point where, with a field glass, they could obtain an 
 unobstructed view of the covert. A heavy fog rendered satisfactory 
 observations impracticable for hours. When it lifted they saw enough 
 to convince them that their game was at the very point designated. A 
 horse answering the description of that ridden by the outlaw was 
 picketed out as above stated. Twice they saw a man, answering the 
 description of Vasquez, leading him to the monte, and returning, pick- 
 et him out as before. Another man on horseback went in pursuit of 
 a white horee which tallied with the description given of a horse be- 
 longing to his gang. Various plans for the capture of Vaequez were 
 discussed by the trio, but finally it was decided that Mr. Johnson 
 should return to the bee ranch and marshal his forces, while Mitchell 
 and Smith went in pursuit of the horseman referred to, they believing 
 him to be C haves, the Lieutenant of Vasquez. 
 
 Arrived there, unexpectedly, and it almost seems providentially 
 sent, allies presented themselves. A wagon driven by a Californian, 
 and in which "there was another man (also a native), was driven up, 
 from the direction of Greek George's. It was a box wagon. It was 
 not long before the plan of capture was decided upon. Six of the 
 party remained . The extra man with the wagon made seven. Mr. 
 
42 A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 
 
 Hartley, who spoke Spanish fluently, was instructed to inform the 
 driver that he was to turn his horses' heads, allow all eix of the party 
 and his extra man to lie down in the wagon bed, and then drive 
 back to Greek George's, and as close to the house as possible; that if he 
 gave a sign or made an alarm, his life would pay the forfeit. In due 
 time the house was reached. In a moment the men were out of the 
 wagon and on their feet with shot-guns and rifles cocked and ready 
 for what might offer. Mr. Hartley and Mr. Beers went to the west 
 side of the house, the other four to the southern, passing round the 
 eastern end. The foremost of the latter had hardly reached the door 
 opening into the dining-room, when a woman opened it partly. See- 
 ing the armed "quartette" approaching, she gave an exclamatfon of 
 fright, and attempted to close it. The party burst in, Mr. Harris 
 leading the way, and seeing the retreating form of the prize they 
 sought leaving the table and plunging through the door leading into 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Harris was close upon his heels, and Vasquez, with the agility of a 
 mountain cat, had jumped through the narrow window, or rather 
 opening which admitted the light, when Harris fired at the vanishing 
 form with his Henry rifle, exclaming, ' 'There he goes through the 
 window!" The party left the house as precipitatedly as they entered 
 it. Vazquez stood for a second of time irresolute. Whether to seek 
 cover in the monte or rush for his horse, stemed the all important 
 question. He eeemed to decide for the horse doubtless he would 
 have given ten kingdoms if be had had them, to be astride of him 
 and started, when Mr. Harris fired; turning, he sought another di- 
 rection, when one after another, shot after shot, showed him the utter 
 hopelessness of escape. He had already been wounded, just how 
 severely 1 have already told. He had fallen, but recovered himself; 
 blood was spouting from his shoulder and streaming from other 
 wounds. He threw up his hands, approached the party, and said, 
 with a cold, passionate smile wreathing bis thin lips, "Boys, you 
 have done well; I have been a fool; but it is all my own fault." He 
 was taken to the court-yard on the southern side of the house, and 
 laid upon an extemporized pallet. Not a murmur, scarce a contortion 
 of the visage, bespoke either pain, remorse, or any other emotion of 
 the mind or soul. Mr. Beers said to me on the evening of the cap- 
 
A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 143 
 
 ture: "While looking for bis wounds, I placed my handover his 
 heart, and found its pulsations gave no signs of excitement. His eye 
 was bright, and there was a pleaeant smile on his face, and no tremor 
 in his voice. He was polite and thankful for every attention. Al- 
 though he thought and said that he was about to die 'Gone up,' as 
 he expressed it his expression of countenance was one of admiration 
 of our determined attack and our goodluck." 
 
 The house was entered, and a young man was captured in the 
 north room before described. This was the arsenal of the robber 
 gang. Three Henry rifles and one Spencer, all of the latest patterns 
 and finest workmanship, besides other arms were found there and 
 taken possession of. Major Mitchell and Mr. Smith overhauled the 
 party they went in pursuit of, and brought him back. I have stated 
 that it was well that Mr. Rowland did not start out with the party. 
 Greek George, whose real name is George Allen, was designated as 
 the party who was harboring Vasquez. Vasquez was found there, 
 that is certain. Allen was in town Wednesday night, and while he 
 supposed he was watching Rowland's movements, he was being 
 watched with a degree of wide-awakefulness he could hardly conceive 
 of. JLe was solicitously attended in his peregrinations throughout 
 the city all that day. Had he attempted to revisit his surburban 
 home before the consummation of Sheriff Rowland's plans, he would 
 have learned the meaning of a writ of ne exeat which would unques- 
 tionably have been extemporized for the occasion. 
 
 As it was, when his distinguished sometime guest had been, by 
 the physicians in attendance, prepared to receive visitors, Mr. Allen 
 was taken into his presence by Sheriff Rowland. He was so much 
 affected by the sight that he forgot to express his sympathy. Had 
 Mr. Rowland not been seen by Mr. Allen Wednesday, the latter 
 would probably have remembered something whi h required his 
 presence at the ranch. Too much praise can never be awarded to 
 Sheriff Rowland for the quiet but effective manner in which he car- 
 ried out his well-conceived plans. It would simply be invidious to 
 attempt to particularize any member of the capturing party. All 
 that I was able to learn upon the subject, from any and every source, 
 went to show that each and every man acted with consummate cour- 
 age, coolness and discretion. To all intents and purposes, the ap- 
 
144 A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 
 
 proach to the house where the capture was effected was a deliberate 
 approach to a masked battery. That Vasquez was there, was a 
 matter which admitted of no doubt. How many of his fellow des- 
 peradoes were with him, no man of the party could know. How 
 well he was prepared to "welcome them with bloody hands to hos- 
 pitable graves," nobody could doubt; but, determined to capture him, 
 if possible, they "went for him," and they got him. 
 
 His coolness in the hour of capture, the fortitude and the uncom- 
 plaining stoicism with which he bore his wounds, all went to show 
 that, whatever opinion as to his bravery may have become current 
 with the public, he was a man who would have sold his life dearly 
 if he had had a ghost of a show. I verily believe if he had had a 
 knife or a pistol on his person he would have sought and found death 
 rather than capture, fto posse of armed men could have approached 
 the well chosen fastness which he had selected. Strategy and a for- 
 tunate concurrence of circumstances placed him in the power of the 
 law. 
 
 While being carried into town he exchanged notes with Major 
 Mitchell relative to the Tejunga Pass pursuit. He told the Major 
 that twice during the pursuit he was near enough to kill him and his 
 party, if he had desired so to do and convinced Major Mitchell of the 
 truth of his assertion. Vasquez protested that he had never killed a 
 man; that, the murders at Tres Pinos were committed before his ar- 
 rival; but he admitted that he led the party who committed the out- 
 rages away from that point. After his capture, he inquired who was 
 the leader of the party, and, upon being told that Mr. Albert John- 
 ston was, he delivered to him his memorandum book, and com- 
 menced to make a statement to him, not knowing at the time but 
 that his wounds were mortal. 
 
 His first declaration related to his two children; when, the prepar- 
 ations for the march into the city being completed, the record was 
 abruptly brought to a close. He showed Mr. Johnston the photo- 
 graphs of the children, and enclosed in the same envelope with them 
 was a wavy tress of black and silky hair, boun3 in a blue ribbon. 
 This he requested Mr. Johnston to preserve carefully, and return to 
 him when he should require or demand it. What secret heart his- 
 tory was bound up with that mute memorial of days when perhaps 
 
A SENSATION IN THE CHANGE PROVES. 145 
 
 the outlaw had his dream of home, and all that makes life beautiful, 
 no one can tell. 
 
 At a late hour I visited him in prison. Lying upon his pallet, to all 
 human appearances a doomed man, a price set upon his head, an 
 outlaw and an outcast, he received me and a number of other 
 visitors with an ease and grace and elegance which would have done 
 no discredit to any gentleman in the laud, reclining upon his fauteil 
 in bis dressing-room. After answering quietly and politely a num- 
 ber of questions, he requested those present to retire, as he had 
 something to communicate to the sheriff, relative to certain stolen 
 property. His memorandum book, among many other things, con- 
 tained a great many extracts, clipped from the Star, La Cronica, 
 and other papers, containing accounts of his various exploits. They 
 went to show conclusively that he had been furnished regularly by 
 confederates with everythiag that could interest him or keep him in- 
 formed ot the measures set on foot to effect his capture. 
 
 On a small scrap of paper, dated April 3d, was a memorandum in 
 the Spanish language, in which the name of Repetto occurred. 
 Whether it was a reminder of his intended visit to that gentleman, or 
 a credit for the amount of the enforced loan he exacted from him, I 
 do not know. As soon as Vasqirez was safely lodged in jail, all par- 
 ties agreed that Sheriff Rowland and the actual captors of the bandit, 
 the cool-headed and intrepid Albert Johnston, Under-Sheriff; and 
 his braye, energetic, and fearless associates, officers Hartley, Harris, 
 and Bryant, Major Mitchell, and Messrs. Rogers, Smith, and Beers, 
 were entitled to great credit. They had been unceasing in thefr 
 efforts to effect the capture of Vasquez from the time of the .Repetto 
 outrage, and the result is told as above. 
 
 William Rowland, Sheriff of Los Angeles county, is a native of 
 the county; was about thirty-three years of age, and was serving his 
 second term. Albert Johnston, Under Sheriff, is a New Yorker by 
 birth, a brother of Geo. A Johnston, of San Diego, and had been a 
 resident of Los Angeles for about five years, having held the office 
 of Under Sheriff since Mr. Rowland's election. He came to this 
 State when a mere youth, and went back to the East and remained 
 several years, but, "like all good Californians, returned. He was 
 of about the same age as his principal. Officer Harris was thirty-two 
 
146 A SENSATION IN THE OBANGE GROVES. 
 
 years old; was well-known in the city, where he had lived for six 
 years, and had been on the police force four years. He had detec- 
 tive qualities second to no man in the State; was brave, cool and en- 
 ergetic, and just the man to have associated in such a hazardous 
 undertaking. Officer Hartley was a brave fellow, about thirty-seven 
 years old, and a model member of the police force, upon which he 
 bad served efficiently and faithfully for two years. He had resided in 
 Los Angeles for five years. Constable Bryant was also one of the best 
 officers Los Angeles ever had. He, too, was a brave and efficient 
 officer, about thirty-five years of age. Major Mitchell, soldier, law- 
 yer, miner, apiarist and journalist, was a young man of talent and 
 education. With what valor and intrepidity he followed the flag of 
 the Southern Confederacy may be seen in his persistent and un- 
 rivalled pursuit of the robber chief, from the Repetto event until the 
 achievement related. Mr. W. E. Rogers was a young man of 
 thirty-two years of age, twenty-four of which he had spent in San 
 Francisco. He had been associated with the Sheriti's party from 
 the start, and was as brave as he was genteel and unostentatious. 
 Mr. Smith was, I believe, a farmer, and resided outside of the city. 
 When Mr, Smith went to Greek George's house a few days before, 
 to inquire if he wanted any barley cut, the latter not in the least 
 suspected that the would-be hay-maker was taking a survey of the 
 premises for Mr. Rowland, so that, when the time arrived for the 
 attack, it could be made without confusion and without loss of life, 
 if possible, to the besieging party. Mr. Beers, the correspondent of 
 the Chronicle, was as gallant as his fellows, and marched up to the 
 scene of attack with rifle in hand , prepared for any emergency. 
 
 The next day I interviewed Vasquez. He seemed but little the 
 worse for his wounds. Sheriff Rowland bad provided him with a 
 comfor'able spring mattress, and the dinner which was brought to 
 him during my stay in his cell, or rather room, was good enough for 
 anybody. He laughed and talked as gaily and unconstrainedly as if 
 he were in his parlor instead of in the clutches of the violated law. 
 In reply to my questions, he gave the following aocount of himself, 
 substantially: 
 
 "I was born in Monterey county, California, at the^town of Mon- 
 terey, August llth, 1835. My parents are both dead." I have three 
 
A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 147 
 
 brothers and two sisters. Two of my brothers reside in Monterey 
 county: one unmarried and one married; the other resides in Los 
 Angeles county; he is married. My sisters are both married; one of 
 them lives at San Juan Baptista, Monterey county, the other at the 
 New Idria quicksilver mines. I was never married, but I have one 
 child in this county a year old. I can read and write, having at- 
 tended school in Monterey. My parents were people in ordinarily 
 good circumstances, owning a small tract of land, and always had 
 enough for their wants. My career grew out of the circumstances by 
 which I was surrounded. As I grew up to manhood, I was in the 
 habit of attending balls and parties given by the native Californians, 
 into which the Americans, then beginning to become numerous, would 
 force themselves and shove the native-born men aside, monopolizing 
 the dance and the women. This was about 1852. A spirit of hatred 
 and revenge took possession of me. I had numerous fights in defense 
 of what I believed to be my rights and those of my countrymen. 
 The officers were continually in pursuit of me. I believed we were 
 unjustly and wrongfully deprived of the social rights that belonged 
 to us. So perpetually was I involved in these difficulties, that I at 
 length determined to leave the thickly settled portions of the country, 
 an3 did so. I gathered together a small band of cattle, and went 
 into Mendocino county, back of Ukiab, and beyond Falls Valley. 
 Even here I was not permitted to remain in peace. The officers of 
 the law sought me out in that remote region, and strove to drag me 
 before the courts. I always resisted arrest. I went to my mother 
 and told her I intended to commence a different life. I asked for 
 and obtained her blessing, and at once commenced the career of a 
 robber. My first exploit consisted in robbing some peddlers of money 
 and clothes in Monterey county. My next was the capture and rob- 
 bery of a stage coach in the same county. I had confederates with 
 me from the first, and was always recognized as leader. Robbery 
 after robbery followed each other as rapidly as circumstances allowed 
 until, in 1857 or "58, 1 was arreeted in Los Angeles for horse steal- 
 ing, convicted of grand larceny, sentenced to the penitentiary, and 
 was taken to San Quentin, and remained there until my term of im- 
 prisonment, exp ; red in 1863. Up to the time of my conviction and 
 imprisonment, I had robbed stage coaches, wagons, houses, etc., in- 
 
148 A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 
 
 discriminately, carrying on my operations for the most part ia day- 
 light, sometimes, however, visiting houses after dark. 
 
 "After my discharge from San Quentin, I returned to the house of 
 my parents, and endeavored to lead a peaceable and honest life. I 
 was, however, soon accused of being a confederate of Procopio and 
 one Soto, both noted bandits, the latter of whom was afterwards 
 killed by Sheriff Harry Morse, of Alameda county . I was again 
 forced to become a fugitive from the law officers; and, driven to des- 
 peration, left home and family, and commenced robbing whenever op- 
 portunity offered. I made but little money by my exploits. I always 
 managed to avoid arrest. I believe I owe my frequent escapes solely 
 to my courage (mi valor). I was always ready to fight whenever 
 opportunity offered, but always endeavored to avoid bloodshed. 
 
 "I know of nothing worthy of note until the Tres Pinos affair oc~ 
 curred. The true story of that transaction is as follows: I, togethe r 
 with four other men, including Chaves, my lieutenant, and one Leiva, 
 (who is now in jail at S*n Joee, awaiting an opportunity to testify, 
 he having turned State's evidence), camped within a short distance of 
 Tres Pinos. I sent three of the party, Leiva included, to that point, 
 making Leiva captain. I instructed them to take a drink, examine 
 the locality, acquaint themselves with the number of men around, 
 and wait until I came. I told them not to use any violence, as when 
 I arrived I would be the judge,and if anybody had to be shot I would 
 do the shooting. When I arrived there with Chaves, however, I 
 found three men dead, and was told that two of them were killed by 
 Leiva and one by anotberofthe party named Romano; the rest of 
 the men in the place were all tied. I told Leiva and his companions 
 that they had acted contrary to my orders, that I did not wish to re- 
 main there long. Leiva and his men had not secured money enough 
 for my purpose and I told a woman, the wife of one of the men who 
 was tied, that I would kill him if she did not procure funds. She 
 did so and we gathered up what goods and clothing and provisions 
 we needed, and started for Elizabeth Lake, Los Angeles county. On 
 the way there Leiva became jealous of me, and at once rebelled and 
 swore revenge. He left his wife at Heffner's place on Elizabeth Lake 
 and started to Los Angeles to give himself up, as well as to deliver 
 me to the authorities, if he could do so. Sheriff Rowland, however, 
 
A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 149 
 
 was on my track, and in company with Sheriff Adams, of Santa 
 Clara county, and a posse of men, endeavored to capture Chaves and 
 myself at Rock Creek. We fired at the party and could have killed 
 them if we had wished so to do. We effected our escape, and arri- 
 ving at Heffner's, I took Leiva's wife behind me on my horse, and 
 started back in the direction I knew Rowlands and Adams and their 
 party would be coming, knowing that I could hear them approaching 
 on their horses. I did so, and as they drew near I turned aside 
 from the road. The Sheriffs and posse passed on, and I took Leiva's 
 wife to a certain point, which I do not care to name, and left her in 
 the hills at a sheep ranch, while I went out and made a raid on Fire- 
 baugh's Ferry, on the San Joaquin river, for money to send her 
 back to her parents' house. I did so, and have not seen her since. I 
 provided for all her wants while she was with me. I tied ten men 
 and a Chinaman up at Firebaugh's Ferry in the raid above referred 
 to." 
 
 [Here I digress a moment, to tell what befell Sheriffs Rowland and 
 Adams and posse. They went straight to Heffner's, found their 
 game had broken cover. They found Vasquez' camp, captured thirty- 
 six horses and the greater part of the goods, clothing and provisions, 
 taken from the Tres Pinos, and then divided, Sheriff Rowland return- 
 ing to Los Angeles with the horses, all of which had been returned 
 to their owners except two. While at the camp Leiva came up and 
 was arrested by Sheriff Rowland, on suspicion; was by him turned 
 over to Mr. Wassou, the Sheriff of Monterey county. Sheriff Adams 
 and his party kept up an nnsuccessful search for the bandit for sev- 
 eral days, and finally abandoned it. I now resume Vasquez' narra- 
 tive where it was Jeft off.] 
 
 " After sending Leiva's wife home, I went to King's River, in 
 Tulare county, where, with a party of eight men besides myself, I 
 captured and tied up thirty -five men. There were two stores and a 
 hotel in this place. I had time to plunder only one of the stores, as 
 the citizens aroused themselves and began to show fight. The num- 
 bers were unequal and I retired. I got about eight hundred dollars 
 and considerable jewelry by this raid. I went from there to a small 
 settlement, known as Panama, on Kern river, where myself and 
 party had a carouse of three days, dancing, love-making, etc. El 
 

 150 A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 
 
 Capitan Vasquez was quite a favorite with the senoritas. It was 
 well known to the peopte of Bakersfield, which is only two or three 
 miles from Panama, that I was there, arid arrangements were made 
 for my capture; but the attempt was not made until I had been gone 
 twenty-four hours. Then they came and searched the house in which 
 1 was supposed to be concealed. When I left Panama, I started for 
 the Sweet-water mountains, and skirted their base, never traveling 
 along the road, but keeping along in the direction of Lone Pine. I 
 returned by the way of Coyote Holes, where the robbery of the stage 
 took place. Here C haves and myself captured the diligencia and 
 sixteen men. Chaves held his gun over them while I took their 
 money and jewelry. We got, about $200 and some pistols, and jew- 
 elry, watches, etc.; also a pocket-book, belonging to Mr. James 
 Craig, containing about $10, 000 worth of mining stock, which I threw 
 away. One man was disposed to show fight, and to preserve order 
 I shot him in the leg, and made him sit down. I got six horses from 
 the stage company, two from the station. I drove four of them off 
 in one direction and went myself in another, in order to elude pursuit. 
 I wandered around in the mountains after that until the time of the 
 Repetto robbery. 
 
 "The day before that occurrence, I camped at the Pietra Gordo. 
 at the head or Arroyo Seco. I had selected Repetto as a good sub- 
 ject. In pursuance of the plan I had adopted, I went to a eheep 
 herder employed on the place, and asked him if he had seen a brown 
 horse which I had lost; inquired if Repetto was at home, took a took 
 at the surroundings, and told the man I had to go to the Old Mis- 
 sion oa some important business, that if he would catch my horse I 
 would give him $10 or $15. I then returned by a roundabout way 
 to my companions on the Arroyo Seco. As soon as it was dark I 
 returned with my men to the neighborhood of Repetto's and camped 
 within a few rods of the house. The next morning about breakfast 
 time we wrapped our guns in our blankets, retaining only our pistols, 
 and I went toward the house, where I met the sheep herder and 
 commenced talking about business. Asked him if Repetto wanted 
 herders or shearers, how many sheep could he sheir in a day, etc.; 
 speaking iu a loud tone, in order to throw him off his guard. I had left 
 my men behind a small fence, and being told that he was at home, I 
 
, A SEN8ATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 151 
 
 entered the house to see if I could bring the patron to terms without 
 killing him. I found him at home, and told him I was an expert 
 sheep shearer, and asked him if he wished to employ any shearers; 
 tolp him that my friends, the gentlemen who were waiting out by 
 the fence, were also good sheerers, and wanted work. All were in- 
 vited in, and as they entered surrounded Repetto. I then told him 
 I wanted money. At this he commenced hollering, when I had him 
 securely tied, and told him to give me what money he had in the 
 house. He handed me eighty dollars. I told him that that would 
 do; that I knew all about his affairs; that he had sold nearly $10,000 
 worth of sheep lately, and that he must have plenty of money buried 
 about the place somewhere. Repetto then protested that he had 
 paid out nearly all the money he had received in the purchase of land 
 that he had receipts to show for it, etc. I told him that I could read 
 and write and understood accounts; that if his books and receipts, 
 and they balanced according to his statements, I would excuse him. 
 He produced the books, and after examining them carefully, I became 
 convinced that he had told me very nearly the truth. I then express- 
 ed my regrets for the trouble I had put him to, and offered to com- 
 promise. I told him that I was in need of money, and that if he would, 
 accomodote me with a small sum I would repay him in thirty days 
 with interest at 1^ per cent, per month. He kindly consented to do 
 so, and sent a messenger to a bank in Los Angeles for the money, 
 being first warned that in the event of treachery or bretayal his life 
 would pay the forfeit. The messenger returned, not without excit- 
 ing the suspicions of the authorities, who, as is well kuown, endeav- 
 ored at that time to.effect my capture, but failed. But you know all 
 about the Arroyo Seco affair." 
 
 I do, and present it as follows: Mr. Repetto, fearing that his life 
 would be taken, despatched a boy to Los Angeles with a check for 
 the above amount. The boy went to town as quick as ever man flew 
 over the old Mission road, and proceeded at once to the Sheriff's of- 
 fice and gave a detailed description of the robbers and the affair. Mr. 
 Rowland and Under Sheriff Albert Johnson at once made arrange- 
 ments for a pursuit, entertaining no doubt but that it was Vasquez 
 and his gang of freebooters. In less than a quarter of an hour a 
 number of fleet horeea had been procured and saddled, and a party, 
 
152 A SENSATION IN THE OKANGE GROVES, 
 
 composed of officers Sands, Harris, Hartley, Redona, and Benites 
 and Mr. Rodgers and Chautes, led by Mr. Rowland, proceeded out 
 toward the neighborhood of the outrage. In less than half an hour 
 the pursuing party arrived within sight of Mr. Reppetto's house, and 
 quick as a flash five men mounted their horses, and galloped in the di- 
 rection of the upper Arroyo Seco, the Rowland party giving hot pur- 
 suit. 
 
 While all this exciting work was going on, Charles Miles and John 
 Osborne, who had been hauling some piping material out to the lands 
 of the Orange Grove Association, were quietly jogging on toward 
 home. Now, if you had told these two gentlemen that Vasquez was 
 within gunshot of them they would have laughed in your face. But 
 all of a sudden, up dashed two men, cached armed with a Henry rifle 
 and a six shooter, and, in English, demanded a halt. Osborne 
 thought it was a joke, and carelessly dropped the rein on his sorrel, so 
 as to increase its pace. In doing so be drove right into three more of 
 the bandits, who gave him to understand that he proceeded further 
 at great peril. Vaequez, quick as thought, made his appearance on 
 the near side, and covered Osborne with a Henry rifle, which little 
 maneuver caused the smiling face of Miles to elongate a trifle. Then 
 he smiled again; and then, as a Henry rifle, seemingly as big as a 
 Dahlgren gun, iooled around his left ear, he drew on that Platonic 
 countenance again, and began to view the scene from a * 'business" 
 standpoint. Two of the highwaymen dismounted, while Vasquez 
 and the two men who did not dismount covered the victims in the 
 wagon with their rifles and six-shooters' "Hand out your money !" 
 said Vasquez, * 'and hurry up, for there are a do^en men coming this 
 way." Mr. Miles declared that he hadn't got a cent with him, 
 which elicited from the accommodating knight of the road, "Then I'll 
 take that watch !" 
 
 At this juncture the urbane City Water Collector looked first at 
 his own English hunting lever, and then at Osborne's, because, you 
 see, he didn't know exactly which chronometer suited the fancy of 
 the California Duval. But the latter, in order to create no hard 
 feelings or misunderstandings in the matter, took both of them. 
 About three dollars and a half in United States silver coin, also, was 
 donated, and then the outfit was permitted to depart, the robbers, ID 
 
A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 153 
 
 the meantime, perceiving the Harris and Sands party at the top of 
 the hill about a thousand yards off, dashing off in a different direction. 
 
 Los Angeles was wild during that afternoon, and all sorts of ru- 
 mors gained credence, among which was shat "Jeemes Pipes, of 
 Pipesville," had been killed. 
 
 About three o'clock Rowland, after locating his forces as best he 
 could, returned to town for reinforcements . believing that, with a 
 proper number of men at his command, he would succeed in effecting 
 a capture. In a few moments General Baldwin and two other men, 
 and Constable Bryant and three others, were equipped, and in the 
 line of pursuit. 
 
 To continue Vasquez's account: "After my escape, I wandered for 
 a while in the mountains; was near enough to the parties who were 
 searching for me to kill them if 1 had desired so to do. For the past 
 three weeks I have had my camp near the place where I was cap- 
 tured, only coming to the house at intervals to get a meal. I was 
 not expecting company at the time the arrest was made, or the re- 
 sult might have been different." 
 
 The foregoing is a very fair paraphrase of the recital made to me 
 by Vasquez, in the presence of Sheriff Rowland. Almost all of it, 
 except his version of the Tres Pinos affair, is known to be true . Only 
 the leading events of his long career of brigandage and outlawry 
 are described. But my readers can draw their own conclusion as to 
 what manner of man Tiburcio Vaequez was. He protested frequent- 
 ly throughout the interview, that he had never killed a man in his 
 life. 
 
 To complete this sketch, I would atate that during the September 
 following his capture, Vasquez was arraigned in the Twelfth District 
 Court, San Jose, for the murder of Leander Davidson at Tres Pinos. 
 A continuance was granted until Jan . 5, 1875. On that day the 
 case was called, Judge Belden presiding. Charles Ben Darwin and 
 Mr.Tully were retained for the defense. Darwin withdrew, and in 
 his place Judge Belden appointed Judge W. H. Collins and Judge J. 
 A. Moultrie. Attorney -General Love, District Attorney Briggs, of 
 San Benito county, Hon. W. E. Lovett and District Attorney Bod- 
 ely, of Santa Clara county, appeared for the people. After a four 
 days' trial Vasquez was found guilty of murder in the first degree. 
 
154 
 
 A SENSATION IN THE ORANGE GROVES. 
 
 On the 23d day of January, 1875, he was sentenced to death, and 
 by the execution of that sentence, California got rid of one of the 
 bloodiest scoundrels of the century. 
 
NATHAN, THE JEW. 
 
 A girl in years, but a woman in shame, wearied by the night's 
 dissipation, let herself fall upon the cold steps of St. Mary's Cathe- 
 dral. Her tired eyelids touched each other in repose. The red lips 
 drooped apart. The mist moistened the burning throat. Her hand 
 involuntarily stretched toward heaven. Then she lay motionless 
 asleep. A nimbus of shame and a halo of glory surrounded her. The 
 ragged dress buttoned before, fell apart, and disclosed the white bos- 
 om; but none saw, save the morning star, and no one was gacri- 
 legious enough to caress, except the falling dew. 
 
 Robert Oswald, who was passing, stopped, attracted by the arm ex- 
 tended in mute appeal. He saw her bosom rise and fall. As she 
 moved something startled him, he gave a cry of pain, for upon the 
 white breast he saw the Hebraic word, 
 
 iDTT 
 
 The cry awoke the sleeping girl. She saw the open dress, and 
 with more fear than shame exclaimed : 
 
 "Did you see?" and she pulled the dress with a convulsive shrug 
 together. 
 
 "No," replied the man, "I saw nothing." 
 
 "If you did, Fag will kill you." 
 
 "Do not get excited child, no harm shall come to you through 
 me," he replied kindly. The wild light left her eyes and the melting 
 lustre returned and she touched his arm and said: "Go away, you 
 ihould not come to a girl's sleeping place," and she laughed. 
 
 "Come with me to No. 5 Bartlett Place, " he replied. 
 
 She shook her head so fiercely that her unkempt hair fell about her 
 face, and said angrily: "lam not * * * * Oh, you did see, 
 didn't you, now?" 
 
 "My intentions are to give you in my home an honorable place to 
 
 *Un chaste. 
 
156 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 sleep, a breakfast and whatever your position deserves, and then to 
 let you go your way. I am a gentleman," he added. 
 
 She laughed. "You may be, but gentlemen sleep at this time 
 o'night." 
 
 "Will you go with me?" he asked somewhat impatiently, 
 
 'I think you good," she said as she turned her sorrowful face to- 
 wards him. She then approached him and together they turned the 
 comer of St. Mary's and started out Dupont street, through the heart 
 of the city towards Robert Oswald's home. 
 
 She found rest and sleep. In the morning her eyes had grown 
 larger and her cheeks a little paler. Her limbs were thin but stil 
 graceful. Her eyes had a beautiful pathetic light in them. Her 
 hands were coarse, but her lips were red, and, drooping with sadness, 
 were in sympathy with the beauty of her eyes. This was Ivern at 
 the age of eighteen. Robert Oswald waited for her in the morning. 
 He greeted her cordially. She returned it with shyness. "I must go 
 now," she said. 
 
 "Where must you go ?' ! 
 
 "To my home," she answered. 
 
 "Where do you live ?" he asked. 
 
 "Most of my time on the street. Rest of the time, anywhere," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Have you no parents or friends to care for you ?" 
 
 "Can't you see," she replied, "I'm a Jewess but I'm cursed. I 
 don't know why. I always live among bad people, and that's all I 
 know, exceptin* some how or other I think, and other people like me 
 don't. I can't say any more, but I've trouble, for see, my hair is 
 brown and gray. The gray comes from thinkin'. Sometimes I work 
 and makes money, but I always lose my place because I'm cursed. 
 You've been very kind to me." As she spoke her wistful face 
 became radiant. Although she called herself a Jewess, her face 
 was of the highest German type, small, delicate features, rich lips, 
 clear complexion and deep violet eyes. Indeed, she was not at all 
 of the Jewish type, except in her slender, upright, graceful figure. 
 The expression of her face was bright and intelligent. There is a 
 Sixteenth Century picture over the door-way in the museum at Bos- 
 ton of a maiden princess, painted by a German. The original was 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 157 
 
 a German girl with the sparkle and fire of the Italian. The picture 
 might have been a portrait of Ivern, the resemblance was so strong. 
 
 She waited but a moment, then was gone. Robert Oswald called 
 after her but she only turned and gave him a bewitching look. 
 
 "I am happy but the scars are still there," exclaimed Ivern when 
 she was out of sight. "Oh, those terrible words I wish I could 
 cut them out I will some day !" 
 
 Before she had gone far a little squint-eyed fellow, bow-legged and 
 crooked of feature, addressed her. 
 
 "Hello! Ivern, don't you know me ? I'm same old Fag, even if I 
 be in business," 
 
 "Of course I know you. Still at your old tricks ?" she replied. 
 
 "No, I've joined the Silver Star Sunday-School, and if I don't get 
 pulled again, I'll be boss of the concern." 
 
 "You're too ambitious Fag." 
 
 "No, I am not, for the teacher said that often times bootblacks, 
 newsboys and theives become great men like himself." 
 
 "I hope you will do well Fag. Did you see Paul since yester- 
 day ?" 
 
 "No, except in* through the winder at the bank. He wasn't 
 a-lookin' feryou at all." 
 
 "I must see him, Fag; will you tell him to meet me at the old 
 place near Zeiles?" 
 
 "Of course, I will; Fag will do anything for his friends. You 
 see they ain't many, but what there is, I stands by 'em." 
 
 Fag was a boy of the world. He was a wicked, and an amusing 
 little fellow, full of dislikes, impulses and kindly feelings. He rep- 
 resented a phase of life to be studied for the good the re is in it. Of 
 a fine evening, the narrow streets in the heart of the poor portion of 
 the city swarm with children. Their earlier experiences are of a 
 most degrading character. The mature years fulfill the evil promises 
 of childhood, and the litt.le sins become the crimes of old age. Fag 
 was a resident of Pacific street, and a notable figure, on account of 
 his crooked back with his papers and blacking outfit. 
 
 All day long he watched for Paul, so that he might do Ivern 
 a favor. ' The night approached, twilight glittered around him, the 
 lamps were lit, the people were hurrying home. He was without 
 
158 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 money, and he dared not hold out his hand in pity. Fag was hungry; 
 he put his hand under his vest and tried to press together the great 
 empty space that called for food. Did you ever realize what it is 
 to be hungry ? Not the hunger where a meal is within easy reach, 
 but to want something to eat and be without money, and without 
 friends. The cry within becomes the howl of the tiger. You turn 
 and curse the world and cry, "Alone I" Fag was hungry; he looked 
 around the street corners trying to make an honest bit. Despair 
 seized him. 
 
 "I'll sell my outfit, " he thought. Then he hurried around to 
 631 Clay street, and entered the store of Nathan, the Jew. 
 
 'Ha ! you leetle thief, vat you wants to steal ?" was the greeting* 
 'Won't you buy my blacken brush?" timidly asked Fag. 
 'No, get out; I hab no use. You stole 'em some where." 
 'I didn't; I bought 'em, with my word of honor." 
 'Veil, I guess I gifs you dat much," replied Nathan. 
 'No, I want to get my supper. I haven't eaten anything all 
 day." 
 
 "Veil, I tells you vat I do. If you go to No. 5 Bartlett Place, an' 
 call out the man who lifs there, an' tell him that you see a Jewess 
 and her child in a saloon singing songs, and calling for Robert Os- 
 wald, then I gifs you von dollar for dose tings. But you mustn't 
 tell vot I told you, or I'll treat yur like this:" "Oh ! Oh !" screamed 
 Fag, as he was whirled around by the ear. 
 "Yes, I'll do it. Let go," he entreated. 
 
 "Tell him no more than vot I tel's you; then run away quick, and 
 I gifs you von dollar when you comes back." 
 
 Fag wasted no time in getting away. He hated the Jew, but 
 started to do his service. 
 
 Nathan returned to his work. He opened his book. There across 
 the ledger was written the name of Robert Oswald, and after it a 
 red cross, the silent token of the descendants of the tribe of Benja- 
 min of vengeance. His bent form, still bent lower, and his small, 
 bright eyes sparkled and flashed. His face which had the appear, 
 ance of shrewdness in repose, wore the expression of a laughing fiend, 
 as he thought how well he kept his oath of vengeance, and that Fag 
 would add new life to the pain that was killing Robert Oswald. 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 159 
 
 Nathan is an historical character, a black Jew, born in Barnow, 
 educated in the Bowery, New York, and engaged in a semi-legitimate 
 business at 631 Clay street, San Francisco. 
 
 He had gathered about him in his career, trinkets and valuables of 
 every kind. His store was filled with the cast-off truck of the impe- 
 cunious, and the pledged jewels and goods of those who suffer by the 
 wheels of fortune turning backward. There were diamonds, rings, 
 watches, breastpins, ear-rings, trunks, jackets, coats, skirts, silken 
 hose, fine gloves, gold-headed canes, penknives, silverware, razors, 
 cradles, rare and valuable books, sea shells, bundles of old love letters, 
 which he had accepted on deposit, old clothes, household furniture, 
 from an armless stool to a satin-covered ottoman, worthless riddles, 
 music boxes, gold peni, old pipes, mosses, innumerable pistols and 
 shooting irons, bowie-knives, brass kettles, silver drinking goblets. 
 What a wonderful story the stock of pawned wares tell ! Who can 
 count the heartaches of each treasured trinket, as the owner reluc- 
 tantly parted with it for bread ? Who can measure the grief of the 
 lonely maiden as she wends her way to old Nathan, the Jew, to pawn 
 her lover's gift ? Boundless i? the" silent grief of the forsaken one. 
 We cannot turn a deaf ear to a tale ef woe, but the deepest so 10 w is 
 silent and dumb. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 I can hardly proceed with the details of the story. It seems so 
 incredible. Only the few people who are familiar with the fanati- 
 cism and vindictivenesa that prevails among the very ignorant .Jews 
 would comprehend how such things could really be. All others will 
 doubt. I can only say, the story is true. I did not invent any por- 
 tion of it. Besides, the story is a sad one, and the hiss of the ser- 
 pent is heard among the flowers. 
 
 Fag found his way to No. 5, Bartletfc Place, and bravely rang the 
 bell. The door was opened by Eobert Oswald himself . 
 
 "I seed a Jewess and her child a-singin' songs in a saloon, and 
 a-callin* for Robert Oswald," said Fag, quickly. 
 
 "Take me there at once. It is she; it is ! it is !" exclaimed Os- 
 wald. 
 
160 NATHAN THE JEW, 
 
 "Gimme a dollar, and I'll tell you more," replied the ready-witted 
 Fag. 
 
 ' 'Here, tell me all, quick ! replied the now excited man. 
 
 "Nathan told me to tell you, and I bet it's all a lie," said Fag. 
 
 "Curse the Jew ! Will he never let me be in peace ? I will meet 
 him again." 
 
 In a minute he was on the street, followed at a respectful distance 
 by Fag. As he entered Nathan's place, the Jew came forward, 
 stroking his long, pointed burnsides, and licking his moustache. 
 
 "Meester Oswald, you do me too much honor by your presence. 
 You want to know about your wife, eh, and von leetle girl. Dey be 
 bad, very bad." 
 
 Oswald laid a hand on the Jew's shoulder. "{Silence, wretch ! 
 Silence ! I will not listen." 
 
 "Meester Oswald not like Meester Nathan's curse. It bees too 
 much like God's curse on the Jews, eh ?" 
 
 A number of people collected about the two men. 
 
 "1 care not for your curse. It is my wife and daughter your 
 daughter and my child I want." 
 
 "My daughter, your wife, and her child, be nothings to me. 
 They are marked with a " 
 
 "Stop, fiend, or I'll choke you." 
 
 Then dropping his arm he turned and fled. He rushed home like 
 a hunted creature. He sank half fainting on the stone steps. 
 
 "Then, kind Heaven, the mark I saw on the girl's bosom, was 
 put there by Nathan, and she is my daughter. Degraded or pure 
 I will claim her for she is more of a Christian than a Jew. 
 
 He arose and with the painful and suppressed emotion, that the 
 girl he had taken off the streets the night before, was his child. 
 
 He did not proceed far until he again met Fag. The little fellow 
 was not averse to seeing him. Mr. Oswald asked him at once 
 in reference to Ivern. 
 
 "Do you know the girl that Nathan told you was singing in a 
 saloon?" 
 
 "No pur. Do you?" replied Fag. 
 
 f 'I saw her this morning. She was at my place last night." 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 161 
 
 "Golly, I ni3t her, that was Ivern, I know her! Of course I do. 
 Never was a time I did'nt know her. She and me are old 
 'quaintances," replied Fag. 
 
 "Where can I find her? She is my daughter." 
 
 "Sure now, you're foolin'. She aint got no father, I heard her 
 say many and many a time. She haint.no mother, but I guess you're 
 all right, and I'll tell you where to find her. She alms meets Paul, 
 oppopite Zeile's, when the whistles blow." 
 
 "Come with me", commanded Oswald, and the two started off 
 together. 
 
 A little while before they arrived at the place, there could have 
 been seen walking up and down the street, a young man, of well 
 rounded figure, erect carriage, with a strong German face. He 
 appeared to the observer to be about twenty years of age, but he 
 was past twenty four. Around the corner came a young girl, with 
 quick step, and a lithe graceful movement. It was Ivern. 
 
 The young man, Paul Wedekind, met her. "Was ever lover so 
 punctual as I?" he asked. 
 
 "I never bad any but you to know," she replied. 
 
 "I wish I could believe you," he answered. 
 
 "And I wish I could believe you," she replied. 
 
 "Then why doubt me if you wish to believe ?" 
 
 "Because if I trust you, I'll love you, then my will is gone and 
 I'm afraid I'd be like . , . the marks . . . Oh, God! there is an 
 awful pain in my breast. There is something here that burns." 
 
 "Why, what grea*; mystery do you hide from me? It is terrible, 
 ah, more, it is extraordinary, that you should become so tragic, and 
 alwavs refer to some hidden mark. Does your modesty forbid you 
 to tell me ?" 
 
 "Do you not understand, Paul, that I am a street waif. Ask 
 Nathan, the Jew, what mystery I hide from you? But it is not 
 that, for I know you would not like me, if I was bad like the rest of 
 them is. I am not good, but I am not bad, exceptin' I never learned 
 Anything only from the sea as it talked to me, and the fishes I used 
 to sell, and from the flowers you know you bought a bunch of 
 violet? from me long ago; that's when I first knew you, I am not 
 
162 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 so awful chimb as not to know that I am not the kind of a girl you 
 ought to make real love to. " 
 
 "But Ivern have I not loved you ever since you were little; and I 
 have believed, and believe yet that your purity of thought amid 
 such surroundings is due to your birth." 
 
 "You have been awful good to me, that's why I let you kiss me. 
 It's not because I think you ought to. You must go now, Paul; 
 Til never be fit for you, but I always want you for my friend." 
 
 "You are fit for me, our love makes us equal; I will not give you 
 up." 
 
 "Now, Paul, you forget that I use to talk slang, and how you 
 scolded me when you found me in a ealoon jesting with the men. 
 You forget those things. It was you that teached me to talk right 
 and I'll never, never allow you to love just because you think you 
 ought to. Go away now." 
 
 "Ivern you do not understand that it is you I love, and once I 
 love it is with my life. It makes a furnace so hot within my heart 
 that steal would melt and run like water. Love is the most intoxi- 
 cating poison my darling." 
 
 "I do not like the word," said Ivern with a shudder. 
 
 "Do you not like the word darling?" he asked. * ^ 
 
 "I do not mean that word, I mean poison. It kills. Love eeerns 
 more like sherry to me. It makes me tipsy with wild joy. Only 
 love is far, far away. I've seen it in pictures, I've read it in other 
 eyes. I've dreamed of it; but it is always over the sea." 
 
 "It is near you now and you are too strong willed to have it. 
 Come let me give you mv protection and your sweet eyes will lose 
 their sadness, and your face will brighten and never know trouble 
 any more." 
 
 "You make my trouble now the dearest thing I havg had in life. 
 But I know you Paul. You love me just because I am strong-willed. 
 I saw Fag chase a butterfly, and when he caught it he did not care 
 for it, the beauty was all rubbed off. That is the way with you. 
 You want me, but if you had me you would not want me. I know 
 that life-love is between equals. I once saw a flower tied to a weed, 
 it made the weed prettier but the flower died, that's like me and 
 you." 
 
NATHA.N THE JEW. 163 
 
 Paul stood before the girl he pitied in admiration. He knew that 
 the ^character born in Ivern was stronger than the one attained by 
 him! The student of human nature would say, that she combined 
 the best traits of the Irish and the German or that of the inherited, 
 the strength and the craftin ess of Jewish character, softened and en- 
 nobled by pure American blood. Paul could not but contem- 
 plate the face and then the thought of his own weakness made him 
 silent. For he would soon leave Ivern, to enter the presence of 
 Anethe, his promised bride. His dual nature had found its comple- 
 ment in the graceful and intelligent woman of his own sphere, aad in 
 the overpowering personality of a street waif. He had thought that 
 love was but an incident in life, but rubbish in a man's way as 
 he winds tediously upwards, and now it turned him from his course as 
 effectually as the stroke of death. 
 
 "There she is!" exclaimed Fag, as she and Mr. Oswald turned the 
 corner. 
 
 "At last! At last! I have found you," cried Oswald, as he 
 rushed towards her. Ivern dresv back, and Paul put his arm about 
 her as if she needed protection. 
 
 "Do not shrink from me. I am your father. Is there not a mark 
 upon your breast placed there by Nathan as a curse upon the child of 
 his daughter for marrying me, a Christian. Speak! . . . Speak 
 quickly!" 
 
 "Yes," replied Ivern trembling with a timid feeling, between hope 
 and fear but Nathan said I had no father and that my mother was a 
 
 oh, no! I know it is not true, but only yesterday he 
 
 said she was of the Jews of Barnow and the mark I wear is the brand 
 of her shame, aud it has burned through my breast to my heart. Do 
 not lie to me. Perhaps Nathan has sent you to torture me. Tell 
 me, was my mother pure?" 
 
 "As pure as heaven. Oh L^a! that your child for a moment 
 should think that you were not true and good!" 
 
 '' You say that my mother was pure, then I believe that you are my 
 father and I will love you." 
 
 She kissed her father and Fag and Paul. "You brought him to 
 me," she said to Fag, "and you saved ine from sin," she said to 
 Paul. 
 
 ov Ta* 
 
164 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 On their way to No. 5 Bartlett Place Mr. Oswald told the follow- 
 ing story: "Twenty years ago I was passing Nathan's home and I 
 saw him beating a beautiful girl. I rescued her from the torture . 
 She proved to be his daughter. I fell deeply in love with her and 
 without delay we were married. It so enraged Nathan that his 
 daughter showld marry a Christian that he cursed her and her chil- 
 dren. He inherited the superstition, fanaticisms and bigotry of the 
 Barnow people. He hated all the more bitterly because he lived 
 among other sects. A child was born and for a time we lived happily 
 together, and Nathan's terrible oath was forgot f en. I was compelled 
 to go East. When I returned my wife was missing, my child was 
 also gone. I approached Nathan and demanded that he give me in- 
 formation. He replied: "A Jew never forgets an oath." At last he 
 confessed, to save himself from death, for I would have strangled him, 
 that he sent my wife to Poland. I made immediate preparations for 
 departure. I tracked her to New York and found out upon which 
 steamer she had sailed. I went to Poland. I spent months in 
 search of her, but to no avail. I returned, and Nathan told me that 
 Lea was leading a life of dissipation in the city. Then he tells me 
 she is dead. Thus he lies to me. I have lived a constant life of 
 suspense. A year ago he told me that my child was in the Magdalen 
 Asylum. Yesterday I learned from him that you had burned upon 
 your heart the Hebraic words. Then I knew that my years of 
 earch were rewarded. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Paul hurried to the residence of Auethe. An hoar after he had 
 poured forth love to Ivern in the shadow of a street corner, he stood 
 in the presence of his promised bride concealed by the rich draperies 
 of a luxurious parlor. He came determined to ask that the sacred 
 bond be broken and to tell the unhappy story of his love for Ivern. 
 The dim-lit parlor cast a charming shadow over her beauty and Paul 
 stood undecided. There was such a rich color to Anethe's lips, such 
 a gentle pursuasive coaxing look in her eyes. The shadows creeping 
 in and out through her sun-tinted hair and across her face made him 
 forget the girl he had left. 
 
 Anethe was comely. She was divinely fair. Was man ever to 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 165 
 
 arrogant as to cast aside the love and treasures of such a woman's 
 heart for the helpless, branded, girl like Ivern ? Under the facinating 
 gaze of Anethe Paul forgot his errand. He was weak in the pres- 
 ence of the woman who loved him. Instead of telling her of his 
 faithlessness, he pictured to her the golden dawn of their future. Is 
 it any wonder that men. who think, grow cynical and lose respect for 
 humanity. But Ivern was still uppermost in his mind, and in a mo- 
 ment of thoughtlessness he mentioned her name. Anethe, with the 
 jealous watchfulness of love, quickly asked : 
 
 " Who is Ivern?" 
 
 "Just a girl I have aided to get employment," he answered. 
 
 * 'I trust you Paul, but I know little of your life. You are too 
 honorable to do anything that is wrong, but I pray that you will not 
 deceive me in the least. It seems odd for you to be interested in a 
 girl in that way, unless she is some particular friend. Have you 
 known her long?" 
 
 "I have known her five or six years.*' 
 
 "And never told me about her?" 
 
 "Would you lika to know about the beggars, street girls and waifs 
 that all men meet in their lives, and are forced to aid in one way or 
 the other?" 
 
 "I would like to know about Ivern. Is she beautiful ?" 
 
 "Not pretty like you." 
 
 "I did not ask you for a compliment. Tell me about Ivern, her 
 very name fascinates me ?" 
 
 "Would you like to know about the people who visit dance halls, 
 low theaters, people who beg, steal and cheat for a living, the low, 
 debased and vicious? Ivern belongs to the class, though there is a 
 spice of nobleness with the taint of shame in her life. Do not look 
 displeased Anethe. I met her through a friend of hrs, called Fag, 
 who wished me to give her some money to save her from a greater 
 crime than begging. She wes so interesting that in all the years I 
 have not lost track of her. Are you satisfied now?" 
 
 "Perhaps there is something more to tell?" replied Anethe. 
 
 "Jealous heart, keep silence. If I am a man, I have a conscience, 
 and I would be true to you were you not half so fair." 
 
 Anethe was not quire satisfied. She silently determined, to find 
 
166 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 out more about Ivern. The reluctance of Paul to talk, his protesta- 
 tions of love and over-defence of himself against her insinuations told 
 a story that she, though unwilling, still read. 
 
 The next evening found Paul at No. 5 Bartlett Place. Soon after 
 he rang the bell. Fag opened the door. 
 
 "Ivern told me to keep you ou* if you come." 
 
 "I must see her. Let me in." 
 
 "Cant, thems my orders, but Paul, you helped nie and if you want 
 in, why just push me away;I can't help it you're bigger than me.' 
 
 Paul gave him a push and he fell full length upon the floor. Be- 
 fore Fag had time to arise Paul had grasped Ivern by the hand. 
 
 "Paul, you shouldn't have come,yet I am glad to see you/' she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "How greatly improved you are since|yesterday," he replied, heed- 
 less of the rebuke. 
 
 "Well you see Paul papa says that I am his real daughter , nd am 
 not to be nobody any more. So, he bought me all this trumpery 
 which makes me look better than I feel. But Paul , 
 
 "What is it, Ivern?" 
 
 "You forgot something." 
 
 "What did I forget?" 
 
 "Can't you guess?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 < ' Then I'll never tell you . ' ' 
 
 "Please do." 
 
 She looked up at him and artfully said: "Do you remember what 
 you took with you when you went away ?" 
 
 "I really do not." 
 
 "Did you not bring me one ?', 
 
 "I do not know what you mean." 
 
 "Oh, Paul, you're stupid," she said with pouting lips. 
 
 "I know what it was," exclaimed Fag. 
 
 "You kissed her. You thought 1 wasn't looking but I was a 
 wantin* one myself." 
 
 Paul stretched out his arms, but Ivern covered her face and slipped 
 away from bis presence. She did not want her trembling lips 
 touched after Fag's jest, even by one she so dearly loved. 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 167 
 
 ''Come Ivern; I want you to go with me to Nathan's, to find some 
 trace of your mother. He will not refuse us ." 
 
 "I will go," she replied. 
 
 It was early when they started. Fag, with a jealous eye, shad- 
 owed them. They were about to enter the trade-shop of Nathan 
 when he appeared. A gleam of triumph was in his eye as he stroked 
 his beard with both hands. 
 
 "You bring dat girl here ! Avay mit you ! I be contaminated by a 
 voman like dat. She is " 
 
 "Stop, wretch, or Til " 
 
 She is " 
 
 "Stop !" cried Paul. 
 
 "She is a " Before he could speak the word, Paul struck him 
 
 a blow; but the Jew, like a serpent, coiled about him, bore him 
 forcibly to the pavement. As he lay helpless upon the street, 
 Nathan raised his steel-tapped heel, and despite the strenuous efforts 
 of Ivern, it descended upon his forehead, scraping the flesh away to 
 the bone. 
 
 Fag seized upon Nathan's leg with his teeth, but he shook him off 
 like the wind does the icicle upon the swaying branch. Again 
 the heel was raised, this time to descend with murderous force. The 
 dim light of the city lit up his fiendish face. Ivern saw, and cried 
 out, "Murder !" The frightened Jew, at the approach of others, 
 fled. 
 
 Paul was badly hurt. He was carried to a surgeon's office near. 
 Whea he was told that he was seriously hurt and would not be able 
 to be moved for several days, he called Fag, and requested that he 
 should deliver a message to Anethe Howard, so that she would not 
 be frightened by an exaggerated account of the affair. 
 
 Anethe admitted Fag, and instead of delivering Paul's meseage 
 that the injury waa slight he said: 
 
 "Poor Paul, my best friend, is hurt. I'll kill Nathan ! He 
 mashed Paul's head with his heel. I'll kill Nathan !" 
 
 "Tell me what you mean. Has anything happened to Paul?" 
 asked Anethe, bewildered by Fag's talk. 
 
 4 'I have just been tellin' you what Paul told me to tell you, that 
 
168 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 "Nathan killed him, but I'll kill the Jew, I will! Fag never forget* 
 what he says. Paul is all bloody." 
 
 "For God's sake, stop ! Tell me, are you crazy?" cried An- 
 ethe. 
 
 "P'raps I am. I hope I be, if I don't kill the Jew cause Paul's 
 blood is ppilt on the pavement. See here; it has kind o' painted 
 this patch on my pants red ." 
 
 "My God ! do not Bay any more. Paul is dead !" 
 
 Anethe began to scream for help, and with the assistance of her 
 mother, obtained from Fag a more lucid account of the tragedy. 
 They were soon on their way to see Paul. 
 
 Tvern did not leave his side. She watched him with painful eyes, 
 not quite tearless. The snrgeon came to her, and said : 
 
 "He has been peverely hurt, but will soon recover. He has, 
 however, loit the flesh from his forel tad, and will be badly disfigured 
 unless I get some one who is quite brave to help me." 
 
 "I'll do anything for Paul. He is my friend," replied Ivern. 
 
 The doctor pointed to Paul, who was now unconscious, and with 
 his finger traced the space cut by the sharp heel of the Jew, as he 
 spoke : 
 
 "I need a piece of flesh large enough to sew in there." 
 
 "Where will you get it ?" quietly asked Ivern, with a slight 
 tremor. 
 
 "From your arm," he replied. 
 
 "Doctor, you may cut it from my check," and she touched the 
 rosiest spot on her face, and pinched the delicate flesh until it stood 
 out, for the surgeon's knife. The blood of a peculiar people ran in 
 her veins, a people who would demand a pound of flesh for money, 
 and would give one for love. 
 
 "No, I do not wish to disfigure you. I do not even wish to pain you." 
 
 "It will not hurt," replied Ivern. 
 
 "Then the sooner it is done the better." 
 
 He had her uncover her arm to the shoulder. The doctor gazed 
 rather tenderly on her. 
 
 There was a gleam of coquetry in Ivern's eye, and witchery in her 
 glance as she met the doctor's look of admiration. 
 
 "I cannot cut that arm," he replied. 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 169 
 
 "Then I'll do it," she said. 
 
 "Turn your head, please. Your eyes are apt to make a man 
 nervous." 
 
 "You are a sentimental surgeon/' she replied. 
 
 She did not turn her head, but watched amused and pleased with 
 his gentle touch, and blushing, tremulous face. 
 
 He would press her delicate skin, then pause. He loitered over 
 the operation like a hawk over unprotected prey. Then with a care- 
 ful estimate of the flesh desired, he took it between his thumb and 
 finger and severed it with a stroke, and held it up, the blood drip- 
 ping off on the uncarpeted floor. 
 
 "Quick, doctor, you are not a careful surgeon," exclaimed Ivern. 
 
 "But see, you bleed. Wait, I will bandage your arm." 
 
 "Never mind me, that's nothin' but mean Jew blood anyhow. I 
 wish it would all run out of me/' 
 
 Juet as the operation was complete, Anethe and Fag were an- 
 nounced. As the former came in, Ivern withdrew to a shadowed 
 corner of the room. Anethe went direct to the couch, and bending 
 over Paul, kissed him. 
 
 Ivern hid deeper in the shadow, and her nails pierced the flesh in 
 her hands as she listened to Anethe explaining to the doctor, that as 
 she was soon to wed the wounded man, that she was there to watch 
 over him, and would remain at his side. It was a bitter, a cruel 
 revelation for her. She had found her father to lose her lover , and 
 perhaps the paternal instinct in her was not as strong as love. At 
 last all had gone, except Anethe and Ivern. The countless kisses which 
 she imprintedUon Paul's pale face drove the iron deep into Ivern's soul. 
 Wearied at last she fell asleep in her hiding place. When she awoke 
 Anethe was asleep. She arose, and going to the bed-side caressed 
 the wounded man's hair, then stooped and touched with her lips 
 Anethe's brow. It was not a warm kiss of affection, it was more 
 like the sunshine kissing the frozen bill, or the humble soldier kissing 
 the wounded commander, or the gentle dove billing an injured robin. 
 
 Anethe awoke with a start. "Where am I?" she exclaimed. "And 
 who are you ?" she asked as she noticed Ivern. 
 
 "I am just myself, that's all," and she passed out on the streets 
 once more. She would not return to her father. The pain at her 
 
170 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 heart was too hot. The love of a father is efficient, but not sufficient 
 to satisfy the feminine nature. In her heart she pitied Anethe, for 
 if Paul was true to her, he was false to Anethe; and if he was true 
 to Anethe, he was false to ner and to himself. "Well Paul is a queer 
 muddle anyhow. I'll keep out of his way, and let him be true or 
 false as he wants to me," she thought. All night she wandered about, 
 as she had often done days before. The Hebraic words glared at her from 
 every lamp post. She could even see the serpent, like letters in the 
 heavens above. Then she would draw her lipa closely together to 
 curse Nathan the Jew; but a little whispered prayer for mercy would 
 be wafted to the unknown God. After three days of sadness and 
 wandering she again returned to her anxious father at No 5 Bartlett 
 Place. 
 
 Her first words were about Paul. "He has recovered, so as to be 
 able to be out," was Mr. Oswold'a reply. Then he kindly censured 
 her. He was afraid Ivern's previous life and habits would always 
 cling to her. A flower that is left to grow in the shade, never attains 
 its full beauty and sweetness. He was very kind to Ivern. Not 
 once did he try to reform her ways. He would win her love first. 
 And great was his joy, as each day he saw more convincing proof of 
 her chastenesg, and that Paul's love was pure. He had not only 
 found the flower of his life, but the p9rfume remained with it still. 
 
 One day she was sitting in her new home. Her eyes were sadder 
 than ever, and her luxuriant hair fell in ringlets about her shoulders. 
 She gazed wistfully towards the sea, and the cry of the waves seemed 
 but the echo to her lost spirit. Thus she was sitting when Fag, 
 dressed in a new suit, clean shirt, polished boots, and washed and 
 combed until one would hardly recognize the boot-black of former 
 days. 
 
 "I've been looking for you" exclaimed Ivern. 
 
 "And I've been looking for you, too," replied Fag. I've something 
 to tell you." 
 
 "Come in where papa is, unless you want to tell me alone." 
 
 "Its just for you, and no one else." 
 
 "Well then, tell me here. No one will hear you." 
 
 "I'd rather tell it in the dark, in some lonesome place." 
 
 "I would like to know what it is," replied Ivern. 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 171 
 
 "Am I big enough to get married ?" asked Fag. 
 
 'Yes, I should tbink PO," phe replied. 
 
 'Are you?" 
 
 'I hardly know." 
 
 'I'm your best friend, ain't I?" 
 
 Tes." 
 
 'I have fought, begged, and stole for you. Hain't I ?" 
 
 'You have done nobly. I have EO true friend but you in the 
 world." 
 
 'You forget Paul." 
 
 'No I don't." 
 
 'That makes me feel good here \" exclaimed Fag, as he placed his 
 hand on his breast. 
 
 "You are a darling friend," said Ivern as she gave him a coquet- 
 tish glance. 
 
 "Let's get married,*' exclaimed Fag, and throwing his arms about 
 her, he kissed her hands, face, dress, hair, and touched her with his 
 hands as gently as a child. 
 
 Ivern did not try to restrain him, neither did she smile. She stooped 
 and kissed his forehead. 
 
 "I wish it was night, I am ashamed of myself," and he hid his 
 face. 
 
 U I did not know that you ever thought of love," she said. 
 
 "Let's get married?" he implored. 
 
 Ivern was puzzled . Had she really aroused a love passion in Fag. 
 A crippled, ugly, little fellow who had always declared he would die 
 for her. She owed her life to him, yet Paul called her to a higher 
 life while Fag, with a kind of imbecile love, wooed her to the old. 
 With pitying tones she eaid: "Fag I love Paul, you must go away. 
 Come back after awhile and I will give you an answer," and she 
 pushed him aside . 
 
 He coiled at her feet and wept like a girl. Then with a masterful 
 sweep of his hand he brushed away the tears and said half to him- 
 self : ''Fag's a man, love makes me little, it will make me big, I'll die 
 for you." 
 
 He was gone, Ivern would have called him back to weep with him, 
 but she wept alone. 
 
172 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 Paul came to her in the evening with his head still bandaged. 
 She kissed passionately the white cloth. Paul smiled at her warmth. 
 He did not know that the bandage covered her own flesh. 
 
 "The days of trial are over," said Paul. 
 
 "Not as long as Nathan lives. I will never, never be happy until 
 he is dead." 
 
 "When you are my wife I will protect you* He will not dare in- 
 sult you then." 
 
 "When I am your wife? I know not what that means. It's in 
 me and no one ever teached it to me that the one you are engaged to 
 is your wife." 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked 
 
 "I mean that you have another lover. I heard her say so. I saw 
 her crying at your side. It is well. She is for you. I am not fit, 
 even papa says that good people will despise me if I do not do like 
 them." 
 
 "But it is you I want my friendless girl," replied Paul. 
 
 "You are engaged to"a very rich and, I know, a very beautiful 
 Christian lady, while I am only a Jewish girl and a bad one too." 
 
 "You must marry me though." 
 
 No," she said blushing, but with great decision, "that would not 
 do. Fag is better suited to me than you with your wealth and friends. 
 And Fag loves me more than you do," she said as she passed nearer 
 to him. 
 
 "I have a rival then?" he asked. 
 
 Yes, Fag asked me to marry him this morning." 
 
 "And you consented?" 
 
 "No, until Nathan is dead and the curse removed I will be only 
 Ivern." 
 
 "Then you will marry Fag?" 
 
 "No, I lore you." 
 
 A.S she spoke they glanced at the window and saw thejface of Fag. 
 She was frightened for it had a wild fierce look. She and Paul 
 watched for the face again which never appeared, but a small wiry 
 form moved down towards the waterfront. On and on, with a set 
 face and determined step, the figure movtcl until the roaring of the 
 waters sounded lone and dismal. 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 173 
 
 "She'll marry him," said Fag as he contemplated the sea wooing 
 him nearer and nearer its damp embrace. 
 
 He listened to the moaning sea and wailed in harmony with its 
 tone. Life had been a series of failures to the poor, forsaken and 
 unloved boy. 
 
 Now he stood weeping and irresolute, by the border of the 
 suburbs of eternity. Death would give him unconsciousness a 
 long, quiet sleep, beginning with time and ending in the fortress of 
 futurity. There was something fascinating about death to him. A 
 quiet rest with no horrible dreams, a delicious sleep to hours of 
 anxiety and pain. 
 
 Fag's mind did not penetrate the beyond, though his dreams of a 
 fairer land were consciously sweet, and fascinating. He stood upon 
 the shore wailing to cast himself into the sea, but unconsciousness 
 came to him above the deep, and tired and exhausted with the 
 excitement of the day; he curled himself in a knot and rested. He 
 slept all night. 
 
 The morning sun never shone on a more peaceful face, it lighted 
 up his irregular features, and played and sported around the angular 
 frame, chasing its own shadow away from his back, and from under 
 his well-worn hat. 
 
 The sunshine w irmed the blood in his veins and gave to his 
 thoughts a more gentle tone. He dreamed of the angels at the bot- 
 tom of the sea, and that they were kind to him, Yes, out of the 
 deep came consolation. He did not contemplate foul monsters 
 feeding upon his flesh; but that the fishes had turned into angels, 
 and all the inhabitants of the sea played with his hair and caressed 
 him with pale white hands. While thus dreaming a hand was 
 placed gently on his face, flushed with the warm light of the 
 sun. 
 
 Fag raised his arm and with a slow motion of his hand 
 muttered. 
 
 "Go away, angel, don't bother me." 
 
 Again the same hand was laid upon his face, and Fag's tone was 
 loud and clear when he said: 
 
 "Angel, don't touch me." 
 
 Then the figure bending over him drew back, and watched the 
 
174 NATHAN THE J1\V. 
 
 tired boy. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and her eyes sparkled 
 as they always did under intense joy. 
 
 She again went to Fag, lifted up his head and shook him, not 
 roughly, but to awake him. 
 
 "Go away, devil," he said angrily. 
 
 Then he put out his hand and felt her face, and said: 
 
 "No, 'taint no devil; you're an angel," and then opened wide his 
 drooping eyelids, and saw Ivern stooping over him. 
 
 "Why, Fag, what's the matter?" she asked. 
 
 "I thought an angel touched me. It was only you, and I dunno 
 whether it was an angel or devil. You are both." 
 
 "Why, no, Fag, I am your friend." 
 
 "Yes, but you're Paul's girl." 
 
 "Anethe is Paul's girl," Ivern replied. 
 
 "Then, if I were you, I wouldn't kiss him," and Fag arose from 
 his cramped posture, and looked rather disdainful upon Ivern. 
 
 "Why did you come here?" he asked. 
 
 "To see you." 
 
 "But I do not want to see you any more. Don't you know I love 
 you and can't be your friend now. I hate you. If you marry 
 Paul, and he dies, like old Graham did, then I'll be your friend again, 
 but I ain't a-goin' to live long, so you see what's the use of talking. 
 But since you mentioned old Nathan, the mean Jew, I'll be reveaged 
 on him right away, now. You go to Paul, you don't care for me 
 nohow." Fag stopped out of breath, he had spoken excitedly. Love 
 was not a lofty passion with the friendless boy, but it was sincere, it 
 made him weep, it was true, it was unselfish, and unselfish love is 
 perfected passion. Fag did not stop, like the young man, any young 
 man, and estimate the intelligence, the usefulness and beauty of 
 Ivern. He just loved her without asking the reason why. He did 
 not dream even of the consummation of his love. 
 
 Ivern was pleased by the passion of this forlorn boy, and she was 
 shy with him as she was with Paul. 
 
 "I haven' t'married Paul yet," she responded in reply to all he said. 
 
 "Well, I don't care, you go up that way, and I will go up this 
 way," and he started away in an opposite direction from that which 
 he had pointed out for her to go. 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 175 
 
 As he started up Pacific street a thought came to him forcibly, 
 suddenly, terribly. "I'll kill the Jew then drown myself. She said 
 she would never be happy until Nathan was dead." 
 
 He paused a moment, not irresolute, but to meditate. You know 
 how natural it is to study a project, or with your eye to measure a 
 distance before leaping. Human nature is very subtle and very odd t 
 Once we met two men who were exactly alike in expression, 
 movement, style and manners they were both dead. Human na- 
 ture is eccentric. Once we knew a man who died for love his death 
 was happy. Human nature is true to noble impulse, if the sympa- 
 thetic chord is touched. We have never lived among a people nor 
 traveled with a company where we did not find the bird in the 
 soul. 
 
 Even Fag with murder in his mind and love in his heart was not bad. 
 He was noble . There was something grand in his desire to kill Nathan, 
 the Jew. He had no personal spite against him, he did not crave ven- 
 geance for himself, but for others. With the intent of killing Nathan 
 for Ivern, and then committing suicide, he approached the place of 
 Nathan, hedged in between two saloons. 
 
 He did not tremble, though his face became somewhat repulsive^ind 
 his eyes flashed as he asked Nathan for a fine, ivory-handled dirk, 
 thai: lay with its glittering blade under the glass case. 
 
 Nathan gave Fag the knife. In a moment all was over. jFag's . 
 hands were covered with blood. He would never again be guiltless, 
 never ! A life was ruined. Fag was a criminal. The young life was 
 blotted. 
 
 "Now quit your meanness," he said. "Have you forgotten Ivern ? 
 Have you forgotten Paul ? Have you forgotten one-half the crimes 
 you have committed ? I am glad you will forget them now. I killed 
 you for her sake, I knew I could do it. You see now that it don't 
 pay to be low and mean . Hurry up and die before some one comes. 
 I am going to leave you now, for I am going to die too, but it won't 
 hurt me." Then as if in remorse, he stooped down, and raised the 
 Jew's head and according to an old custom, he took from his pocket 
 two coins and placed them upon the glassy eyes. Nathan's arm 
 twitched and he seemed to make an attempt to raise his arm. Fag 
 muttered, "Well, he's trying to steal the bits off his eyes," and he 
 
176 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 quickly replaced them in his pocket and hurridly left the store. He 
 went to No. 5 Bartlett Place and again met Ivern at the door. 
 
 "I'll never see you again, never, Ivern. I am going away. I 
 wonder if the bottom of the sea is cold, and if angels will see me 
 there. I often dream of angels, and lam going to die. 
 
 "Hush, Fag, you frighten me. You must not talk wild like that, 
 it hurts me." 
 
 "It is not the dying that hurts me. It is the leavin' you," re- 
 plied Fag. 
 
 "No, I am gone, for dead is dead, and gone is gone. If Paul 
 marries Anethe, then come to me, won't you ?" 
 
 "I promise you I will," replied Ivern. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Oswald, when I am gone, that Nathan the Jew, wants 
 to see him. And Ivern, I have fixed it all right so that he won't 
 trouble you any more." 
 
 "How can I ever repay you, Fag, for all the kind things you 
 have done for me ?" 
 
 "By kissing me good-bye/' he replied. 
 
 "I will kiss you if you stop, and don't talk in such a dreamy, 
 sad tone, just like something would happen to you." Then she 
 stooped and kissed him, 
 
 "Kiss me good-bye again, Ivern, it is like, like nothing I ever 
 had before." 
 
 We will not blame her for taking the almost doomed boy in her 
 arms and kissing him again and again. 
 
 Like a frightened deer he withdrew from her embrace and started 
 away. When he reached the foot of the stairs, ready to enter the 
 street, he turned and saw Ivern with tears in her eyes still watching 
 him; he went back and stood on the step below her. "Give me the 
 last kiss ?" he asked. 
 
 "I will she said, "and kissed him again. 
 
 It was the last kiss he ever received . No mother gave his cold 
 lips a warmer caress. Born of a low woman, of a father who added 
 to the list of his crimes by becoming the father of Fag. Do you 
 not pity the boy whose morbid sentiment drove him out of an un- 
 friendly world. 
 
 He hurried away. The thought that an officer was after him, 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 177 
 
 made him double his speed. He reached the water's edge, and 
 stood upon the pier. The sea breeze tossed his hair about his pale, 
 agitated face. He held his arms up towards the sea-gulls as if be- 
 seeching them to bear his soul away upon their wings. Then he 
 looked upon the sea; it wooed him to its depths; it seemed a living, 
 breathing thing; the waves were laughter, and the lapping waters 
 were caresses ! The whole world loomed up behind him as a colos- 
 sal stiffining corpse, with a face of night. A glance backward. 
 A leap forward. All was over. His body sank beneath, and his 
 spirit rose abore the waves. 
 
 There is still more to tell. The winter- breath of death has not 
 placed upon all its victims the ashy hue. 
 
 The papers told the sensational tale of murder and suicide. The tear- 
 less relatives remained at home, and Ivern watched the sea, with her 
 face against the pane, hoping that the dead would come back . The 
 spirit from the air answered, "Never! Never!" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Paul, trembling and excited, stood once more in the presence of 
 Anethe. She had been told the whole story of his love for Ivern, 
 There was no anger, but there was a trace of pain upon her face as 
 she said: "Here I gave you my wounded heart. Here I pronounce 
 our separation . Go ! but not in anger. Go ! from the one who lovei 
 you to the one you love. Not go, you say? You must. A woman 
 knows a man's heart. Perhaps, you will tire of the new love as you 
 did of me. If you do, come back. Know that love alone forces 
 from me such an invitation. Not a word . Go!" 
 
 Such a look ! The very richness of love arose to her face, and hal- 
 lowed it as she spoke the last word. He went reluctant, but satis- 
 fied, and Anethe' s perene, like Patience, smiling at grief, lived on. 
 
 For Ivern and Paul there followed days and days of pleasure. 
 Sometimes a jealous pang would drive its cruel point through her 
 heart, and then she would complain; "Poor, dear Fag, he loved me. 
 He died for me. Some day, Paul, I will drown my love for you 
 like Fag who drowned his for me. Only for papa's sake I'll keep 
 the rest of me dry." 
 
178 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 Paul would strongly advocate his love. He would protest until 
 falling tears hung on his eyelids. At last there was peace between 
 them, and mutual love brought its own happiness. Perhaps, some- 
 where in the book of life, it is recorded that they were united. 
 
 When the winter and summer had passed , and the grasses were 
 springing up, Ivern grew sad again. The night frosts of life were 
 with her. She and Paul were sitting quietly in the dark, mutually 
 occupied in divining each other's thoughts, and lost, half in their 
 hearts, and half in the sublime night. Ivern placed her hand trem- 
 ulously upon his. Then, blushing and hiding her face, with a voice 
 low and musical, tbrillingly painful, she talked, not once turning her 
 face towards him : 
 
 "There is happiness coming to us, Paul, under the shadow of a 
 cloud. You wanted to marry me, but I wanted you to wait until I 
 had given up all my old habits. Then I thought our love married us 
 just as welL Now, Paul" he tried to see her face "No, do not 
 look at me," and she placed her bands over his eyes. "Last night 
 I dreamed that a little bird, entangled in the folds of a cloud, broke 
 away and flew to me, bringing me token after token. When it flew 
 away for the last time, it sang that it would bring me a token of 
 your love. Then I became deathly sick, and the bird returned with 
 the token, a little child, and it lead me from you to the spirit world. 
 Oh, Paul, you know, it was not all a dream!" Her face was 
 confused with a heavenly mildness, for Paul understood. My words 
 cannot add to tbe picture of the one who was bird-like in her love, 
 nor express the mental anguish of the other. 
 
 Again Paul pleaded that she would allow him to have the marriage 
 solemnized, but the strong-willed girl would not listen to him or her 
 father. A strange presentiment had taken possession of her. She 
 believed that she would soon follow Fag. Mr. Oswald did not offer 
 her a word of reproach. His hopes for her happiness re- 
 mained. She was all that he had in the world. The records of 
 Nathan, the Jew, proved conclusively that Lea, his wife, had died 
 many years ago. Ivern's disgrace was not shame. The sorrow 
 stricken father loved his wayward child. All that he asked of 
 Paul was: "You are not married to her, are you? He answered: 
 
NATHAN THE JEW. 179 
 
 "There is no record of our marriage on earth but there is in 
 heaven." 
 
 Ivern seldom left her room. All day long, many weeks she 
 would watch the sea. At last she would not see Paul except when 
 the room was darkened. Then one night she aaked him to say good- 
 bye until she would send for him. She lived now in a world of 
 love within the rind of the real world. "Paul," she said, 
 "I took you from Anethe. Sometime when I am gone 
 return to her. Do not mourn for me. Do like me, 
 when Fag died I gave you atl of my love, and I think for 
 the last brief year we have tasted all there is of love. It is wrong 
 for me to dread the future, but let us part to-night as though we 
 should never meet again. A little child will lead me from you to the 
 spirit world." 
 
 Then in the silent night with no candle to lift the veil of their hap- 
 piness, with their souls altogether lost in each other they parted. 
 
 It was a night of mortal agony for Ivern. In the morning the 
 sharp, physical pain was over. The mother and babs lay side by 
 
 side dead. 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 Paul loitered about the grave of Ivern for a year, fatigued, not 
 freshened by tears. Alas! that death should so sully the blossoms of 
 life. "Ivern! Ivern!" he cried, "lead me to you." Then he tottered 
 away from the grave, where knelt the father of the buried one, to re- 
 turn to the living. From death he turned to life. The words which 
 Fag often used seemed written above him across the sky: "Dead is 
 dead; gone is gone." Then, as he approached the home of Anethe, 
 it seemed as though he heard her singing: "Dead is dead." "Life 
 is life. Come! Come!" He paused as he neared the house. 
 
 "Not yet, not yet," he muttered and passed on. Another six 
 months passed. Again he approached the home of Anethe, but the 
 shadow of the dead crossed his path, and he tottered away. Winter 
 had come, and he was standing once more in the luxurious parlor 
 waiting for Anethe. 
 
 "Do you welcome me back ?" he asked, as she came very near to 
 him. Her love and sorrow prevented her from answering. 
 
 "Anethe, bid me stay with you !" 
 
180 
 
 NATHAN THE JEW. 
 
 "I have lost and found you again !" she replied. 
 
 "O rapture ! O God ! Am I etill loved by one so peerless as you 
 Is there no shadow between us ?" 
 
 "There is sunlight from the grave," she answered. 
 
 "Yes, and the light is eternal. Our happiness is complete. The 
 end is the beginning of our eternity of love." 
 
 HARR WAGNER. 
 
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