THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 IRVINE 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 RUE E. NICHOLS 
 
 837
 
 'GO SLOW, OLD MAN; GO SLOW" 
 
 A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready
 
 "ARGONAUT EDITION" OF 
 THE WORKS OF BRET HARTE 
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 TN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 SNOW BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 BY 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 P. F. COLLIER y SON 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 PS 
 
 mo 
 
 Putlitktd under tptrial arrangement with 
 tht Houghton Mifflin Company 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1883 
 BY HOUGHTON. MIFFLIN & COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1886, 1887 AND 1890 
 BY BRET HARTE 
 All rights reserved
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY . . . 3 
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 83 
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 159 
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 265 
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S . 375
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH 
 AND-READY 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 THERE was no mistake this time: he had struck gold 
 at last ! 
 
 It had lain there before him a moment ago a mis 
 shapen piece of brown-stained quartz, interspersed with 
 dull yellow metal; yielding enough to have allowed the 
 points of his pick to penetrate its honeycombed recesses, 
 yet heavy enough to drop from the point of his pick as he 
 endeavored to lift it from the red earth. 
 
 He was seeing all this plainly, although he found him 
 self, he knew not why, at some distance from the scene 
 of his discovery, his heart foolishly beating, his breath 
 impotently hurried. Yet he was walking slowly and 
 vaguely; conscious of stopping and staring at the land 
 scape, which no longer looked familiar to him. He was 
 hoping for some instinct or force of habit to recall him to 
 himself; yet when he saw a neighbor at work in an 
 adjacent claim, he hesitated, and then turned his back 
 upon him. Yet only a moment before he had thought of 
 running to him, saying, "By Jingo ! I've struck it," or 
 "D n it, old man, I've got it" ; but that moment had 
 passed, and now it seemed to him that he could scarce 
 raise his voice, or, if he did, the ejaculation would appear 
 forced and artificial. Neither could he go over to him 
 coolly and tell his good fortune ; and, partly from this 
 strange shyness, and partly with a hope that another sur 
 vey of the treasure might restore him to natural expres 
 sion, he walked back to his tunnel. 
 
 Yes ; it was there ! No mere "pocket" or "deposit," but 
 
 3
 
 4 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 a part of the actual vein he had been so long seeking. 
 It was there, sure enough, lying beside the pick and the 
 debris of the "face" of the vein that he had exposed suf 
 ficiently, after the first shock of discovery, to assure him 
 self of the fact and the permanence of his fortune. It 
 was there, and with it the refutation of his enemies' 
 sneers the corroboration of his friends' belief, the practi 
 cal demonstration of his own theories, the reward of his 
 patient labors. It was there, sure enough. But, some 
 how he not only failed to recall the first joy of discovery, 
 but was conscious of a vague sense of responsibility and 
 unrest. It was, no doubt, an enormous fortune to a man 
 in his circumstances: perhaps it meant a couple of hun 
 dred thousand dollars, or more, judging from the value 
 of the old Martin lead, which was not as rich as this, but 
 it required to be worked constantly and judiciously. It 
 was with a decided sense of uneasiness that he again 
 sought the open sunlight of the hillside. His neighbor 
 was still visible on the adjacent claim; but he had ap 
 parently stopped working, and was contemplatively smok 
 ing a pipe under a large pine-tree. For an instant he 
 envied him his apparent contentment. He had a sudden 
 fierce and inexplicable desire to go over to him and ex 
 asperate his easy poverty by a revelation of his own 
 new-found treasure. But even that sensation quickly 
 passed, and left him staring blankly at the landscape 
 
 again. , 
 
 As soon as he had made his discovery known, and 
 settled its value, he would send for his wife and her 
 children in the States. He would build a fine house on 
 the opposite hillside, if she would consent to it, unless 
 she preferred, for the children's sake, to live in ban 
 Francisco. A sense of a loss of independence-of a 
 change of circumstances that left him no longer his own 
 master began to perplex him, in the midst of his bright 
 est projects. Certain other relations with other members 
 of his family, which had lapsed by absence and his in 
 significance, must now be taken up anew. He must d 
 something for his sister Jane, for his brother William, 
 for his wife's poor connections. It would be unfair t
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 5 
 
 him to say that he contemplated those things with any 
 other instinct than that of generosity ; yet he was con 
 scious of being already perplexed and puzzled. 
 
 Meantime, however, the neighbor had apparently fin 
 ished his pipe, and, knocking the ashes out of it, rose 
 suddenly, and ended any further uncertainty of their 
 meeting by walking over directly towards him. The 
 treasure-finder advanced a few steps on his side, and then 
 stopped irresolutely. 
 
 "Hollo, Slinn !" said the neighbor, confidently. 
 
 "Hollo, Masters," responded Slinn, faintly. From the 
 sound of the two voices a stranger might have mistaken 
 their relative condition. "What in thunder are you moon 
 ing about for ? What's up ?" Then, catching sight of 
 Slinn's pale and anxious face, he added abruptly, "Are you 
 sick?" 
 
 Slinn was on the point of telling him his good fortune, 
 but stopped. The unlucky question confirmed his con 
 sciousness of his physical and mental disturbance, and he 
 dreaded the ready ridicule of his companion. He would 
 tell him later; Masters need not know when he had made 
 the strike. Besides, in his present vagueness, he shrank 
 from the brusque, practical questioning that would be 
 sure to follow the revelation to a man of Masters' tem 
 perament. 
 
 "I'm a little giddy here," he answered, putting his hand 
 to his head, "and I thought I'd knock off until I was 
 better." 
 
 Masters examined him with two very critical gray 
 eyes. "Tell ye what, old man ! if you don't quit this 
 dog-goned foolin' of yours in that God-forsaken tunnel 
 you'll get loony ! Times you get so tangled up in fol- 
 lerin' that blind lead o' yours you ain't sensible !" 
 
 Here was the opportunity to tell him all, and vindicate 
 the justice of his theories! But he shrank from it again; 
 and now, adding to the confusion, was a singular sense 
 of dread at the mental labor of explanation. He only 
 smiled painfully, and began to move away. "Look you !" 
 said Masters, peremptorily, "ye want about three fingers 
 of straight whiskey to set you right, and you've got to
 
 6 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH- AND READY 
 
 take it with me. D n it, man, it may be the last drink 
 we take together ! Don't look so skeered ! I mean I 
 made up my mind about ten minutes ago to cut the whole 
 
 d d thing, and light out for fresh diggings. I'm sick 
 
 of getting only grub wages out o' this hill. So that's what 
 I mean by saying it's the last drink you and me'll take 
 together. You know my ways : sayin' and doin' with me's 
 the same thing." 
 
 It was true. Slinn had often envied Masters' prompt 
 ness of decision and resolution. But he only looked at 
 the grim face of his interlocutor with a feeble sense of 
 relief. H was going. And he, Slinn, would not have to 
 explain anything! 
 
 He murmured something about having to go over to 
 the settlement on business. He dreaded lest Masters 
 should insist upon going into the tunnel. 
 
 "I suppose you want to mail that letter," said Masters, 
 drily. "The mail don't go till to-morrow, so you've got 
 time to finish it, and put it in an envelope." 
 
 Following the direction of Masters' eyes, Slinn looked 
 down and saw, to his utter surprise, that he was holding 
 an unfinished pencilled note in his hand. How it came 
 there, when he had written it, he could not tell ; he dimly 
 remembered that one of his first impulses was to write to 
 his wife, but that he had already done so he had for 
 gotten. He hastily concealed the note in his breast 
 pocket, with a vacant smile. Masters eyed him half 
 contemptuously, half compassionately. 
 
 "Don't forget yourself and drop it in some hollow tree 
 for a letter-box," he said. "Well so long ! since you 
 won't drink. Take care of yourself," and, turning on 
 his heel, Masters walked away. 
 
 Slinn watched him as he crossed over to his abandoned 
 claim, saw him gather his few mining utensils, strap his 
 blanket over his back, lift his hat on his long-handled 
 shovel as a token of farewell, and then stride light-heart 
 edly over the ridge. 
 
 He was alone now with his secret and his treasure. 
 The only man in the world who knew of the exact posi 
 tion of his tunnel had gone away forever. It was not
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 7 
 
 likely that this chance companion of a few weeks would 
 ever remember him or the locality again; he would now 
 leave his treasure alone for even a day perhaps until 
 he had thought out some plan and sought out some friend 
 in whom to confide. His secluded life, the singular hab 
 its of concentration which had at last proved so success 
 ful had, at the same time, left him few acquaintances and 
 no associates. And in all his well-laid plans and patiently- 
 digested theories for finding the treasure, the means and 
 methods of working it and disposing of it had never 
 entered. 
 
 And now, at the hour when he most needed his facul 
 ties, what was the meaning of this strange benumbing of 
 them ! 
 
 Patience ! He only wanted a little rest a little time to 
 recover himself. There was a large boulder under a tree 
 in the highway of the settlement a sheltered spot where 
 he had often waited for the coming of the stage-coach. 
 He would go there, and when he was sufficiently rested 
 and composed he would go on. 
 
 Nevertheless, on his way he diverged and turned into 
 the woods, for no other apparent purpose than to find a 
 hollow tree. "A hollow tree." Yes ! that was what 
 Masters had said ; he remembered it distinctly ; and some 
 thing was to be done there, but what it was, or why it 
 should be done, he could not tell. However, it was done, 
 and very luckily, for his limbs could scarcely support 
 him further, and reaching that boulder he dropped upon 
 it like another stone. 
 
 And now, strange to say, the uneasiness and perplexity 
 which had possessed him ever since he had stood before 
 his revealed wealth dropped from him like a burden laid 
 upon the wayside. A measureless peace stole over him, 
 in which visions of his new-found fortune, no longer a 
 trouble and perplexity, but crowned with happiness and 
 blessing to all around him, assumed proportions far be 
 yond his own weak, selfish plans. In its even-handed 
 benefaction, his wife and children, his friends and rela 
 tions, even his late poor companion of the hillside, met 
 and moved harmoniously together; in its far-reaching
 
 8 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 consequences there was only the influence of good. It 
 was not strange that this poor finite mind should never 
 have conceived the meaning of the wealth extended to 
 him ; or that conceiving it he should faint and falter under 
 the revelation. Enough that for a few minutes he must 
 have tasted a joy of perfect anticipation that years of 
 actual possession might never bring. 
 
 The sun seemed to go down in a rosy dream of his 
 own happiness, as he still sat there. Later, the shadows 
 of the trees thickened and surrounded him, and still later 
 fell the calm of a quiet evening sky with far-spaced pas 
 sionless stars, that seemed as little troubled by what they 
 looked upon as he was by the stealthy creeping life in 
 the grasses and underbrush at his feet. The dull patter 
 of soft little feet in the soft dust of the road, the gentle 
 gleam of moist and wondering little eyes on the branches 
 and in the mossy edges of the boulder, did not disturb 
 him. He sat patiently through it all, as if he had not 
 yet made up his mind. 
 
 But when the stage came with the flashing sun the 
 next morning, and the irresistible clamor of life and 
 action, the driver suddenly laid his four spirited horses 
 on their haunches before the quiet spot. The express 
 messenger clambered down from the box, and approached 
 what seemed to be a heap of cast-off clothes upon the 
 boulder. 
 
 "He don't seem to be drunk," he said, in reply to a 
 querulous interrogation from the passengers. "I can't 
 make him out. His eyes are open, but he cannot speak 
 or move. Take a look at him, Doc." 
 
 A rough unprofessional-looking man here descended 
 from the inside of the coach, and, carelessly thrusting 
 aside the other curious passengers, suddenly leant over 
 the heap of clothes in a professional attitude. 
 
 "He is dead," said one of the passengers. 
 
 The rough man let the passive head sink softly down 
 again. "No such luck for him," he said curtly, but not 
 unkindly. "It's a stroke of paralysis and about as big 
 as they make 'em. It's a toss-up if he ever speaks or 
 moves again as long as he lives."
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND READY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHEN Alvin Mulracly announced his intention of grow 
 ing potatoes and garden "truck" on the green slopes of 
 Los Gatos, the mining community of that region, and the 
 adjacent hamlet of "Rough-and-Ready," regarded it with 
 the contemptuous indifference usually shown by those ad 
 venturers towards all bucolic pursuits. There was cer 
 tainly no active objection to the occupation of two 
 hillsides, which gave so little promise to the prospector 
 for gold that it was currently reported that a single pros 
 pector, called "Slinn," had once gone mad or imbecile 
 through repeated failures. The only opposition came, 
 incongruously enough, from the original pastoral owner 
 of the soil, one Don Ramon Alvarado, whose claim for 
 seven leagues of hill and valley, including the now pros 
 perous towns of Rough-and-Ready and Red Dog, was 
 met with simple derision from the squatters and miners. 
 "Looks ez ef we woz goin' to travel three thousand miles 
 
 to open up his d d old wilderness, and then pay for 
 
 the increased valoo we give it don't it? Oh, yes, cer 
 tainly !" was their ironical commentary. Mulrady might 
 have been pardoned for adopting this popular opinion ; 
 but by an equally incongruous sentiment, peculiar, how 
 ever, to the man, he called upon Don Ramon, and actually 
 offered to purchase the land, or "go shares" with him in 
 the agricultural profits. It was alleged that the Don was 
 so struck with this concession that he not only granted 
 the land, but struck up a quaint reserved friendship for 
 the simple-minded agriculturist and his family. It is 
 scarcely necessary to add that this intimacy was viewed 
 by the miners with the contempt that it deserved. They 
 would have been more contemptuous, however, had they 
 known the opinion that Don Ramon entertained of their 
 particular vocation, and which he early confided to 
 Mulrady. 
 
 "They are savages who expect to reap where they have 
 not sown; to take out of the earth without returning 
 anything to it but their precious carcasses; heathens,
 
 10 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 who worship the mere stones they dig up." "And was 
 there no Spaniard who ever dug gold?" asked Mulrady, 
 simply. "Ah, there are Spaniards and Moors," responded 
 Don Ramon, sententiously. "Gold has been dug, and by 
 caballeros; but no good ever came of it. There were 
 Alvarados in Sonora, look you, who had mines of silver, 
 and worked them with peons and mules, and lost their 
 money a gold mine to work a silver one like gentle 
 men ! But this grubbing in the dirt with one's fingers, 
 that a litle gold may stick to them, is not for caballeros. 
 And then, one says nothing of the curse." 
 
 "The curse !" echoed Mary Mulrady, with youthful 
 feminine superstition. "What is that?" 
 
 "You knew not, friend Mulrady, that when these lands 
 were given to my ancestors by Charles V., the Bishop 
 of Monterey laid a curse upon any who should desecrate 
 them. Good ! Let us see ! Of the three Americanos 
 who founded yonder town, one was shot, another died of 
 a fever poisoned, you understand, by the soil and 
 the last got himself crazy of aguardiente. Even the 
 scientifico, 1 who came here years ago and spied into the 
 trees and the herbs : he was afterwards punished for his 
 profanation, and died of an accident in other lands. But," 
 added Don Ramon, with grave courtesy, "this touches not 
 yourself. Through me, you are of the soil." 
 
 Indeed, it would seem as if a secure if not a rapid 
 prosperity was the result of Don Ramon's manorial pat 
 ronage. The potato patch and market garden flourished 
 exceedingly ; the rich soil responded with magnificent 
 vagaries of growth ; the even sunshine set the seasons at 
 defiance with extraordinary and premature crops. The 
 salt pork and biscuit consuming settlers did not allow 
 their contempt of Mulrady's occupation to prevent their 
 profiting by this opportunity for changing their diet. The 
 gold they had taken from the soil presently began to flow 
 into his pockets in exchange for his more modest treas 
 ures. The little cabin, which barely sheltered his family 
 
 1 Don Ramon probably alluded to the eminent naturalist Douglas, who 
 visited California before the gold excitement, and died of an accident in the 
 Sandwich Islands.
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 11 
 
 a wife, son, and daughter was enlarged, extended, 
 and refitted, but in turn abandoned for a more pretentious 
 house on the opposite hill. A whitewashed fence re 
 placed the rudely-split rails, which had kept out the 
 wilderness. By degrees, the first evidences of cultivation 
 the gashes of red soil, the piles of brush and under 
 growth, the bared boulders, and heaps of stone melted 
 away, and were lost under a carpet of lighter green, 
 which made an oasis in the tawny desert of wild oats on 
 the hillside. Water was the only free boon denied this 
 Garden of Eden; what was necessary for irrigation had 
 to be brought from a mining ditch at great expense, and 
 was of insufficient quantity. In this emergency Mulrady 
 thought of sinking an artesian well on the sunny slope 
 beside his house; not, however, without serious consulta 
 tion and much objection from his Spanish patron. With 
 great austerity Don Ramon pointed out that this trifling 
 with the entrails of the earth was not only an indignity 
 to Nature almost equal to shaft-sinking and tunneling, 
 but was a disturbance of vested interests. "I and my 
 fathers, San Diego rest them !" said Don Ramon, crossing 
 himself, "were content with wells and cisterns, filled by 
 Heaven at its appointed seasons; the cattle, dumb brutes 
 though they were, knew where to find water when they 
 wanted it. But thou sayest truly," he added, with a sigh, 
 "that was before streams and rain were choked with 
 hellish engines, and poisoned with their spume. Go on, 
 friend Mulrady, dig and bore if thou wilt, but in a seemly 
 fashion, and not with impious earthquakes of devilish 
 gunpowder." 
 
 With this concession Alvin Mulrady began to sink his 
 first artesian shaft. Being debarred the auxiliaries of 
 steam and gunpowder, the work went on slowly. The 
 market garden did not suffer meantime, as Mulrady had 
 employed two Chinamen to take charge of the ruder 
 tillage, while he superintended the engineering work of 
 the well. This trifling incident marked an epoch in the 
 social condition of the family. Mrs. Mulrady at once 
 assumed a conscious importance among her neighbors. 
 She spoke of her husband's "men"; she alluded to the
 
 12 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 well as "the works"; she checked the easy frontier fa 
 miliarity of her customers with pretty Mary Mulrady, 
 her seventeen-year-old daughter. Simple Alvin Mulrady 
 looked with astonishment at this sudden development of 
 the germ planted in all feminine nature to expand in 
 the slightest sunshine of prosperity. "Look yer, Malviny; 
 ain't ye rather puttin' on airs with the boys that want to 
 be civil to Mamie ? Like as not one of 'em may be makin' 
 up to her already." "You don't mean to say, Alvin 
 Mulrady," responded Mrs. Mulrady, with sudden severity, 
 "that you ever thought of givin' your daughter to a 
 common miner, or that I'm goin' to allow her to marry 
 out of our own set ?" "Our own set !" echoed Mulrady 
 feebly, blinking at her in astonishment, and then glancing 
 hurriedly across at his freckle-faced son and the two 
 Chinamen at work in the cabbages. "Oh, you know what 
 I mean," said Mrs. Mulrady sharply ; "the set that we 
 move in. The Alvartdos and their friends! Doesn't the 
 old Don come here every day, and ain't his son the right 
 age for Mamie? And ain't they the real first fam 
 ilies here all the same as if they were noblemen? No, 
 leave Mamie to me, and keep to your shaft ; there never 
 was a man yet had the least sabc about these things, or 
 knew what was due to his family." Like most of his 
 larger minded, but feebler equipped sex, Mulrady was too 
 glad to accept the truth of the latter proposition, which 
 left the meannesses of life to feminine manipulation, and 
 went off to his shaft on the hillside. But during that 
 afternoon he was perplexed and troubled. He was too 
 loyal a husband not to be pleased with this proof of an 
 unexpected and superior foresight in his wife, although 
 he was, like all husbands, a little startled by it. He tried 
 to dismiss it from his mind. But looking down from the 
 hillside upon his little venture, where gradual increase 
 and prosperity had not been beyond his faculties to con 
 trol and understand, he found himself haunted by the 
 more ambitious projects of his helpmate. From his own 
 knowledge of men, he doubted if Don Ramon, any more 
 than himself, had ever thought of the possibility of a 
 matrimonial connection between the families. He doubted
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 13 
 
 if he would consent to it. And unfortunately it was 
 this very doubt that, touching his own pride as a self- 
 made man, made him first seriously consider his wife's 
 proposition. He was as good as Don Ramon, any day ! 
 With this subtle feminine poison instilled in his veins, 
 carried completely away by the logic of his wife's illogical 
 premises, he almost hated his old benefactor. He looked 
 down upon the little Garden of Eden, where his Eve 
 had just tempted him with the fatal fruit, and felt a 
 curious consciousness that he was losing its simple and 
 innocent enjoyment forever. 
 
 Happily, about this time Don Ramon died. It is not 
 probable that he ever knew the amiable intentions of 
 Mrs. Mulrady in regard to his son, who now succeeded 
 to the paternal estate, sadly partitioned by relatives and 
 lawsuits. The feminine Mulradys attended the funeral, 
 in expensive mourning from Sacramento; even the gen 
 tle Alvin was forced into ready-made broadcloth, which 
 accented his good-natured but unmistakably common 
 presence. Mrs. Mulrady spoke openly of her "loss"; 
 declared that the old families were dying out; and im 
 pressed the wives of a few new arrivals at Red Dog with 
 the belief that her own family was contemporary with the 
 Alvarados, and that her husband's health was far from 
 perfect. She extended a motherly sympathy to the 
 orphaned Don Caesar. Reserved, like his father, in nat 
 ural disposition, he was still more gravely ceremonious 
 from his loss ; and, perhaps from the shyness of an evi 
 dent partiality for Mamie Mulrady, he rarely availed 
 himself of her mother's sympathizing hospitality. But 
 he carried out the intentions of his father by consenting 
 to sell to Mulrady, for a small sum, the property he had 
 leased. The idea of purchasing had originated with Mrs. 
 Mulrady. 
 
 "It'll be all in the family," had observed that astute 
 lady, "and it's better for the looks of the things that we 
 shouldn't be his tenants." 
 
 It was only a few weeks later that she was startled 
 by hearing her husband's voice calling her from the hill 
 side as he rapidly approached the house. Mamie was -in
 
 14 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 her room putting on a new pink cotton gown, in honor 
 of an expected visit from young Don Caesar, and Mrs. 
 Mulrady was tidying the house in view of the same event. 
 Something in the tone of her good man's voice, and the 
 unusual circumstance of his return to the house before 
 work was done, caused her, however, to drop her dusting 
 cloth, and run to the kitchen door to meet him. She saw 
 him running through the rows of cabbages, his face shin 
 ing with perspiration and excitement, a light in his eyes 
 which she had not seen for years. She recalled, without 
 sentiment, that he looked like that when she had called 
 him a poor farm hand of her father's out of the brush 
 heap at the back of their former home, in Illinois, to 
 learn the consent of her parents. The recollection was 
 the more embarrassing as he threw his arms around her, 
 and pressed a resounding kiss upon her sallow cheek. 
 
 "Sakes alive ! Mulrady !" she said, exorcising the ghost 
 of a blush that had also been recalled from the past with 
 her housewife's apron, "what are you doin', and com 
 pany expected every minit ?" 
 
 "Malviny, I've struck it ; and struck it rich !" 
 
 She disengaged herself from his arms, without excite 
 ment, and looked at him with bright but shrewdly ob 
 servant eyes. 
 
 "I've struck it in the well the regular vein that the 
 boys have been looking fer. There's a fortin' fer you 
 and Mamie : thousands and tens of thousands !" 
 
 "Wait a minit." 
 
 She left him quickly, and went to the foot of the stairs. 
 He could hear her wonderingly and distinctly. "Ye can 
 take off that new frock, Mamie," she called out. 
 
 There was a sound of undisguised expostulation' from 
 Mamie. 
 
 "I'm speaking," said Mrs. Mulrady, emphatically. 
 
 The murmuring ceased. Mrs. Mulrady returned to her 
 husband. The interruption seemed to have taken off the 
 keen edge of his enjoyment. He at once abdicated his 
 momentary elevation as a discoverer, and waited for her 
 to speak. 
 
 "Ye haven't told any one yet?" she asked.
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 15 
 
 'No. I was alone, down in the shaft. Ye see, Malviny, 
 I wasn't expectin' of anything." He began, with an 
 attempt at fresh enjoyment, "I was just clearin' out, and 
 hadn't reckoned on anythin'." 
 
 "You see, I was right when I advised you taking the 
 land," she said, without heeding him. 
 
 Mulrady's face fell. "I hope Don Csesar won't think" 
 he began, hesitatingly. "I reckon, perhaps, I oughter 
 make some sorter compensation you know." 
 
 "Stuff !" said Mrs. Mulrady, decidedly. "Don't be a 
 fool. Any gold discovery, anyhow, would have been 
 yours that's the law. And you bought the land without 
 any restrictions. Besides, you never had any idea of 
 this !" she stopped, and looked him suddenly in the face 
 -"had you?" 
 
 Mulrady opened his honest, pale-gray eyes widely. 
 
 "Why, Malviny ! You know I hadn't. I could 
 swear !" 
 
 "Don't swear, and don't let on to anybody but what 
 you did know it was there. Now, Alvin Mulrady, listen 
 to me." Her voice here took the strident form of action. 
 "Knock off work at the shaft, and send your man away 
 at once. Put on your things, catch the next stage to 
 Sacramento at four o'clock, and take Mamie with you." 
 
 "Mamie !" echoed Mulrady, feebly. 
 
 "You want to see Lawyer Cole and my brother Jim 
 at once," she went on, without heeding him, "and Mamie 
 wants a change and some proper clothes. Leave the rest 
 to me and Abner. I'll break it to Mamie, and get her 
 ready." 
 
 Mulrady passed his hands through his tangled hair, 
 wet with perspiration. He was proud of his wife's energy 
 and action; he did not dream of opposing her, but some 
 how he was disappointed. The charming glamour and 
 joy of his discovery had vanished before he could fairly 
 dazzle her with it; or, rather, she was not dazzled with 
 it at all. It had become like business, and the expression 
 "breaking it" to Mamie jarred upon him. He would have 
 preferred to tell her himself; to watch the color come 
 into her delicate oval face, to have seen her soft eyes
 
 16 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 light with an innocent joy he had not seen in his wife's; 
 and he felt a sinking conviction that his wife was the 
 last one to awaken it. 
 
 "You ain't got any time to lose," she said, impatiently, 
 as he hesitated. 
 
 Perhaps it was her impatience that struck harshly upon 
 him ; perhaps, if she had riot accepted her good fortune 
 so confidently, he would not have spoken what was in his 
 mind at the time ; but he said gravely, "Wait a minit, 
 Malviny ; I've suthin' to tell you 'bout this find of mine 
 that's sing'lar." 
 
 "Go on," she said, quickly. 
 
 "Lyin' among the rotten quartz of the vein was a pick," 
 he said, constrainedly; "and the face of the vein sorter 
 looked ez if it had been worked at. Follering the line 
 outside to the base of the hill there was signs of there 
 having been an old tunnel; but it had fallen in, and was 
 blocked up." 
 
 "Well?" said Mrs. Mulrady, contemptuously. 
 
 "Well," returned her husband, somewhat disconnect 
 edly, "it kinder looked as if some feller might have 
 discovered it before." 
 
 "And went away, and left it for others ! That's likely 
 ain't it?" interrupted his wife, with ill-disguised in 
 tolerance. "Everybody knows the hill wasn't worth that 
 for prospectin'; and it was abandoned when we came 
 here. It's your property and you've paid for it. Are you 
 goin' to wait to advertise for the owner, Alvin Mulrady, 
 or are you going to Sacramento at four o'clock to-day?" 
 
 Mulrady started. He had never seriously believed in 
 the possibility of a previous discovery; but his con 
 scientious nature had prompted him to give it a fair 
 consideration. She was probably right. What he might 
 have thought had she treated it with equal conscientious 
 ness he did not consider. "All right," he said simply. 
 "I reckon we'll go at once." 
 
 "And when you talk to Lawyer Cole and Jim, keep 
 that silly stuff about the pick to yourself. There's no 
 use of putting queer ideas into other people's heads be 
 cause you happen to have 'em yourself."
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 17 
 
 When the hurried arrangements were at last com 
 pleted, and Mr. Mulrady and Mamie, accompanied by a 
 taciturn and discreet Chinaman, carrying their scant 
 luggage, were on their way to the high road to meet the 
 up stage, the father gazed somewhat anxiously and wist 
 fully into his daughter's face. He had looked forward 
 to those few moments to enjoy the freshness and naivete 
 of Mamie's youthful delight and enthusiasm as a relief 
 to his wife's practical, far-sighted realism. There was a 
 pretty pink suffusion in her delicate cheek, the breathless 
 happiness of a child in her half-opened little mouth, and 
 a beautiful absorption in her large gray eyes that augured 
 well for him. 
 
 "Well, Mamie, how do we like bein' an heiress? How 
 do we like layin' over all the gals between this and 
 'Frisco ?" 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 She had not heard him. The tender beautiful eyes 
 were engaged in an anticipatory examination of the re 
 membered shelves in the "Fancy Emporium" at Sacra 
 mento; in reading the admiration of the clerks; in 
 glancing down a little criticisingly at the broad cowhide 
 brogues that strode at her side; in looking up the road 
 for the stage-coach; in regarding the fit of her new 
 gloves everywhere but in the loving eyes of the man 
 beside her. 
 
 He, however, repeated the question, touched with her 
 charming preoccupation, and passing his arm around her 
 little waist. 
 
 "I like it well enough, pa, you know !" she said, slightly 
 disengaging his arm, but adding a perfunctory little 
 squeeze to his elbow to soften the separation. "I al 
 ways had an idea something would happen. I suppose 
 I'm looking like a fright," she added; "but ma made me 
 hurry to get away before Don Caesar came." 
 
 "And you didn't want to go without seeing him?" he 
 added, archly. 
 
 "I didn't want him to see me in this frock," said 
 Mamie, simply. "I reckon that's why ma made me 
 change," she added, with a slight laugh.
 
 18 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 "Well I reckon you're allus good enough for him in 
 any dress," said Mulrady, watching her attentively ; "and 
 more than a match for him now," he added, triumph 
 antly. 
 
 "I don't know about that," said Mamie. "He's been 
 rich all the time, and his father and grandfather before 
 him; while we've been poor and his tenants." 
 
 His face changed ; the look of bewilderment, with 
 which he had followed her words, gave way to one of 
 pain, and then of anger. "Did he get off such stuff as 
 that?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 "No. I'd like to catch hiai at it," responded Mamie, 
 promptly. "There's better nor him to be had for the 
 asking now." 
 
 They had walked on a few moments in aggrieved 
 silence, and the Chinaman might have imagined some 
 misfortune had just befallen them. But Mamie's teeth 
 shone again between her parted lips. "La, pa ! it ain't 
 that ! He cares everything for me, and I do for him ; 
 and if ma hadn't got new ideas " She stopped sud 
 denly. 
 
 "What new ideas?" queried her father, anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, nothing ! I wish, pa, you'd put on your other 
 boots ! Everybody can see these are made for the far 
 rows. And you ain't a market gardener any more." 
 
 "What am I, then?" asked Mulrady, with a half- 
 pleased, half-uneasy laugh. 
 
 "You're a capitalist, / say; but ma says a landed pro 
 prietor." Nevertheless, the landed proprietor, when he 
 reached the boulder on the Red Dog highway, sat down 
 in somewhat moody contemplation, with his head bowed 
 over the broad cowhide brogues, that seemed to have 
 already gathered enough of the soil to indicate his right 
 to that title. Mamie, who had recovered her spirits, but 
 had not lost her preoccupation, wandered off by herself 
 in the meadow, or ascended the hillside, as her occasional 
 impatience at the delay of the coach, or the following of 
 some ambitious fancy, alternately prompted her. She was 
 so far away at one time that the stage-coach, which finally 
 drew up before Mulrady, was obliged to wait for her.
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 19 
 
 When she was deposited safely inside, and Mulrady had 
 climbed to the box beside the driver, the latter remarked, 
 curtly, 
 
 "Ye gave me a right smart skeer, a minit ago, 
 stranger." 
 
 "Ez how ?" 
 
 "Well, about three years ago, I was comin' down this 
 yer grade, at just this time, and sittin' right on that stone, 
 in just your attitude, was a man about your build and 
 years. I pulled up to let him in, when, darn my skin! if 
 he ever moved, but sorter looked at me without speakin'. 
 I called to him, and he never answered, 'cept with that 
 idiotic stare. I then let him have my opinion of him, in 
 mighty strong English, and drove off, leavin' him there. 
 The next morning, when I came by on the up-trip, darn 
 my skin ! if he wasn't thar, but lyin' all of a heap on the 
 boulder. Jim drops down and picks him up. Doctor 
 Duchesne, ez was along, allowst it was a played-out pros 
 pector, with a big case of paralysis, and we expressed 
 him through to the County Hospital, like so much dead 
 freight. I've allus been kinder superstitious about passin' 
 that rock, and when I saw you jist now, sittin' thar, dazed 
 like, with your head down like the other chap, it rather 
 threw me off my centre." 
 
 In the inexplicable and half-superstitious uneasiness 
 that this coincidence awakened in Mulrady's unimagina 
 tive mind, he was almost on the point of disclosing his 
 good fortune to the driver, in order to prove how pre 
 posterous was the parallel, but checked himself in time. 
 
 "Did you find out who he was ?" broke in a rash pas 
 senger. "Did you ever get over it?" added another un 
 fortunate. 
 
 With a pause of insulting scorn at the interruption, 
 the driver resumed, pointedly, to Mulrady: "The pint of 
 the whole thing was my cussin' a helpless man, ez could 
 neither cuss back nor shoot ; and then afterwards takin' 
 you for his ghost layin' for me to get even." He paused 
 again, and then added, carelessly, "They say he never 
 kem to enuff to let on who he was or whar he kem from ; 
 and he was eventooally taken to a 'Sylum for Doddering
 
 20 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 Idjits and Gin'ral and Permiskus Imbeciles at Sacra 
 mento. I've heerd it's considered a first-class insti- 
 tooshun, not only for them ez is paralyzed and can't talk, 
 as for them ez is the reverse and is too chipper. Now," 
 he added, languidly turning for the first time to his miser 
 able questioners, "how did you find it?" 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WHEN the news of the discovery of gold in Mulrady 
 shaft was finally made public, it created an excitement 
 hitherto unknown in the history of the country. Half of 
 Red Dog and all Rough-and-Ready were emptied upon 
 the yellow hills surrounding Mulrady's, until their circling 
 camp fires looked like a besieging army that had invested 
 his peaceful pastoral home, preparatory to carrying it by 
 assault. Unfortunately for them, they found the various 
 points of vantage already garrisoned with notices of 
 "preemption" for mining purposes in the name of the 
 various members of the Alvarado family. This stroke of 
 business was due to Mrs. Mulrady, as a means of molli 
 fying the conscientious scruples of her husband and of 
 placating the Alvarados, in veiw of some remote contin 
 gency. It is but fair to say that this degradation of his 
 father's Castilian principles was opposed by Don Caesar. 
 "You needn't work them yourself, but sell out to them 
 that will ; it's the only way to keep the prospectors from 
 taking it without paying for it at all," argued Mrs. Mul 
 rady. Don Caesar finally assented ; perhaps less to the 
 business arguments of Mulrady's wife than to the simple 
 suggestion of Mamie's mother. Enough that he realized 
 a sum in money for a few acres that exceeded the last 
 ten years' income of Don Ramon's seven leagues. 
 
 Equally unprecedented and extravagant was the reali 
 zation of the discovery in Mulrady's shaft. It was alleged 
 that a company, hastily formed in Sacramento, paid him 
 a million of dollars down, leaving him still a controlling 
 two-thirds interest in the mine. With an obstinacy, how 
 ever, that amounted almost to a moral conviction, he re-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 21 
 
 fused to include the house and potato-patch in the 
 property. When the company had yielded the point, he 
 declined, with equal tenacity, to part with it to outside 
 speculators on even the most extravagant offers. In vain 
 Mrs. Mulrady protested; in vain she pointed out to him 
 that the retention of the evidence of his former humble 
 occupation was a green blot upon their social escutcheon. 
 
 "If you will keep the land, build on it, and root up the 
 garden." But Mulrady was adamant. 
 
 "It's the only thing I ever made myself, and got out 
 of the soil with my own hands; it's the beginning of my 
 fortune, and it may be the end of it. Mebbee I'll be glad 
 enough to have it to come back to some day, and be 
 thankful for the square meal I can dig out of it." 
 
 By repeated pressure, however, Mulrady yielded the 
 compromise that a portion of it should be made into a 
 vineyard and flower-garden, and by a suitable coloring 
 of ornament and luxury obliterate its vulgar part. Less 
 successful, however, was that energetic woman in another 
 effort to mitigate the austerities of their earlier state. It 
 occurred to her to utilize the softer accents of Don Caesar 
 in the pronunciation of their family name, and privately 
 had "Mulrade" take the place of Mulrady on her visiting 
 card. "It might be Spanish," she argued with her hus 
 band. "Lawyer Cole says most American names are cor 
 rupted, and how do you know that yours ain't?" 
 Mulrady, who would not swear that his ancestors came 
 from Ireland to the Carolinas in '98, was helpless to 
 refute the assertion. But the terrible Nemesis of an 
 un-Spanish, American provincial speech avenged the or 
 thographical outrage at once. When Mrs. Mulrady began 
 to be addressed orally, as well as by letter, as "Mrs. Mul- 
 raid," and when simple amatory effusions to her daughter 
 rhymed with "lovely maid," she promptly refused the 
 original vowel. But she fondly clung to the Spanish 
 courtesy which transformed her husband's baptismal 
 name, and usually spoke of him in his absence as 
 "Don Alvino." But in the presence of his short, square 
 figure, his orange tawny hair, his twinkling gray eyes, 
 and retrousse nose, even that dominant woman withheld
 
 22 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 his title. It was currently reported at Red Dog that a 
 distinguished foreigner had one day approached Mul 
 rady with the formula, "I believe I have the honor of 
 addressing Don Alvino Mulrady?" "You kin bet 
 your boots, stranger, that's me," had returned that sim 
 ple hidalgo. 
 
 Although Mrs. Mulrady would have preferred that 
 Mamie should remain at Sacramento until she could join 
 her, preparatory to a trip to "the States" and Europe, she 
 yielded to her daughter's desire to astonish Rough-and- 
 Ready, before she left, with her new wardrobe, and un 
 fold in the parent nest the delicate and painted wings 
 with which she was to fly from them forever. "I don't 
 want them to remember me afterwards in those spotted 
 prints, ma, and like as not say I never had a decent 
 frock until I went away." There was something so like 
 the daughter of her mother in this delicate foresight that 
 the touched and gratified parent kissed her, and assented. 
 The result was gratifying beyond her expectation. In 
 that few weeks' sojourn at Sacramento, the young girl 
 seemed to have adapted and assimilated herself to the 
 latest modes of fashion with even more than the usual 
 American girl's pliancy and taste. Equal to all emer 
 gencies of style and material, she seemed to supply, from 
 some hitherto unknown quality she possessed, the grace 
 and manner peculiar to each. Untrammeled by tradition, 
 education, or precedent, she had the Western girl's confi 
 dence in all things being possible, which made them so 
 often probable. Mr. Mulrady looked at his daughter 
 with mingled sentiments of pride and awe. Was it pos 
 sible that this delicate creature, so superior to him that 
 he seemed like a degenerate scion of her remoter race, 
 was his own flesh and blood? Was she the daughter of 
 her mother, who even in her remembered youth was 
 never equipped like this? If the thought brought no 
 pleasure to his simple, loving nature, it at least spared 
 him the pain of what might have seemed ingratitude in 
 one more akin to himself. "The fact is, we ain't quite 
 up to her style," was his explanation and apology. A 
 vague belief that in another and a better world than this
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 23 
 
 he might approximate and understand this perfection 
 somewhat soothed and sustained him. 
 
 It was quite consistent, therefore, that the embroidered 
 cambric dress which Mamie Mulrady wore one summer 
 afternoon on the hillside at Los Gatos, while to the crit 
 ical feminine eye at once artistic and expensive, should 
 not seem incongruous to her surroundings or to herself 
 in the eyes of a general audience. It certainly did not 
 seem so to one pair of frank, humorous ones that, glanced 
 at her from time to time, as their owner, a young fellow 
 of five-and-twenty, walked at her side. He was the new 
 editor of the "Rough-and-Ready Record," and, having 
 been her fellow-passenger from Sacramento, had already 
 once or twice availed himself of her father's invitation to 
 call upon them. Mrs. Mulrady had not discouraged this 
 mild flirtation. Whether she wished to disconcert Don 
 Caesar for some occult purpose, or whether, like the rest 
 of her sex, she had an overweening confidence in the 
 unheroic, unseductive, and purely platonic character of 
 masculine humor, did not appear. 
 
 ''When I say I'm sorry you are going to leave us, Miss 
 Mulrady," said the young fellow, lightly, "you will com 
 prehend my unselfishness, since I frankly admit your de 
 parture would be a positive relief to me as an editor and 
 a man. The pressure in the Poet's Corner of the 'Record' 
 since it was mistakingly discovered that a person of your 
 name might be induced to seek the 'glade' and 'shade' 
 without being 'afraid,' 'dismayed/ or 'betrayed,' has been 
 something enormous, and, unfortunately, I am debarred 
 from rejecting anything, on the just ground that I am 
 myself an interested admirer." 
 
 "It's dreadful to be placarded around the country by 
 one's own full name, isn't it?" said Mamie, without, 
 however, expressing much horror in her face. 
 
 "They think it much more respectful than to call you 
 'Mamie,' " he responded, lightly ; "and many of your ad 
 mirers are middle-aged men, with a mediaeval style of 
 compliment. I've discovered that amatory versifying 
 wasn't entirely a youthful passion. Colonel Cash is about 
 as fatal with a couplet as with a double-barreled gun, and
 
 24 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 scatters as terribly. Judge Butts and Dr. Wilson have 
 both discerned the resemblance of your gifts to those of 
 Venus, and their own to Apollo. But don't undervalue 
 those tributes, Miss Mulrady," he added, more seriously. 
 "You'll have thousands of admirers where you are going; 
 but you'll be willing to admit in the end, I think, that 
 none were more honest and respectful than your subjects 
 at Rough-and-Ready and Red Dog." He stopped, and 
 added in a graver tone, "Does Don Caesar write poetry?" 
 
 "He has something better to do," said the young lady, 
 pertly. 
 
 "I can easily imagine that," he returned, mischievously ; 
 "it must be a pallid substitute for other opportunities." 
 
 "What did you come here for?" she asked, suddenly. 
 
 "To see you." 
 
 "Nonsense ! You know what I mean. Why did you 
 ever leave Sacramento to come here? I should think it 
 would suit you so much better than this place." 
 
 "I suppose I was fired by your father's example, and 
 wished to find a gold mine." 
 
 "Men like you never do," she said, simply. 
 
 "Is that a compliment, Miss Mulrady?" 
 
 "I don't know. But I think that you think that it is." 
 
 He gave her the pleased look of one who had unex 
 pectedly found a sympathetic intelligence. "Do I ? This 
 is interesting. Let's sit down." In their desultory 
 rambling they had reached, quite unconsciously, the large 
 boulder at the roadside. Mamie hesitated a moment, 
 looked up and down the road, and then, with an already 
 opulent indifference to the damaging of her spotless skirt, 
 sat herself upon it, with her furled parasol held by her 
 two little hands thrown over her half-drawn-up knee. 
 The young editor, half sitting, half leaning, against the 
 stone, began to draw figures in the sand with his cane. 
 
 "On the contrary, Miss Mulrady, I hope to make some 
 money here. You are leaving Rough-and-Ready because 
 you are rich. We are coming to it because we are poor." 
 
 "We?" echoed Mamie, lazily, looking up the road. 
 
 "Yes. My father and two sisters." 
 
 "I am sorry. I might have known them if I hadn't
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 25 
 
 been going away." At the same moment, it flashed across 
 her mind that, if they were like the man before her, 
 they might prove disagreeably independent and critical. 
 "Is your father in business?" she asked. 
 
 He shook his head. After a pause, he said, punctuating 
 his sentences with the point of his stick in the soft dust, 
 "He is paralyzed, and out of his mind, Miss Mulrady. I 
 came to California to seek him, as all news of him ceased 
 three years since; and I found him only two weeks ago, 
 alone, friendless an unrecognized pauper in the county 
 hospital." 
 
 "Two weeks ago? That was when I went to Sacra 
 mento." 
 
 "Very probably." 
 
 "It must have been very shocking to you?" 
 
 "It was." 
 
 "I should think you'd feel real bad?" 
 
 "I do, at times." He smiled, and laid his stick on the 
 stone. "You now see, Miss Mulrady, how necessary to 
 me is this good fortune that you don't think me worthy 
 of. Meantime I must try to make a home for them at 
 Rough-and-Ready." 
 
 Miss Mulrady put down her knee and her parasol. 
 "We mustn't stay here much longer, you know." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why, the stage-coach comes by at about this time." 
 
 "And you think the passengers will observe us sitting 
 here ?" 
 
 "Of course they will." 
 
 "Miss Mulrady, I implore you to stay." 
 
 He was leaning over her with such apparent earnest 
 ness of voice and gesture that the color came into her 
 cheek. For a moment she scarcely dared to lift her con 
 scious eyes to his. When she did so, she suddenly 
 glanced her own aside with a flash of anger. He was 
 laughing. 
 
 "If you have any pity for me, do not leave me now," 
 he repeated. "Stay a moment longer, and my fortune is 
 made. The passengers will report us all over Red Dog 
 as engaged. I shall be supposed to be in your father's
 
 26 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 secrets, and shall be sought after as a director of all the 
 new companies. The 'Record' will double its circulation ; 
 poetry will drop out of its columns, advertising rush to 
 fill its place, and I shall receive five dollars a week more 
 salary, if not seven and a half. Never mind the conse 
 quences to yourself at such a moment. I assure you there 
 will be none. You can deny it the next day / will deny 
 it nay, more, the 'Record' itself will deny it in an extra 
 edition of one thousand copies, at ten cents each. Linger 
 a moment longer, Miss Mulrady. Fly, oh fly not yet. 
 They're coming hark ! oh ! By Jove, it's only Don 
 Caesar !" 
 
 It was, indeed, only the young scion of the house of 
 Alvarado, blue-eyed, sallow-skinned, and high-shouldered, 
 coming towards them on a fiery, half-broken mustang, 
 whose very spontaneous lawlessness seemed to accentu 
 ate and bring out the grave and decorous ease of his 
 rider. Even in his burlesque preoccupation the editor of 
 the "Record" did not withhold his admiration of this per 
 fect-horsemanship. Mamie, who, in her wounded amour 
 propre, would like to have made much of it to annoy her 
 companion, was thus estopped any ostentatious compli 
 ment. 
 
 Don Caesar lifted his hat with sweet seriousness to the 
 lady, with grave courtesy to the gentleman. While the 
 lower half of this Centaur was apparently quivering with 
 fury, and stamping the ground in his evident desire to 
 charge upon the pair, the upper half, with natural dignity, 
 looked from the one to the other, as if to leave the 
 privilege of an explanation with them. But Mamie was 
 too wise, and her companion too indifferent, to offer one. 
 A slight shade passed over Don Caesar's face. To compli 
 cate the situation at that moment, the expected stage 
 coach came rattling by. With quick feminine intuition, 
 Mamie caught in the faces of the driver and the express 
 man, and reflected in the mischievous eyes of her com 
 panion, a peculiar interpretation of their meeting, that 
 was not removed by the whispered assurance of the editor 
 that the passengers were anxiously looking back "to see 
 the shooting."
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 27 
 
 The young Spaniard, equally oblivious of humor or 
 curiosity, remained impassive. 
 
 "You know Mr. Slinn, of the 'Record," said Mamie, 
 "don't you?" 
 
 Don Caesar had never before met the Senor Esslinn. 
 He was under the impression that it was a Senor Rob 
 inson that was of the "Record." 
 
 "Oh, he was shot," said Slinn. "I'm taking his place." 
 
 "Bueno ! To be shot too ? I trust not." 
 
 Slinn looked quickly and sharply into Don Caesar's 
 grave face. He seemed to be incapable of any double 
 meaning. However, as he had no serious reason for 
 awakening Don Caesar's jealousy, and very little desire 
 to become an embarrassing third in this conversation, and 
 possibly a burden to the young lady, he proceeded to take 
 his leave of her. From a sudden feminine revulsion of 
 sympathy, or from some unintelligible instinct of diplo 
 macy, Mamie said, as she extended her hand, "I hope 
 you'll find a home for your family near here. Mamma 
 wants pa to let our old house. Perhaps it might suit you, 
 if not too far from your work. You might speak to ma 
 about it." 
 
 "Thank you; I will," responded the young man, press 
 ing her hand with unaffected cordiality. 
 
 Don Caesar watched him until he had disappeared be 
 hind the wayside buckeyes. 
 
 "He is a man of family this one your countryman?" 
 
 It seemed strange to her to have a mere acquaintance 
 spoken of as "her countryman" not the first time nor 
 the last time in her career. As there appeared no trace 
 or sign of jealousy in her questioner's manner, she an 
 swered briefly but vaguely : 
 
 "Yes ; it's a shocking story. His father disappeared 
 some years ago, and he has just found him a helpless 
 paralytic in the Sacramento Hospital. He'll have to 
 support him and they're very poor." 
 
 "So, then, they are not independent of each other al 
 ways these fathers and children of Americans !" 
 
 "No," said Mamie, shortly. Without knowing why, 
 she felt inclined to resent Don Caesar's manner. His
 
 , 
 
 28 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 serious gravity gentle and high-bred as it was, un 
 doubtedly was somewhat trying to her at times, and 
 seemed even more so after Slinn's irreverent humor. 
 She picked up her parasol, a little impatiently, as if 
 to go. 
 
 But Don Csesar had already dismounted, and tied his 
 horse to a tree with a strong lariat that hung at his 
 saddle-bow. 
 
 "Let us walk through the woods towards your home. 
 I can return alone for the horse when you shall dis 
 miss me." 
 
 They turned in among the pines that, overcrowding 
 the hollow, crept partly up the side of the hill of Mul- 
 rady's shaft. A disused trail, almost hidden by the waxen- 
 hued yerba buena, led from the highway, and finally lost 
 itself in the undergrowth. It was a lovers' walk ; they 
 were lovers, evidently, and yet the man was too self- 
 poised in his gravity, the young woman too conscious 
 and critical, to suggest an absorbing or oblivious passion. 
 
 "I should not have made myself so obtrusive to-day 
 before your friend," said Don Caesar, with proud hu 
 mility, "but I could not understand from your mother 
 whether you were alone or whether my company was 
 desirable. It is of this I have now to speak, Mamie. 
 Lately your mother has seemed strange to me ; avoiding 
 any reference to our affection ; treating it lightly, and 
 even as to-day, I fancy, putting obstacles in the way 
 of our meeting alone. She was disappointed at your 
 return from Sacramento where, I have been told, she 
 intended you to remain until you left the country; and 
 since your return I have seen you but twice. I may be 
 wrong. Perhaps I do not comprehend the American 
 mother; I have who knows? perhaps offended in 
 some point of etiquette, omitted some ceremony that was 
 her due. But when you told me, Mamie, that it was 
 not necessary to speak to her first, that it was not the 
 American fashion " 
 
 Mamie started, and blushed slightly. 
 
 "Yes," she said hurriedly, "certainly ; but ma has been 
 quite queer of late, and she may think you know that
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 29 
 
 since since there has been so much property to dispose 
 of, she ought to have been consulted." 
 
 "Then let us consult her at once, dear child! And as 
 to the property, in Heaven's name, let her dispose of it 
 as she will. Saints forbid that an Alvarado should ever 
 interfere. And what is it to us, my little one? Enough 
 that Dona Mameta Alvarado will never have less state 
 than the richest bride that ever came to Los Gatos." 
 
 Mamie had not forgotten that, scarcely a month ago, 
 even had she loved the man before her no more than she 
 did at present, she would still have been thrilled with 
 delight at these words ! Even now she was moved 
 conscious as she had become that the "state" of a bride 
 of the Alvarados .was not all she had imagined, and that 
 the bare adobe court of Los Gatos was open to the sky 
 and the free criticism of Sacramento capitalists ! 
 
 "Yes, dear," she murmured with a half childlike 
 pleasure, that lit up her face and eyes so innocently that 
 it stopped any minute investigation into its origin and 
 real meaning. "Yes, dear; but we need not have a fuss 
 made about it at present, and perhaps put ma against 
 us. She wouldn't hear of our marrying now; and she 
 might forbid our engagement." 
 
 "But you are going away." 
 
 "I should have to go to New York or Europe first, 
 you know," she answered, naively, "even if it were all 
 settled. I should have to get things ! One couldn't be 
 decent here." 
 
 With the recollection of the pink cotton gown, in 
 which she had first pledged her troth to him, before his 
 eyes, he said, "But you are charming now. You can 
 not be more so to me. If I am satisfied, little one, with 
 you as you are, let us go together, and then you can get 
 dresses to please others." 
 
 She had not expected this importunity. Really, if it 
 came to this, she might have engaged herself to some 
 one like Slinn; he at least would have understood her. 
 He was much cleverer, and certainly more of a man of 
 the world. When Slinn had treated her like a child, it 
 was with the humorous tolerance of an admiring su-
 
 30 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 perior, and not the didactic impulse of a guardian. She 
 did not say this, nor did her pretty eyes indicate it, as 
 in the instance of her brief anger with Slinn. She only 
 said gently, 
 
 "I should have thought you, of all men, would have 
 been particular about your wife doing the proper thing. 
 But never mind ! Don't let us talk any more about 
 it. Perhaps as it seems such a great thing to you, 
 and so much trouble, there may be no necessity for 
 it at all." 
 
 I do not think that the young lady deliberately planned 
 this charmingly illogical deduction from Don Caesar's 
 speech, or that she calculated its effect upon him ; but it 
 was part of her nature to say it, and profit by it. Under 
 the unjust lash of it, his pride gave way. 
 
 "Ah, do you not see why I wish to go with you?" 
 he said, with sudden and unexpected passion. "You are 
 beautiful; you are good; it has pleased Heaven to make 
 you rich also; but you are a child in experience, and 
 know not your own heart. With your beauty, your good 
 ness, and your wealth, you will attract all to you as 
 you do here because you cannot help it. But you will 
 be equally helpless, little one, if they should attract you, 
 and you had no tie to fall back upon." 
 
 It was an unfortunate speech. The words were Don 
 Caesar's ; but the thought she had heard before from her 
 mother, although the deduction had been of a very dif 
 ferent kind. Mamie followed the speaker with bright 
 but visionary eyes. There must be some truth in all 
 this. Her mother had said it; Mr. Slinn had laughingly 
 admitted it. She had a brilliant future before her ! Was 
 she right in making it impossible by a rash and foolish 
 tie? He himself had said she was inexperienced. She 
 knew it; and yet, what was he doing now but taking 
 advantage of that inexperience ? If he really loved her, 
 he would be willing to submit to the test. She did not 
 ask a similar one from him; and was willing, if she 
 came out of it free, to marry him just the same. There 
 was something so noble in this thought that she felt 
 for a moment carried away by an impulse of com-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 31 
 
 passionate unselfishness, and smiled tenderly as she looked 
 up in his face. 
 
 "Then you consent, Mamie ?" he said, eagerly, passing 
 his arm around her waist. 
 
 "Not now, Caesar," she said, gently disengaging her 
 self. "I must think it over; we are both too young to 
 act upon it rashly ; it would be unfair to you, who are 
 so quiet and have seen so few girls I mean Americans 
 to tie yourself to the first one you have known. When 
 I am gone you will go more into the world. There are 
 Mr. Slinn's two sisters coming here I shouldn't won 
 der if they were far cleverer and talked far better than 
 I do and think how I should feel if I knew that only 
 a wretched pledge to me kept you from loving them!" 
 She stopped, and cast down her eyes. 
 
 It was her first attempt at coquetry, for, in her usual 
 charming selfishness, she was perfectly frank and open ; 
 and it might not have been her last, but she had gone 
 too far at first, and was not prepared for a recoil of her 
 own argument. 
 
 "If you admit that it is possible that it is possible to 
 you !" he said, quickly. 
 
 She saw her mistake. "We may not have many op 
 portunities to meet alone," she answered, quietly ; "and 
 I am sure we would be happier when we meet not to 
 accuse each other of impossibilities. Let us rather see 
 how we can communicate together, if anything should 
 prevent our meeting. Remember, it was only by chance 
 that you were able to see me now. If ma has believed 
 that she ought to have been consulted, our meeting to 
 gether in this secret way will only make matters worse. 
 She is even now wondering where I am, and may be 
 suspicious. I must go back at once. At any moment 
 some one may come here looking for me." 
 
 "But I have so much to say," he pleaded. "Our time 
 has been so short." 
 
 "You can write." 
 
 "But what will your mother think of that?" he said, 
 in grave astonishment. 
 
 She colored again as she returned, quickly, "Of course,
 
 32 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 you must not write to the house. You can leave a letter 
 somewhere for me say, somewhere about here. Stop !" 
 she added, with a sudden girlish gayety, "see, here's the 
 very place. Look there !" 
 
 She pointed to the decayed trunk of a blasted syca 
 more, a few feet from the trail. A cavity, breast high, 
 half filled with skeleton leaves and pine-nuts, showed that 
 it had formerly been a squirrel's hoard, but for some, 
 reason had been deserted. 
 
 "Look ! it's a regular letter-box," she continued, gayly, 
 rising on tip-toe to peep into its recesses. Don Caesar 
 looked at her admiringly ; it seemed like a return to 
 their first idyllic love-making in the old days, when she 
 used to steal out of the cabbage rows in her brown linen 
 apron and sun-bonnet to walk with him in the woods. 
 He recalled the fact to her with the fatality of a lover 
 already seeking to restore in past recollections some 
 thing that was wanting in the present. She received it 
 with the impatience of youth, to whom the present is 
 all sufficient. 
 
 "I wonder how you could ever have cared for me in 
 that holland apron," .she said, looking down upon her 
 new dress. 
 
 "Shall I tell you why?" he said, fondly, passing his 
 arm around her waist, and drawing her pretty head nearer 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "No not now !" she said, laughingly, but struggling 
 to free herself. "There's not time. Write it, and put 
 it in the box. There," she added, hastily, "listen ! what's 
 that?" 
 
 "It's only a squirrel," he whispered reassuringly in 
 her ear. 
 
 "No ; it's somebody coming ! I must go ! Please ! 
 Caesar, dear ! There, then " 
 
 She met his kiss half-way, released herself with a 
 lithe movement of her wrist and shoulder, and the 
 next moment seemed to slip into the woods, and was 
 gone. 
 
 Don Caesar listened with a sigh as the last rustling 
 ceased, cast a look at the decayed tree as if to fix it in
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 33 
 
 his memory, and then slowly retraced his steps towards 
 his tethered mustang. 
 
 He was right, however, in his surmise of the cause of 
 that interruption. A pair of bright eyes had been watch 
 ing them from the bough of an adjacent tree. It was a 
 squirrel, who, having had serious and prior intentions 
 of making use of the cavity they had discovered, had 
 only withheld examination by an apparent courteous dis 
 cretion towards the intruding pair. Now that they were 
 gone he slipped down the tree and ran towards the de 
 cayed stump. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 APPARENTLY dissatisfied with the result of an investi 
 gation, which proved that the cavity was unfit as a 
 treasure hoard for a discreet squirrel, whatever its value 
 as a receptacle for the love-tokens of incautious humanity, 
 the little animal at once set about to put things in order. 
 He began by whisking out an immense quantity of dead 
 leaves, disturbed a family of tree-spiders, dissipated a 
 drove of patient aphides browsing in the bark, as well 
 as their attendant dairymen, the ants, and otherwise 
 ruled it with the high hand of dispossession and a con 
 temptuous opinion of the previous incumbents. It must 
 not be supposed, however, that his proceedings were 
 altogether free from contemporaneous criticism ; a vener 
 able crow sitting on a branch above him displayed great 
 interest in his occupation, and, hopping down a few 
 moments afterwards, disposed of some worm-eaten nuts, 
 a few larvae, and an insect or two, with languid dignity 
 and without prejudice. Certain incumbrances, however, 
 still resisted the squirrel's general eviction ; among them 
 a folded square of paper with sharply defined edges, that 
 declined investigation, and, owing to a nauseous smell of 
 tobacco, escaped nibbling as it had apparently escaped 
 insect ravages. This, owing to its sharp angles, which 
 persisted in catching in the soft decaying wood in his 
 whirlwind of house-cleaning, he allowed to remain. 
 Having thus, in a general way, prepared for the coming
 
 34 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 winter, the self-satisfied little rodent dismissed the sub 
 ject from his active mind. 
 
 His rage and indignation a few days later may be 
 readily conceived, when he found, on returning to his 
 new-made home, another square of paper, folded like the 
 first, but much fresher and whiter, lying within the 
 cavity, on top of some moss which had evidently been 
 placed there for the purpose. This he felt was really 
 more than he could bear, but it was smaller, and with a few 
 energetic kicks and whisks of his tail he managed to 
 finally dislodge it through the opening, where it fell igno- 
 miniously to the earth. The eager eyes of the ever- 
 attendant crow, however, instantly detected it; he flew 
 to the ground, and, turning it over, examined it gravely. 
 It was certainly not edible, but it was exceedingly rare, 
 and, as an old collector of curios, he felt he could not 
 pass it by. He lifted it in his beak, and, with a desperate 
 struggle against the superincumbent weight, regained 
 the branch with his prize. Here, by one of those deli 
 cious vagaries of animal nature, he apparently at oncte 
 discharged his mind of the whole affair, became utterly 
 oblivious of it, allowed it to drop without the least con 
 cern, and eventually flew away with an abstracted air, 
 as if he had been another bird entirely. The paper got 
 into a manzanita bush, where tt remainod suspended 
 until the evening, when, being dislodged by a passing 
 wild-cat on its way to Mulrady's hen-roost, it gave that 
 delicately sensitive marauder such a turn that she fled 
 into the adjacent county. 
 
 But the troubles of the squirrel were not yet over. 
 On the following day the young man who had accom 
 panied the young woman returned to the trunk, and the 
 squirrel had barely time to make his escape before the 
 impatient visitor approached the opening of the cavity, 
 peered into it, and even passed his hand through its 
 recesses. The delight visible upon his anxious and 
 serious face at the disappearance of the letter, and the 
 apparent proof that it had been called for, showed him to 
 have been its original depositor, and probably awakened 
 a remorseful recollection in the dark bosom of the
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 35 
 
 omnipresent crow, who uttered a conscious-stricken 
 croak from the bough above him. But the young man 
 quickly disappeared again, and the squirrel was once 
 more left in undisputed possession. 
 
 A week passed. A weary, anxious interval to Don 
 Csesar, who had neither seen nor heard from Mamie 
 since their last meeting. Too conscious of his own self- 
 respect to call at the house after the equivocal conduct 
 of Mrs. Mulrady, and too proud to haunt the lanes and 
 approaches in the hope of meeting her daughter, like 
 an ordinary lover, he hid his gloomy thoughts in the 
 monastic shadows of the courtyard at Los Gatos, or 
 found relief in furious riding at night and early morn 
 ing on the highway. Once or twice the up-stage had 
 been overtaken and passed by a rushing figure as shad 
 owy as a phantom horseman, with only the star-like 
 point of a cigarette to indicate its humanity. It was 
 in one of these fierce recreations that he was obliged 
 to stop in early morning at the blacksmith's shop at 
 Rough-and-Ready, to have a loosened horseshoe replaced, 
 and while waiting picked up a newspaper. Don Caesar 
 seldom read the papers, but noticing that this was the 
 "Record," he glanced at its columns. A familiar name 
 suddenly flashed out of the dark type like a spark from 
 the anvil. With a brain and heart that seemed to be 
 beating in unison with the blacksmith's sledge, he read 
 as follows: 
 
 "Our distinguished fellow-townsman, Alvin Mulrady, 
 Esq., left town day before yesterday to attend an 
 important meeting of directors of the Red Dog Ditch 
 Company, in San Francisco. Society will regret to hear 
 that Mrs. Mulrady and her beautiful and accomplished 
 daughter, who are expecting to depart for Europe at the 
 end of the month, anticipated the event nearly a fort 
 night, by taking this opportunity of accompanying Mr. 
 Mulrady as far as San Francisco, on their way to the 
 East. Mrs. and Miss Mulrady intend to visit London, 
 Paris, and Berlin, and will be absent three years. It 
 is possible that Mr. Mulrady may join them later at one 
 or other of those capitals. Considerable disappointment
 
 36 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH- AND READY 
 
 is felt that a more extended leave-taking was not pos 
 sible, and that, under the circumstances, no opportunity 
 was offered for a 'send off' suitable to the condition of 
 the parties and the esteem in which they are held in 
 Rough-and- Ready." 
 
 The paper dropped from his hands. Gone ! and with 
 out a word ! No, that was impossible ! There must be 
 some mistake ; she had written ; the letter had miscar 
 ried ; she must have sent word to Los Gatos, and the 
 stupid messenger had blundered; she had probably ap 
 pointed another meeting, or expected him to follow to 
 San Francisco. "The day before yesterday !" It was 
 the morning's paper she had been gone scarcely two 
 days it was not too late yet to receive a delayed mes 
 sage by post, by some forgetful hand by ah the tree ! 
 
 Of course it was in the tree, and he had not been 
 there for a week ! Why had he not thought of it be 
 fore? The fault was his, not hers. Perhaps she had 
 gone away, believing him faithless, or a country boor. 
 
 "In the name of the Devil, will you keep me here till 
 eternity !" 
 
 The blacksmith stared at him. Don Caesar suddenly 
 remembered that he was speaking, as he was thinking 
 in Spanish. 
 
 "Ten dollars, my friend, if you have done in five 
 minutes!" 
 
 The man laughed. "That's good enough American," 
 he said, beginning to quicken his efforts. Don Gfesar 
 again took up the paper. There was another paragraph 
 that recalled his last interview with Mamie: 
 
 "Mr. Harry Slinn, Jr., the editor of this paper, has 
 just moved into the pioneer house formerly occupied 
 by Alvin Mulrady, Esq., which has already become his 
 toric in the annals of the county. Mr. Slinn brings 
 with him his father H. J. Slinn, Esq., and his 
 two sisters. Mr. Slinn, Sen., who has been suffering 
 for many years from complete paralysis, we understand 
 is slowly improving; and it is by the advice of his physi 
 cians that he has chosen the invigorating air of the foot 
 hills as a change to the debilitating heat of Sacramento."
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 37 
 
 The affair had been quickly settled, certainly, reflected 
 Don Caesar, with a slight chill of jealousy, as he thought 
 of Mamie's interest in the young editor. But the next 
 moment he dismissed it from his mind; all except a dull 
 consciousness that, if she really loved him Don Caesar 
 as he loved her, she could not have assisted in throw 
 ing into his society the young sisters of the editor, who 
 she expected might be so attractive. 
 
 Within the five minutes the horse was ready, and Don 
 Caesar in the saddle again. In less than half an hour he 
 was at the wayside boulder. Here he picketed his horse, 
 and took the narrow foot-trail through the hollow. It 
 did not take him long to reach their old trysting-place. 
 With a beating heart he approached the decaying trunk 
 and looked into the cavity. There was no letter there! 
 
 A few blackened nuts and some of the dry moss he had 
 put there were lying on the ground at its roots. He 
 could not remember whether they were there when he 
 had last visited the spot. He began to grope in the 
 cavity with both hands. His fingers struck against the 
 sharp angles of a flat paper packet: a thrill of joy ran 
 through them and stopped his beating heart; he drew 
 out the hidden object, and was chilled with disappoint 
 ment. 
 
 It was an ordinary-sized envelope of yellowish-brown 
 paper, bearing, besides the usual government stamp, the 
 official legend of an express company, and showing its 
 age as much by this record of a now obsolete carrying 
 service as by the discoloration of time and atmosphere. 
 Its weight, which was heavier than that of any ordinary 
 letter of the same size and thickness, was evidently due to 
 some loose enclosures, that slightly rustled and could be 
 felt by the fingers, like minute pieces of metal or grains 
 of gravel. It was within Don Caesar's experience that 
 gold specimens were often sent in that manner. It was 
 in a state of singular preservation, except the address, 
 which, being written in pencil, was scarcely discernible, 
 and even when deciphered appeared to be incoherent 
 and unfinished. The unknown correspondent had writ 
 ten "dear Mary," and then "Mrs. Mary Slinn," with an
 
 38 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 unintelligible scrawl following for the direction. If Don 
 Caesar's mind had not been lately preoccupied with the 
 name of the editor, he would hardly have guessed the 
 superscription. 
 
 In his cruel disappointment and fully aroused indigna 
 tion, he at once began to suspect a connection of cir 
 cumstances which at any other moment he would have 
 thought purely accidental, or perhaps not have consid 
 ered at all. The cavity in the tree had evidently been 
 used as a secret receptacle for letters before ; did Mamie 
 know it at the time, and how did she know it? The ap 
 parent age of the letter made it preposterous to suppose 
 that it pointed to any secret correspondence of hers with 
 young Mr. Slinn; and the address was not in her hand 
 writing. Was there any secret previous intimacy be 
 tween the families? There was but one way in which 
 he could connect this letter with Mamie's faithlessness. 
 It was an infamous, a grotesquely horrible idea, a 
 thought which sprang as much from his inexperience of 
 the world and his habitual suspiciousness of all humor 
 as anything else ! It was that the letter was a brutal 
 joke of Slinn's a joke perhaps concocted by Mamie 
 and himself a parting insult that should at the last 
 moment proclaim their treachery and his own credulity. 
 Doubtless it contained a declaration of their shame, and 
 the reason why she had fled from him without a word 
 of explanation. And the enclosure, of course, was some 
 significant and degrading illustration. Those Americans 
 are full of those low conceits; it was their national vul 
 garity. 
 
 He had the letter in his angry hand. He could break 
 it open if he wished and satisfy himself; but it was not 
 addressed to him, and the instinct of honor, strong even 
 in his rage, was the instinct of an adversary as well. 
 No; Slinn should open the letter before him. Slinn 
 should explain everything, and answer for it. If it was 
 nothing a mere accident it would lead to some general 
 explanation, and perhaps even news of Mamie. But 
 he would arraign Slinn, and at once. He put the letter 
 in his pocket, quickly retraced his steps to his horse, and,
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 39 
 
 putting spurs to the animal, followed the high road to 
 the gate of Mulrady's pioneer cabin. 
 
 He remembered it well enough. To a cultivated taste, 
 it was superior to the more pretentious "new house." 
 During the first year of Mulrady's tenancy, the plain 
 square log-cabin had received those additions and at 
 tractions which only a tenant can conceive and actual 
 experience suggest; and in this way the hideous right 
 angles were broken with sheds, "lean-to" extensions, 
 until a certain picturesqueness was given to the irregu 
 larity of outline, and a home-like security and compan 
 ionship to the congregated buildings. It typified the 
 former life of the great capitalist, as the tall new house 
 illustrated the loneliness and isolation that wealth had 
 given him. But the real points of vantage were the 
 years of cultivation and habitation that had warmed and 
 enriched the soil, and evoked the climbing vines and 
 roses that already hid its unpainted boards, rounded its 
 hard outlines, and gave projection and shadow from the 
 pitiless glare of a summer's long sun, or broke the 
 steady beating of the winter rains. It was true that pea 
 and bean poles surrounded it on one side, and the only 
 access to the house was through the cabbage rows that 
 once were the pride and sustenance of the Mulradys. 
 It was this fact, more than any other, that had impelled 
 Mrs. Mulrady to abandon its site; she did not like to 
 read the history of their humble origin reflected in the 
 faces of their visitors as they entered. 
 
 Don Caesar tied his horse to the fence, and hurriedly 
 approached the house. The door, however, hospitably 
 opened when he was a few paces from it, and when he 
 reached the threshold he found himself unexpectedly in 
 the presence of two pretty girls. They were evidently 
 Slinn's sisters, whom he had neither thought of nor 
 included in the meeting he had prepared. In spite 
 of his preoccupation, he felt himself suddenly embar 
 rassed, not only by the actual distinction of their beauty, 
 but by a kind of likeness that they seemed to bear to 
 Mamie. 
 
 "We saw you ceming," sfeid the elder, unaffectedly.
 
 40 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 "You are Don Caesar Alvarado. My brother has spoken 
 of you." 
 
 The words recalled Don Caesar to himself and a sense 
 of courtesy. He was not here to quarrel with these fair 
 strangers at their first meeting; he must seek Slinn else 
 where, and at another time. The frankness of his re 
 ception and the allusion to their brother made it appear 
 impossible that they should be either a party to his dis 
 appointment, or even aware of it. His excitement melted 
 away before a certain lazy ease, which the conscious 
 ness of their beauty seemed to give them. He was 
 able to put a few courteous inquiries, and, thanks to the 
 paragraph in the "Record," to congratulate them upon 
 their father's improvement. 
 
 "Oh, pa is a great deal better in his health, and has 
 picked up even in the last few days, so that he is able 
 to walk round with crutches," said the elder sister. "The 
 air here seems to invigorate him wonderfully." 
 
 "And you know, Esther," said the younger, "I think 
 he begins to take more notice of things, especially when 
 he is out-of-doors. He looks around on the scenery, and 
 his eye brightens, as if he knew all about it; and some 
 times he knits his brows, and looks down so, as if he 
 was trying to remember." 
 
 "You know, I suppose," exclaimed Esther, "that since 
 his seizure his memory has been a blank that is, three 
 or four years of his life seem to have been dropped out 
 of his recollection." 
 
 "It might be a mercy sometimes, Sefiora," said Don 
 Caesar, with a grave sigh, as he looked at the delicate 
 features before him, which recalled the face of the ab 
 sent Mamie. 
 
 "That's not very complimentary," said the younger 
 girl, laughingly; "for pa didn't recognize us, and only 
 remembered us as little girls." 
 
 "Vashti !" interrupted Esther, rebukingly ; then, turn 
 ing to Don Caesar, she added, "My sister, Vashti, means 
 that father remembers more what happened before he 
 came to California, when we were quite young, than he 
 does of the interval that elapsed. Dr. Duchesne says
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 41 
 
 it's a singular case. He thinks that, with his present 
 progress, he will recover the perfect use of his limbs ; 
 though his memory may never come back again." 
 
 "Unless You forget what the doctor told us this 
 morning," interrupted Vashti again, briskly. 
 
 "I was going to say it," said Esther, a little curtly. 
 "Unless he has another stroke. Then he will either die 
 or recover his mind entirely." 
 
 Don Caesar glanced at the bright faces, a trifle 
 heightened in color by their eager recital and the slight 
 rivalry of narration, and looked grave. He was a little 
 shocked at a certain lack of sympathy and tenderness 
 towards their unhappy parent. They seemed to him not 
 only to have caught that dry, curious toleration of help 
 lessness which characterizes even relationship in its 
 attendance upon chronic suffering and weakness, but to 
 have acquired an unconscious habit of turning it to 
 account. In his present sensitive condition, he even 
 fancied that they flirted mildly over their parent's 
 infirmity. 
 
 "My brother Harry has gone to Red Dog," con 
 tinued Esther; "he'll be right sorry to have missed you. 
 Mrs. Mulrady spoke to him about you; you seem to 
 have been great friends. I s'pose you knew her 
 daughter, Mamie; I hear she is very pretty." 
 
 Although Don Caesar was now satisfied that the Slinns 
 knew nothing of Mamie's singular behavior to him, he 
 felt embarrassed by this conversation. "Miss Mulrady is 
 very pretty," he said, with grave courtesy; "it is a cus 
 tom of her race. She left suddenly," he added with af 
 fected calmness. 
 
 "I reckon she did calculate to stay here longer so 
 her mother said; but the whole thing was settled a week 
 ago. I know my brother was quite surprised to hear 
 from Mr. Mulrady that if we were going to decide about 
 this house we must do it at once; he had an idea him 
 self about moving out of the big one into this when they 
 left." 
 
 "Mamie Mulrady hadn't much to keep her here, con- 
 siderin' the money and the good looks she has, I reckon,"
 
 4:2 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 said Vashti. "She isn't the sort of girl to throw herself 
 away in the wilderness, when she can pick and choose 
 elsewhere. I only wonder she ever come back from 
 Sacramento. They talk about papa Mulrady having 
 business at San Francisco, and that hurrying them off ! 
 Depend upon it, that 'business' was Mamie herself. Her 
 wish is gospel to them. If she'd wanted to stay and 
 have a farewell party, old Mulrady's business would have 
 been nowhere." 
 
 "Ain't you a little rough on Mamie," said Esther, who 
 had been quietly watching the young man's face with 
 her large languid eyes, "considering that we don't know 
 her, and haven't even the right of friends to criticise?" 
 
 "I don't call it rough," returned Vashti, frankly, "for 
 I'd do the same if I were in her shoes and they're 
 four-and-a-halves, for Harry told me so. Give me her 
 money and her looks, and you wouldn't catch me hang 
 ing round these diggings goin' to choir meetings Sat 
 urdays, church Sundays, and buggy-riding once a month 
 for society ! No Mamie's head was level you bet !" 
 
 Don Caesar rose hurriedly. They would present his 
 compliments to their father, and he would endeavor to 
 find their brother at Red Dog. He, alas ! had neither 
 father, mother, nor sister, but if they would receive his 
 aunt, the Dona Inez Sepulvida, the next Sunday, when 
 she came from mass, she should be honored and he would 
 be delighted. It required all his self-possession to de 
 liver himself of this for' *al courtesy before he could take 
 his leave, and on the back of his mustang give way to 
 the rage, disgust and hatred of everything connected 
 with Mamie that filled his heart. Conscious of his dis 
 turbance, but rot entirely appreciating their own share 
 in it, the two girls somewhat wickedly prolonged the in 
 terview by following him into the garden. 
 
 "Well, if you must leave now," said Esther, at last, 
 languidly, "it ain't much out of your way to go down 
 through the garden and take a look at pa as you go. He's 
 somewhere down there, near the woods, and we don't 
 like to leave him alone too long. You might pass the 
 time of day with him; see if he's right side up. Vashti
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF .ROUGH-AND-READY 43 
 
 and I have got a heap of things to fix here yet; but if 
 anything^ wrong with him, you can call us. So-long." 
 
 Don Caesar was about to excuse himself hurriedly ; but 
 that sudden and acute perception of all kindred sorrow 
 which belongs to refined suffering, checked his speech. 
 The loneliness of the helpless old man in this atmosphere 
 of active and youthful selfishness touched him. He 
 bowed assent, and turned aside into one of the long 
 perspectives of bean-poles. The girls watched him until 
 out of sight. 
 
 "Well," said Vashti, "don't tell me. But if there 
 wasn't something between him and that Mamie Mulrady, 
 I don't know a jilted man when I see him." 
 
 "Well, you needn't have let him see that you knew it, 
 so that any civility of ours would look as if we were 
 ready to take up with her leavings," responded Esther, 
 astutely, as the girls reentered the house. 
 
 Meantime, the unconscious object of their criticism 
 walked sadly down the old market-garden, whose rude 
 outlines and homely details he once clothed with the 
 poetry of a sensitive man's first love. Well, it was a 
 common cabbage field and potato patch after all. In his 
 disgust he felt conscious of even the loss of that sense 
 of patronage and superiority which had invested his 
 affection for a girl of meaner condition. His self-respect 
 was humiliated with his love. The soil and dirt of those 
 wretched cabbages had clung to him, but not to her. 
 It was she who had gone higher ; it was he who was 
 left in the vulgar ruins of his misplaced passion. 
 
 He reached the bottom of the garden without observ 
 ing any sign of the lonely invalid. He looked up and 
 down the cabbage rows, and through the long perspective 
 of pea-vines, without result. There was a newer trail 
 leading from a gap in the pines to the wooded hollow, 
 which undoubtedly intersected the little path that he 
 and Mamie had once followed from the high road. If 
 the old man had taken this trail he had possibly over 
 tasked his strength, and there was the more reason why 
 he should continue his search, and render any assistance 
 if required. There was another idea that occurred to
 
 44 A MILLIONAIRE OK ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 him, which eventually decided him to go on. It was 
 that both these trails led to the decayed sycamore stump, 
 and that the older Slinn might have something to do 
 with the mysterious letter. Quickening his steps through 
 the field, he entered the hollow, and reached the inter 
 secting trail as he expected. To the right it lost itself 
 in the dense woods in the direction of the ominous 
 stump; to the left it descended in nearly a straight line 
 to the highway, now plainly visible, as was equally the 
 boulder on which he had last discovered Mamie sitting 
 with young Slinn. If he were not mistaken, there was a 
 figure sitting there now ; it was surely a man. And by 
 that half-bowed, helpless attitude, the object of his 
 search ! 
 
 It did not take him long to descend the track to the 
 highway and approach the stranger. He was seated with 
 his hands upon his knees, gazing in a vague, absorbed 
 fashion upon the hillside, now crowned with the engine- 
 house and chimney that marked the site of Mulrady's 
 shaft. He started slightly, and looked up, as Don Caesar 
 paused before him. The young man was surprised to 
 see that the unfortunate man was not as old as he had 
 expected, and that his expression was one of quiet and 
 beatified contentment. 
 
 "Your daughters told me you were here," said Don 
 Caesar, with gentle respect. "I am Caesar Alvarado, your 
 not very far neighbor ; very happy to pay his respects to 
 you as he has to them." 
 
 "My daughters?" said the old man, vaguely. "Oh, 
 yes! nice little girls. And my boy Harry. Did you see 
 Harry? Fine little fellow, Harry." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that you are better," said Don 
 Caesar, hastily, "and that the air of our country does 
 you no harm. God benefit you, senor," he added, with a 
 profoundly reverential gesture, dropping unconsciously 
 into the religious habit of his youth. "May he protect 
 you, and bring you back to health and happiness!" 
 
 "Happiness?" said Slinn, amazedly. "I am- happy 
 very happy! I have everything I want: good air, good 
 food, good clothes, pretty little children, kind friends "
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 45 
 
 He smiled benignantly at Don Caesar. "God is 'very 
 good to me !" 
 
 Indeed, he seemed very happy; and his face, albeit 
 crowned with white hair, unmarked by care and any 
 disturbing impression, had so much of satisfied youth in 
 it that the grave features of his questioner made him 
 appear the elder. Nevertheless, Don Caesar noticed that 
 his eyes, when withdrawn from him, sought the hillside 
 with the same visionary abstraction. 
 
 "It is a fine view, Senor Esslinn," said Don Caesar. 
 
 "It is a beautiful view, sir," said Slinn, turning his 
 happy eyes upon him for a moment, only to rest them 
 again on the green slope opposite. 
 
 "Beyond that hill which you are looking at not far, 
 Senor Esslinn I live. You shall come and see me 
 there you and your family." 
 
 "You you live there?" stammered the invalid, with 
 a troubled expression the first and only change to the 
 complete happiness that had hitherto suffused his face. 
 "You and your name is is Ma " 
 
 "Alvarado," said Don Caesar, gently. Caesar Alva- 
 rado." 
 
 "You said Masters," said the old man, with sudden 
 querulousness. 
 
 "No, good friend. I said Alvarado," returned Don 
 Caesar, gravely. 
 
 "If you didn't say Masters, how could / say it? I 
 don't know any Masters." 
 
 Don Caesar was silent. In another moment the happy 
 tranquillity returned to Slinn's face; and Don Caesar 
 continued : 
 
 "It is not a long walk over the hill, though it is far 
 by the road. When you are better you shall try it. 
 Yonder little trail leads to the top of the hill, and 
 then" 
 
 He stopped, for the invalid's face had again assumed 
 its troubled expression. Partly to change his thoughts, 
 and partly for some inexplicable idea that had suddenly 
 seized him, Don Caesar continued: 
 ' "There is a strange old stump near the trail, and in it
 
 46 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 a hole. In the hole I found this letter." He stopped 
 again this time in alarm. Slinn had staggered to his 
 feet with ashen and distorted features, and was glancing 
 at the letter which Don Caesar had drawn from his 
 pocket. The muscles of his throat swelled as if he was 
 swallowing; his lips moved, but no sound issued from 
 them. At last, with a convulsive effort, he regained a 
 disjointed speech, in a voice scarcely audible. 
 
 "My letter ! my letter ! It's mine ! Give it me ! It's 
 my fortune all mine ! In the tunnel hill ! Masters 
 stole it stole my fortune ! Stole it all ! See, see !" 
 
 He seized the letter from Don Caesar with trembling 
 hands, and tore it open forcibly : a few dull yellow grains 
 fell from it heavily, like shot, to the ground. 
 
 "See, it's true ! My letter ! My gold ! My strike ! 
 My my my God !" 
 
 A tremor passed over his face. The hand that held 
 the letter suddenly dropped sheer and heavy as the gold 
 had fallen. The whole side of his face and body nearest 
 Don Caesar seemed to drop and sink into itself as sud 
 denly. At the same moment, and without a word, he 
 slipped through Don Caesar's outstretched hands to the 
 ground. Don Caesar bent quickly over him, but no longer 
 than to satisfy himself that he lived and breathed, 
 although helpless. He then caught up the fallen letter, 
 and, glancing over it with flashing eyes, thrust it and 
 the few specimens in his pocket. He then sprang to his 
 feet, so transformed with energy and intelligence that 
 he seemed to have added the lost vitality of the man be 
 fore him to fiis own. He glanced quickly up and down 
 the highway. Every moment to him was precious now; 
 but he could not leave the stricken man in the dust of 
 the road; nor could he carry him to the house; nor, 
 having alarmed his daughters, could he abandon his 
 helplessness to their feeble arms. He remembered that 
 his horse was still tied to the garden fence. He would 
 fetch it, and carry the unfortunate man across the saddle 
 to the gate. He lifted him with difficulty to the boulder, 
 and ran rapidly up the road in the direction of his teth 
 ered steed. He had not proceeded far when he heard
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 47 
 
 the noise of wheels behind him. It was the up stage 
 coming furiously along. He would have called to the 
 driver for assistance, but even through that fast-sweeping 
 cloud of dust and motion he could see that the man was 
 utterly oblivious of anything but the speed of his rushing 
 chariot, and had even risen in his box to lash the infu 
 riated and frightened animals forward. 
 
 An hour later, when the coach drew up at the Red 
 Dog Hotel, the driver descended from the box, white, 
 but taciturn. When he had swallowed a glass of whiskey 
 at a single gulp, he turned to the astonished express 
 agent, who had followed him in. 
 
 "One of two things, Jim, hez got to happen," he said, 
 huskily. "Either that there rock hez got to get off the 
 road, or I have. I've seed him on it agin !" 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 No further particulars of the invalid's second attack 
 were known than those furnished by Don Caesar's brief 
 statement, that he had found him lying insensible on the 
 boulder. This seemed perfectly consistent with the theory 
 of Dr. Duchesne; and as the young Spaniard left Los 
 Gatos the next day, he escaped not only the active re 
 porter of the "Record," but the perusal of a grateful para 
 graph in the next day's paper recording his prompt 
 kindness and courtesy. Dr. Duchesne's prognosis, how 
 ever, seemed at fault; the elder Slinn did not succumb to 
 this second stroke, nor did he recover his reason. He 
 apparently only relapsed into his former physical weak 
 ness, losing the little ground he had gained during the 
 last month, and exhibiting no change in his mental con 
 dition, unless the fact that he remembered nothing of his 
 seizure and the presence of Don Caesar could be consid 
 ered as favorable. Dr. Duchesne's gravity seemed to give 
 that significance to this symptom, and his cross-question 
 ing of the patient was characterized by more than his 
 usual curtness. 
 
 "You are sure you don't remember walking in the
 
 48 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 garden before you were ill?" he said. "Come, think 
 again. You must remember that." The old man's eyes 
 wandered restlessly around the room, but he answered 
 by a negative shake of his head. "And you don't re 
 member sitting down on a stone by the road?" 
 
 The old man kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the bed 
 clothes before him. "No !" he said, with a certain sharp 
 decision that was new to him. 
 
 The doctor's eye brightened. "All right, old man; 
 then don't." 
 
 On his way out he took the eldest Miss Slinn aside. 
 "He'll do," he said, grimly: "he's beginning to lie." 
 
 "Why, he only said he didn't remember," responded 
 Esther. 
 
 "That was because he didn't want to remember," said 
 the doctor, authoritatively. "The brain is acting on 
 some impression that is either painful and unpleasant, or 
 so vague that he can't formulate it; he is conscious of it, 
 and won't attempt it yet. It's a heap better than his old 
 self-satisfied incoherency." 
 
 A few days later, when the fact of Slinn's identification 
 with the paralytic of three years ago by the stage-driver 
 became generally known, the doctor came in quite jubi 
 lant. 
 
 "It's all plain now," he said, decidedly. "That second 
 stroke was caused by the nervous shock of his coming 
 suddenly upon the very spot where he had the first one. 
 It proved that his brain still retained old impressions, 
 but as this first act of his memory was a painful one, the 
 strain was too great. It was mighty unlucky ; but it was 
 a good sign." 
 
 "And you think, then " hesitated Harry Slinn. 
 
 "I think," said Dr. Duchesne, "that this activity still 
 exists, and the proof of it, as I said before, is that he 
 is trying now to forget it, and avoid thinking of it. You 
 will find that he will fight shy of any allusion to it, and 
 will be cunning enough to dodge it every time." 
 
 He certainly did. Whether the doctor's hypothesis 
 was fairly based or not, it was a fact that, when he was 
 first taken out to drive with his watchful physician, he
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 49 
 
 apparently took no notice of the boulder which still re 
 mained on the roadside, thanks to the later practical ex 
 planation of the stage-driver's vision and curtly refused 
 to talk about it. But, more significant to Duchesne, and 
 perhaps more perplexing, was a certain morose abstrac 
 tion, which took the place of his former vacuity of con 
 tentment, and an intolerance of his attendants, which 
 supplanted his old habitual trustfulness to their care, that 
 had been varied only by the occasional querulousness of 
 an invalid. His daughters sometimes found him regard 
 ing them with an attention little short of suspicion, and 
 even his son detected a half-suppressed aversion in his 
 interviews with him. 
 
 Referring this among themselves to his unfortunate 
 malady, his children, perhaps, justified this estrangement 
 by paying very little attention to it. They were more 
 pleasantly occupied. The two girls succeeded to the 
 position held by Mamie Mulrady in the society of the 
 neighborhood, and divided the attentions of Rough-and- 
 Ready. The young editor of the "Record" had really 
 achieved, through his supposed intimacy with the Mul- 
 radys, the good fortune he had jestingly prophesied. The 
 disappearance of Don Caesar was regarded as a virtual 
 abandonment of the field to his rival : and the general 
 opinion was that he was engaged to the millionaire's 
 daughter on a certain probation of work and influence 
 in his prospective father-in-law's interests. He became 
 successful in one or two speculations, the magic of the 
 lucky Mulrady's name befriending him. In the supersti 
 tion of the mining community, much of this luck was due 
 to his having secured the old cabin. 
 
 "To think," remarked one of the augurs of Red Dog, 
 
 French Pete, a polyglot jester, "that while every d d 
 
 fool went to taking up claims where the gold had already 
 been found no one thought of stepping into the old man's 
 old choux in the cabbage-garden !" Any doubt, however, 
 of the alliance of the families was dissipated by the inti 
 macy that sprang up between the elder Slinn and the 
 millionaire, after the latter's return from San Fran 
 cisco.
 
 50 A MILLIONAIKE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 It began in a strange kind of pity for the physical 
 weakness of the man, which enlisted the sympathies of 
 Mulrady, whose great strength had never been deterio 
 rated by the luxuries of wealth, and who was still able 
 to set his workmen an example of hard labor; it was 
 sustained by a singular and superstitious reverence for 
 his mental condition, which, to the paternal Mulrady, 
 seemed to possess that spiritual quality with which 
 popular ignorance invests demented people. 
 
 "Then you mean to say that during these three years 
 the vein o' your mind, so to speak, was a lost lead, and 
 sorter dropped out o' sight or follerin'?" queried Mul 
 rady, with infinite seriousness. 
 
 "Yes," returned Slinn, with less impatience than he 
 usually showed to questions. 
 
 "And durin' that time, when you was dried up and 
 waitin' for rain, I reckon you kinder had visions?" 
 
 A cloud passed over Slinn's face. 
 
 "Of course, of course !" said Mulrady, a little fright 
 ened at his tenacity in questioning the oracle. "Nat'rally, 
 this was private, and not to be talked about. I meant, 
 you had plenty of room for 'em without crowdin'; you 
 kin tell me some day when you're better, and kin sorter 
 select what's points and what ain't." 
 
 "Perhaps I may some day," said the invalid, gloomily, 
 glancing in the direction of his preoccupied daughters; 
 "when we're alone." 
 
 When his physical strength had improved, and his 
 left arm and side had regained a feeble but slowly gath 
 ering vitality, Alvin Mulrady one day surprised the 
 family by bringing the convalescent a pile of letters and 
 accounts, and spreading them on a board before Slinn's 
 invalid chair, with the suggestion that he should look 
 over, arrange, and docket them. The idea seemed pre 
 posterous, until it was found that the old man was 
 actually able to perform this service, and exhibited a 
 degree of intellectual activity and capacity for this 
 kind of work that was unsuspected. Dr. Duchesne was 
 delighted, and divided *vith admiration between "his 
 patient's progress and the millionaire's sagacity. "And
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 51 
 
 there are envious people," said the enthusiastic doctor, 
 "who believe that a man like him, who could conceive 
 of such a plan for occupying a weak intellect without 
 taxing its memory or judgment, is merely a lucky fool! 
 Look here. May be it didn't require much brains to 
 stumble on a gold mine, and it is a gift of Providence. 
 But, in my experience, Providence don't go round buyin' 
 U p d d fools, or investin' in dead beats." 
 
 When Mr. Slinn, finally, with the aid of crutches, 
 was able to hobble every day to the imposing counting- 
 house and the office of Mr. Mulrady, which now occu 
 pied the lower part of the new house, and contained 
 some of its gorgeous furniture, he was installed at a 
 rosewood desk behind Mr. Mulrady's chair, as his confi 
 dential clerk and private secretary. The astonishment 
 of Red Dog and Rough-and-Ready at this singular inno 
 vation knew no bounds ; but the boldness and novelty 
 of the idea carried everything before it. Judge Butts, 
 the oracle of Rough-and-Ready, delivered its decision : 
 "He's got a man who's physically incapable of running 
 off with his money, and has no memory to run off with 
 his ideas. How could he do better?" Even his own son, 
 Harry, coming upon his father thus installed, was for a 
 moment struck with a certain filial respect, and for a 
 day or two patronized him. 
 
 In this capacity Slinn became the confidant not only 
 of Mulrady's business secrets, but of his domestic af 
 fairs. He knew that young Mulrady, from a freckle- 
 faced slow country boy, had developed into a freckle- 
 faced fast city man, with coarse habits of drink and 
 gambling. It was through the old man's hands that ex 
 travagant bills and shameful claims passed on their way 
 to be cashed by Mulrady ; it was he that at last laid 
 before the father one day his signature perfectly forged 
 by the son. 
 
 "Your eyes are not ez good ez mine, you know, Slinn," 
 said Mulrady, gravely. "It's all right. I sometimes 
 make my y's like that. I'd clean forgot to cash that 
 check. You must not think you've got the monopoly of 
 disremembering," he added, with a faint laugh.
 
 52 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 Equally through Slinn's hands passed the record of the 
 lavish expenditure of Mrs. Mulrady and the fair Mamie, 
 as well as the chronicle of their movements and fashion 
 able triumphs. As Mulrady had already noticed that 
 Slinn had no confidence with his own family, he did not 
 try to withhold from them these domestic details, pos 
 sibly as an offset to the dreary catalogue of his son's 
 misdeeds, but more often in the hope of gaining from 
 the taciturn old man some comment that might satisfy 
 his innocent vanity as father and husband, and perhaps 
 dissipate some doubts that were haunting him. 
 
 "Twelve hundred dollars looks to be a good figger for 
 a dress, ain't it? But Malviny knows, I reckon, what 
 ought to be worn at the Tooilleries, and she don't want 
 our Mamie to take a back seat before them furrin' prin 
 cesses and gran' dukes. It's a slap-up affair, I kalkilate. 
 Let's see. I disremember whether it's an emperor or a 
 king that's rulin' over thar now. It must be suthin' 
 first class and A I, for Malviny ain't the woman to throw 
 away twelve hundred dollars on any of them small- 
 potato despots ! She says Mamie speaks French already 
 like them French Petes. I don't quite make out what she 
 means here. She met Don Caesar in Paris, and she says, 
 'I think Mamie is nearly off with Don Caesar, who has 
 followed her here. I don't care about her dropping 
 him too suddenly; the reason I'll tell you hereafter. I 
 think the man might be a dangerous enemy.' Now, 
 what do you make of this? I allus thought Mamie 
 rather cottoned to him, and it was the old woman who 
 fought shy, thinkin' Mamie would do better. Now, I 
 am agreeable that my gal should marry any one she likes, 
 whether it's a dock or a poor man, as long as he's on the 
 square. I was ready to take Don Caesar; but now things 
 seem to have shifted round. As to Don Caesar's being 
 a dangerous enemy if Mamie won't have him, that's a 
 little too high and mighty for me, and I wonder the old 
 woman don't make him climb down. What do you 
 think?" 
 
 "Who is Don Caesar?" asked Slinn. 
 
 "The man what picked you up that day. I mean,"
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 53 
 
 continued Mulrady, seeing the marks of evident igno 
 rance on the old man's face, "I mean a sort of grave, 
 genteel chap, suthin' between a parson and a circus- 
 rider. You might have seen him round the house talkin' 
 to your gals." 
 
 But Slinn's entire forgetfulness of Don Caesar was 
 evidently unfeigned. Whatever sudden accession of 
 memory he had at the time of his attack, the incident 
 that caused it had no part in his recollection. With the 
 exception of these rare intervals of domestic confidences 
 with his crippled private secretary, Mulrady gave him 
 self up to money-getting. Without any especial faculty 
 for it an easy prey often to unscrupulous financiers 
 his unfailing luck, however, carried him safely through, 
 until his very mistakes seemed to be simply insignificant 
 means to a large significant end and a part of his original 
 plan. He sank another shaft, at a great expense, with a 
 view to following the lead he had formerly found, 
 against the opinions of the best mining engineers, and 
 struck the artesian spring he did not find at that time, 
 with a volume of water that enabled him not only to 
 work his own mine, but to furnish supplies to his less 
 fortunate neighbors at a vast profit. A league of tan 
 gled forest and canon behind Rough-and-Ready, for 
 which he had paid Don Ramon's heirs an extravagant 
 price in the presumption that it was auriferous, furnished 
 the most accessible timber to build the town, at prices 
 which amply remunerated him. The practical schemes 
 of experienced men, the wildest visions of daring dreams 
 delayed or abortive for want of capital, eventually fell 
 into his hands. Men sneered at his methods, but bought 
 his shares. Some who affected to regard him simply 
 as a man of money were content to get only his name 
 to any enterprise. Courted by his superiors, quoted by 
 his equals, and admired by his inferiors, he bore his 
 elevation equally without ostentation or dignity. Bidden 
 to banquets, and forced by his position as director or 
 president into the usual gastronomic feats of that civil 
 ization and period, he partook of simple food, and con 
 tinued his old habit of taking a cup of coffee with milk
 
 54 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 and sugar at dinner. Without professing temperance, 
 he drank sparingly in a community where alcoholic 
 stimulation was a custom. With neither refinement nor 
 an extended vocabulary, he was seldom profane, and 
 never indelicate. With nothing of the Puritan in his 
 manner or conversation, he seemed to be as strange to the 
 vices of civilization as he was to its virtues. That such 
 a man should offer little to and receive little from the 
 companionship of women of any kind was a foregone 
 conclusion. Without the dignity of solitude, he was 
 pathetically alone. 
 
 Meantime, the days passed; the first six months of 
 his opulence were drawing to a close, and in that interval 
 he had more than doubled the amount of his discovered 
 fortune. The rainy season set hi early. Although it 
 dissipated the clouds of dust under which Nature and 
 Art seemed to be slowly disappearing, it brought little 
 beauty to the landscape at first, and only appeared to 
 lay bare the crudeaesses of civilization. The unpainted 
 wooden buildings of Rough-and-Ready, soaked and drip 
 ping with rain, took upon themselves a sleek and shining 
 ugliness, as of second-hand garments ; the absence of 
 cornices or projections to break the monotony of the 
 long straight lines of downpour made the town appear 
 as if it had been recently submerged, every vestige of 
 ornamentation swept away, and only the bare outlines left. 
 Mud was everywhere ; the outer soil seemed to have risen 
 and invaded the houses even to their most secret re 
 cesses, as if outraged Nature was trying to revenge 
 herself. Mud was brought into the saloons and bar 
 rooms and express offices, on boots, on clothes, on bag 
 gage, and sometimes appeared mysteriously in splashes 
 of red color on the walls, without visible conveyance. 
 The dust of six months, closely packed in cornice and 
 carving, yielded under the steady rain a thin yellow 
 paint, that dropped on wayfarers or unexpectedly oozed 
 out of ceilings and walls on the wretched inhabitants 
 within. The outskirts of Rough-and-Ready and the dried 
 hills round Los Gatos did not appear to fare much bet 
 ter; the new vegetation had not yet made much head-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 55 
 
 way against the dead grasses of the summer; the pines 
 in the hollow wept lugubriously into a small rivulet that 
 had sprung suddenly into life near the old trail; every 
 where was the sound of dropping, splashing, gurgling, 
 or rushing waters. 
 
 More hideous than ever, the new Mulrady house lifted 
 itself against the leaden sky, and stared with all its 
 large-framed, shutterless windows blankly on the pros 
 pect, until they seemed to the wayfarer to become mere 
 mirrors set in the walls, reflecting only the watery land 
 scape, and unable to give the least indication of light 
 or heat within. Nevertheless, there was a fire in Mul- 
 rady's private office that December afternoon, of a 
 smoky, intermittent variety, that sufficed more to record 
 the defects of hasty architecture than to comfort the 
 millionaire and his private secretary, who had lingered 
 after the early withdrawal of the clerks. For the next 
 day was Christinas, and, out of deference to the near 
 approach of this festivity, a half-holiday had been given 
 to the employes. "They'll want, some of them, to spend 
 their money before to-morrow ; and others would like to 
 be able to rise up comfortably drunk Christmas morn 
 ing," the superintendent had suggested. Mr. Mulrady had 
 just signed a number of checks indicating his largess to 
 those devoted adherents with the same unostentatious, 
 undemonstrative, matter-of-fact manner that distin 
 guished his ordinary business. The men had received 
 it with something of the same manner. A half-humor 
 ous "Thank you, sir" as if to show that, with their pa 
 tron, they tolerated this deference to a popular cus 
 tom, but were a little ashamed of giving way to it ex 
 pressed their gratitude and their independence. 
 
 "I reckon that the old lady and Mamie are having a 
 high old time in some of them gilded pallises in St. 
 Petersburg or Berlin about this time. Them diamonds 
 that I ordered at Tiffany ought to have reached 'em 
 about now, so that Mamie could cut a swell at Christ 
 mas with her war-paint. I suppose it's the style to give 
 presents in furrin' countries ez it is here, and I allowed 
 to the old lady that whatever she orders in that way she
 
 56 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 is to do in Calif orny style no dollar-jewelry and gal- 
 vanized-watches business. If she wants to make a 
 present to any of them nobles ez has been purlite to her, 
 it's got to be something that Rough-and-Ready ain't 
 ashamed of. I showed you that pin Mamie bought me 
 in Paris, didn't I? It's just come for my Christmas 
 present. No ! I reckon I put it in the safe, for them 
 kind o' things don't suit my style: but s'pose I orter 
 sport it to-morrow. It was mighty thoughtful in Mamie, 
 and it must cost a lump; it's got no slouch of a pearl 
 in it. I wonder what Mamie gave for it?" 
 
 "You can easily tell; the bill is here. You paid it yes 
 terday," said Slinn. There was no satire in the man's 
 voice, nor was there the least perception of irony in Mul- 
 rady's manner, as he returned quietly, 
 
 "That's so; it was suthin' like a thousand francs; but 
 French money, when you pan it out as dollars and cents, 
 don't make so much, after all." There was a few mo 
 ments' silence, when he continued, in the same tone of 
 voice, "Talkin' o' them things, Slinn, I've got suthin' 
 for you." He stopped suddenly. Ever watchful of any 
 undue excitement in the invalid, he had noticed a slight 
 flush of disturbance pass over his face, and continued 
 carelessly, "But we'll talk it over to-morrow; a day or 
 two don't make much difference to you and me in such 
 things, you know. P'raps I'll drop in and see you. We'll 
 be shut up here." 
 
 "Then you're going out somewhere?" asked Slinn, me 
 chanically. 
 
 "No," said Mulrady, hesitatingly. It had suddenly 
 occurred to him that he had nowhere to go if he wanted 
 to, and he continued, half in explanation, "I ain't reck 
 oned much on Christmas, myself. Abner's at the 
 Springs ; it wouldn't pay him to come here for a day 
 even if there was anybody here he cared to see. I 
 reckon I'll hang round the shanty, and look after things 
 generally. I haven't been over the house upstairs to put 
 things to rights since the folks left. But you needn't 
 come here, you know." 
 
 He helped the old man to rise, assisted him in put-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 57 
 
 ting on his overcoat, and than handed him the cane 
 which had lately replaced his crutches. 
 
 "Good-by, old man ! You musn't trouble yourself to 
 say 'Merry Christmas' now, but wait until you see me 
 again. Take care of yourself." 
 
 He slapped him lightly on the shoulder, and went back 
 into his private office. He worked for some time at his 
 desk, and then laid his pen aside, put away his papers 
 methodically, placing a large envelope on his private 
 secretary's vacant table. He then opened the office door 
 and ascended the staircase. He stopped on the first land 
 ing to listen to the sound of rain on the glass skylight, 
 that seemed to echo through the empty hall like the 
 gloomy roll of a drum. It was evident that the searching 
 water had found out the secret sins of the house's con 
 struction, for there were great fissures of discoloration 
 in the white and gold paper in the corners of the wall. 
 There was a strange odor of the dank forest in the mir 
 rored drawing-room, as if the rain had brought out the 
 sap again from the unseasoned timbers ; the blue and 
 white satin furniture looked cold, and the marble man 
 tels and centre tables had taken upon themselves the 
 clamminess of tombstones. Mr. Mulrady, who had al 
 ways retained his old farmer-like habit of taking off his 
 coat with his hat on entering his own house, and appear 
 ing in his shirt-sleeves, to indicate domestic ease and 
 security, was obliged to replace it, on account of the 
 chill. He had never felt at home in this room. Its 
 strangeness had lately been heightened by Mrs. Mul- 
 rady's purchase of a family portrait of some one she 
 didn't know, but who, she had alleged, resembled her 
 "Uncle Bob," which hung on the wall beside some paint 
 ings in massive frames. . Mr. Mulrady cast a hurried 
 glance at the portrait that, on the strength of a high 
 coat-collar and high top curl both rolled with equal 
 precision and singular sameness of color had always 
 glared at Mulrady as if he was the intruder; and, pass 
 ing through his wife's gorgeous bedroom, entered the 
 little dressing-room, where he still slept on the smallest 
 of cots, with hastily improvised surroundings, as if he
 
 58 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 was a bailiff in "possession." He didn't linger here long, 
 but, taking a key from a drawer, continued up the 
 staircase, to the ominous funeral marches of the beating 
 rain on the skylight, and paused on the landing to glance 
 into his son's and daughter's bedrooms, duplicates of the 
 bizarre extravagance below. If he were seeking some 
 characteristic traces of his absent family, they certainly 
 were not here in the painted and still damp blazoning 
 of their later successes. He ascended another staircase, 
 and, passing to the wing of the fTbuse, paused before 
 a small door, which was locked. Already the ostenta 
 tious decorations of wall and passages were left behind, 
 and the plain lath-and-plaster partition of the attic lay 
 before him. He unlocked the door, and threw it open. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE apartment he entered was really only a lumber- 
 room or loft over the wing of the house, which had been 
 left bare and unfinished, and which revealed in its meagre 
 skeleton of beams and joints the hollow sham of the whole 
 structure. But in more violent contrast to the fresher 
 glories of the other part of the house were its contents, 
 which were the heterogeneous collection of old furniture, 
 old luggage, and cast-off clothing, left over from the past 
 life in the old cabin. It was a much plainer record of the 
 simple beginnings of the family than Mrs. Mulrady cared 
 to have remain in evidence, and for that reason it had 
 been relegated to the hidden recesses of the new house, 
 in the hope that it might absorb or digest it. There were 
 old cribs, in which the infant limbs of Mamie and Abner 
 had been tucked up ; old looking-glasses, that had reflected 
 their shining, soapy faces, and Mamie's best chip Sunday 
 hat; an old sewing-machine, that had been worn out in 
 active service ; old patchwork quilts ; an old accordion, to 
 whose long drawn inspirations Mamie had sung hymns ; 
 old pictures, books, and old toys. There were one or two 
 old chromos, and, stuck in an old frame, a colored print 
 from the "Illustrated London News" of a Christinas gath-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 59 
 
 ering in an old English country house. He stopped and 
 picked up this print, which he had often seen before, gaz 
 ing at it with a new and singular interest. He wondered 
 if Mamie had seen anything of this kind in England, and 
 why couldn't he have had something like it here, in their 
 own fine house, with themselves and a few friends ? He 
 remembered a past Christmas, when he had bought Mamie 
 that now headless doll with the few coins that were left 
 him after buying their frugal Christmas dinner. There 
 was an old spotted hobby-horse that another Christmas 
 had brought to Abner Abner, who would be driving a 
 fast trotter to-morrow at the Springs ! How everything 
 had changed ! How they all had got up in the world, and 
 how far beyond this kind of thing and yet yet it would 
 have been rather comfortable to have all been together 
 again here. Would they have been more comfortable? 
 No ! Yet then he might have had something to do, and 
 been less lonely to-morrow. What of that? He had 
 something to do : to look after this immense fortune. 
 What more could a man want, or should he want? It 
 was rather mean in him, able to give his wife and chil 
 dren everything they wanted, to be wanting anything 
 more. He laid down the print gently, after dusting its 
 glass and frame with his silk handkerchief, and slowly 
 left the room. 
 
 The drum-beat of the rain followed him down the stair 
 case, but he shut it out with his other thoughts, when he 
 again closed the door of his office. He set diligently to 
 work by the declining winter light, until he was inter 
 rupted by the entrance of his Chinese waiter to tell him 
 that supper which was the meal that Mulrady religiously 
 adhered to in place of the late dinner of civilization 
 was ready in the dining-room. Mulrady mechanically 
 obeyed the summons ; but on entering the room the oasis 
 of a few plates in a desert of white table-cloth which 
 awaited him made him hesitate. In its best aspect, the 
 high dark Gothic mahogany ecclesiastical sideboard and 
 chairs of this room, which looked like the appointments 
 of a mortuary chapel, were not exhilarating; and to-day, 
 in the light of the rain-filmed windows and the feeble rays
 
 60 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 of a lamp half-obscured by the dark shining walls, it was 
 most depressing. 
 
 "You kin take up supper into my office," said Mulrady, 
 with a sudden inspiration. "I'll eat it there." 
 
 He ate it there, with his usual healthy appetite, which 
 did not require even the stimulation of company. He had 
 just finished, when his Irish cook the one female servant 
 of the house came to ask permission to be absent that 
 evening and the next day. 
 
 "I suppose the likes of your honor won't be at home 
 on the Christmas Day? And it's me cousins from the old 
 counthry at Rough-and-Ready that are invitin' me." 
 
 "Why don't you ask them over here?" said Mulrady, 
 with another vague inspiration. "I'll stand treat." 
 
 "Lord preserve you for a jinerous gintleman ! But it's 
 the likes of them and myself that wouldn't be at home 
 here on such a day." 
 
 There was so much truth in this that Mulrady checked 
 a sigh as he gave the required permission, without say 
 ing that he had intended to remain. He could cook his 
 own breakfast: he had done it before; and it would be 
 something to occupy him. As to his dinner, perhaps he 
 could go to the hotel at Rough-and-Ready. He worked 
 on until the night had well advanced. Then, overcome 
 with a certain restlessness that disturbed him, he was 
 forced to put his books and papers away. It had begun 
 to blow in fitful gusts, and occasionally the rain was 
 driven softly across the panes like the passing of childish 
 fingers. This disturbed him more than the monotony of 
 silence, for he was not a nervous man. He seldom read 
 a book, and the county paper furnished him only the finan 
 cial and mercantile news which was part of his business. 
 He knew he could not sleep if he went to bed. At last 
 he rose, opened the window, and looked out from pure 
 idleness of occupation. A splash of wheels in the distant 
 muddy road and fragments of a drunken song showed 
 signs of an early wandering reveller. There were no 
 lights to be seen at the closed works ; a profound darkness 
 encompassed the house, as if the distant pines in the hol 
 low had moved up and round it. The silence was broken
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 61 
 
 now only by the occasional sighing of wind and rain. It 
 was not an inviting night for a perfunctory walk; but 
 an idea struck him he would call upon the Slinns, and 
 anticipate his next day's visit ! They would probably have 
 company, and be glad to see him: he could tell the girls 
 of Mamie and her success. That he had not thought of 
 this before was a proof of his usual self-contained iso 
 lation, that he thought of it now was an equal proof that 
 he was becoming at last accessible to loneliness. He was 
 angry with himself for what seemed to him a selfish 
 weakness. 
 
 He returned to his office, and, putting the envelope that 
 had been lying on Slinn's desk in his pocket, threw a 
 scrape over his shoulders, and locked the front door of 
 the house behind him. It was well that the way was a 
 familiar one to him, and that his feet instinctively found 
 the trail, for the night was very dark. At times he was 
 warned only by the gurgling of water of little rivulets 
 that descended the hill and crossed his path. Without the 
 slightest fear, and with neither imagination nor sensitive 
 ness, he recalled how, the winter before, one of Don 
 Caesar's vaqueros, crossing this hill at night, had fallen 
 down the chasm of a landslip caused by the rain, and was 
 found the next morning with his neck broken in the 
 gully. Don Caesar had to take care of the man's family. 
 Suppose such an accident should happen to him? Well, 
 he had made his will. His wife and children would be 
 provided for, and the work of the mine would go on all 
 the same ; he had arranged for that. Would anybody miss 
 him? Would his wife, or his son, or his daughter? No. 
 He felt such a sudden and overwhelming conviction of 
 the truth of this that he stopped as suddenly as if the 
 chasm had opened before him. No! It was the truth. 
 If he were to disappear forever in the darkness of the 
 Christmas night there was none to feel his loss. His 
 wife would take care of Mamie; his son would take care 
 tf himself, as he had before relieved of even the scant 
 paternal authority he rebelled against. A more imagina 
 tive man than Mulrady would have combated or have fol 
 lowed out this idea, and then dismissed it; to the million-
 
 62 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 aire's matter-of-fact mind it was a deduction that, having 
 once presented itself to his perception, was already a rec 
 ognized fact. For the first time in his life he felt a 
 sudden instinct of something like aversion towards his 
 family, a feeling that even his son's dissipation and crimi 
 nality had never provoked. He hurried on angrily 
 through the darkness. 
 
 It was very strange ; the old house should be almost 
 before him now, across the hollow, yet there were no 
 indications of light! It was not until he actually reached 
 the garden fence, and the black bulk of shadow rose out 
 against the sky, that he saw a faint ray of light from 
 one of the lean-to windows. He went to the front door 
 and knocked. After waiting in vain for a reply, he 
 knocked again. The second knock proving equally futile, 
 he tried the door ; it was unlocked, and, pushing it open, 
 he walked in. The narrow passage was quite dark, but 
 from his knowledge of the house he knew the "lean-to" 
 was next to the kitchen, and, passing through the din 
 ing-room into it, he opened the door of the little room 
 from which the light proceeded. It came from a single 
 candle on a small table, and beside it, with his eyes mood 
 ily fixed on the dying embers of the fire, sat old Slinn. 
 There was no other light nor another human being in the 
 whole house. 
 
 For the instant Mulrady, forgetting his own feelings 
 in the mute picture of the utter desolation of the help 
 less man, remained speechless on the threshold. Then, 
 recalling himself, he stepped forward and laid his hand 
 gayly on the bowed shoulders. 
 
 "Rouse up out o' this, old man ! Come ! this won't do. 
 Look! I've run over here in the rain, jist to have a so 
 ciable time with you all." 
 
 "I knew it," said the old man, without looking up; "I 
 knew you'd come." 
 
 "You knew I'd come?" echoed Mulrady, with an un 
 easy return of the strange feeling of awe with which he 
 regarded Slinn's abstraction. 
 
 "Yes ; you were alone like myself all alone !" 
 
 "Then, why in thunder didn't you open the door or
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 63 
 
 sing out just now?" he said, with an affected brusqucric 
 to cover his uneasiness. "Where's your daughters?" 
 
 "Gone to Rough-and-Ready to a party." 
 
 "And your son?" 
 
 "He never comes here when he can amuse himself 
 elsewhere." 
 
 "Your children might have stayed home on Christmas 
 Eve." 
 
 "So might yours." 
 
 He didn't say this impatiently, but with a certain ab 
 stracted conviction far beyond any suggestion of its being 
 a retort. Mulrady did not appear to notice it. 
 
 "Well, I don't see why us old folks can't enjoy our 
 selves without them," said Mulrady, with affected cheer 
 fulness. "Let's have a good time, you and me. Let's see 
 you haven't any one you can send to my house, hev 
 you?" 
 
 "They took the servant with them," said Slinn, briefly. 
 "There is no one here." 
 
 "All right," said the millionaire, briskly. "I'll go 
 myself. Do you think you can manage to light up 
 a little more, and build a fire in the kitchen while 
 I'm gone? It used to be mighty comfortable in the old 
 times." 
 
 He helped the old man to rise from his chair, and 
 seemed to have infused into him some of his own energy. 
 He then added, "Now, don't you get yourself down again 
 into that chair until I come back," and darted out into 
 the night once more. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour he returned with a bag on his 
 broad shoulders, which one of his porters would have 
 shrunk from lifting, and laid it before the blazing hearth 
 of the now lighted kitchen. "It's something the old 
 woman got for her party, that didn't come off," he said, 
 apologetically. "I reckon we can pick out enough for a 
 spread. That darned Chinaman wouldn't come with me," 
 he added, with a laugh, "because, he said, he'd knocked 
 off work 'allee same, Mellican man !' Look here, Slinn," 
 he said, with a sudden decisiveness, "my pay-roll of the 
 men around here don't run short ef a hundred and fifty
 
 64 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 dollars a day, and yet I couldn't get a hand to help me 
 bring this truck over for my Christmas dinner." 
 
 "Of course," said Slinn, gloomily. 
 
 "Of course ; so it oughter be," returned Mulrady, 
 shortly. "Why, it's only their one day out of 364; and 
 I can have 363 days off, as I am their boss. I don't mind 
 a man's being independent," he continued, taking off his 
 coat and beginning to unpack his sack a common "gunny 
 bag" used for potatoes. "We're independent ourselves, 
 ain't we, Slinn?" 
 
 His good spirits, which had been at first labored and 
 affected, had become natural. Slinn, looking at his bright 
 ened eye and fresher color, could not help thinking he 
 was more like his own real self at this moment than in 
 his counting-house and offices with all his simplicity as 
 a capitalist. A less abstracted and more observant critic 
 than Slinn would have seen in this patient aptitude for 
 real work, and the recognition of the force of petty detail, 
 the dominance of the old market-gardener in his former 
 humble, as well as his later more ambitious, successes. 
 
 "Heaven keep us from being dependent upon our chil 
 dren !" said Slinn, darkly. 
 
 "Let the young ones alone to-night; we can get along 
 without them, as they can without us," said Mulrady, with 
 a slight twinge as he thought of his reflections on the 
 hillside. "But look here, there's some champagne and 
 them sweet cordials that women like ; there's jellies and 
 such like stuff, about as good as they make 'em, I reckon; 
 and preserves, and tongues, and spiced beef take your 
 pick ! Stop, let's spread them out." Hie dragged the 
 table to the middle of the floor, and piled the provisions 
 upon it. They certainly were not deficient in quality or 
 quantity. "Now, Slinn, wade in." 
 
 "I don't feel hungry," said the invalid, who had lapsed 
 again into a chair before the fire. 
 
 "No more do I," said Mulrady; "but I reckon it's the 
 right thing to do about this time. Some folks think they 
 can't be happy without they're getting outside o' suthin', 
 and my directors down at 'Frisco can't do any business 
 without a dinner. Take some champagne, to begin with."
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 65 
 
 He opened a bottle, and filled two tumblers. "It's past 
 twelve o'clock, old man, so here's a merry Christmas to 
 you, and both of us ez is here. And here's another to 
 our families ez isn't." 
 
 They both drank their wine stolidly. The rain beat 
 against the windows sharply, but without the hollow 
 echoes of the house on the hill. "I must write to the 
 old woman and Mamie, and say that you and me had a 
 high old time on Christmas Eve." 
 
 "By ourselves," added the invalid. 
 
 Mr. Mulrady coughed. "Nat'rally by ourselves. And 
 her provisions," he added, with a laugh. "We're really 
 beholden to her for 'em. If she hadn't thought of having 
 them " 
 
 "For somebody else, you wouldn't have had them 
 would you?" said Slinn, slowly, gazing at the fire. 
 
 "No," said Mulrady, dubiously. After a pause he began 
 more vivaciously, and as if to shake off some disagree 
 able thought that was impressing him, "But I mustn't for 
 get to give you your Christmas, old man, and I've got it 
 right here with me." He took the folded envelope from 
 his pocket, and, holding it in his hand with his elbow 
 on the table, continued, "I don't mind telling you what 
 idea I had in giving you what I'm goin' to give you now. 
 I've been thinking about it for a day or two. A man like 
 you don't want money you wouldn't spend it. A man 
 like you don't want stocks or fancy investments, for you 
 couldn't look after them. A man like you don't want dia 
 monds and jewellery, nor a gold-headed cane, when it's 
 got to be used as a crutch. No, sir. What you want is 
 suthin' that won't run away from you ; that is always there 
 before you and won't wear out, and will last after you're 
 gone. That's land ! And if it wasn't that I have sworn 
 never to sell or give away this house and that garden, if 
 it wasn't that I've held out agin the old woman and Mamie 
 on that point, you should have this house and that garden. 
 But, mebbee, for the same reason that I've told you, I 
 want that land to keep for myself. But I've selected four 
 acres of the hill this side of my shaft, and here's the deed 
 of it. As soon as you're ready, I'll put you up a house 
 
 3 V. 2
 
 66 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 as big as this that shall be yours, with the land, as long 
 as you live, old man ; and after that your children's." 
 
 "No ; not theirs I" broke in the old man, passionately. 
 "Never !" 
 
 Mulrady recoiled for an instant in alarm at the sudden 
 and unexpected vehemence of his manner. "Go slow, old 
 man ; go slow," he said, soothingly. "Of course, you'll 
 do with your own as you like." Then, as if changing 
 the subject, he went on cheerfully: "Perhaps you'll won 
 der why I picked out that spot on the hillside. Well, 
 first, because I reserved it after my strike in case the lead 
 should run that way, but it didn't. Next, because when 
 you first came here you seemed to like the prospect. You 
 used to sit there looking at it, as if it reminded you of 
 something. You never said it did. They say you was 
 sitting on that boulder there when you had that last 
 attack, you know; but," he added, gently, "you've for 
 gotten all about it." 
 
 "I have forgotten nothing," said Slinn, rising, with a 
 choking voice. "I wish to God I had; I wish to God I 
 could 1" 
 
 He was on his feet now, supporting himself by the table. 
 The subtle generous liquor he had drunk had evidently 
 shaken his self-control, and burst those voluntary bonds 
 he had put upon himself for the last six months; the 
 insidious stimulant had also put a strange vigor into his 
 blood and nerves. His face was flushed, but not distorted ; 
 his eyes were brilliant, but not fixed; he looked as he 
 might have looked to Masters in his strength three years 
 before on that very hillside. 
 
 "Listen to me, Alvin Mulrady," he said, leaning over 
 him with burning eyes. "Listen, while I have brain to 
 think and strength to utter, why I have learnt to distrust, 
 fear, and hate them ! You think you know my story. 
 Well, hear the truth from me to-night, Alvin Mulrady, 
 and do not wonder if I have cause." 
 
 He stopped, and, with pathetic inefficiency, passed the 
 fingers and inward-turned thumb of his paralyzed hand 
 across his mouth, as if to calm himself. "Three years 
 ago I was a miner, but not a miner like you ! I had ex-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 67 
 
 perience, I had scientific knowledge, I had a theory, and 
 the patience and energy to carry it out. I selected a spot 
 that had all the indications, made a tunnel, and, without 
 aid, counsel or assistance of any kind, worked it for six 
 months, without rest or cessation, and with scarcely food 
 enough to sustain my body. Well, I made a strike; not 
 like you, Mulrady, not a blunder of good luck, a fool's 
 fortune there, I don't blame you for it but in perfect 
 demonstration of my theory, the reward of my labor. It 
 was no pocket, but a vein, a lead, that I had regularly 
 hunted down and found a fortune ! 
 
 "I never knew how hard I had worked until that morn 
 ing; I never knew what privations I had undergone until 
 that moment of my success, when I found I could scarcely 
 think or move ! I staggered out into the open air. The 
 only human soul near me was a disappointed prospector, 
 a man named Masters, who had a tunnel not far away. I 
 managed to conceal from him my good fortune and my 
 feeble state, for I was suspicious of him of any one ; and 
 as he was going away that day I thought I could keep 
 my secret until he was gone. I was dizzy and confused, 
 but I remember that I managed to write a letter to my 
 wife, telling her of my good fortune, and begging her 
 to come to me; and I remember that I saw Masters go. 
 I don't remember anything else. They picked me up on 
 the road, near that boulder, as you know." 
 
 "I know," said Mulrady, with a swift recollection of 
 the stage-driver's account of his discovery. 
 
 "They say," continued Slinn, tremblingly, "that I never 
 recovered my senses or consciousness for nearly three 
 years; they say I lost my memory completely during my 
 illness, and that by God's mercy, while I lay in that hos 
 pital, I knew no more than a babe ; they say, because I 
 could not speak or move, and only had my food as nature 
 required it, that I was an imbecile, and that I never really 
 came to my senses until after my son found me in the 
 hospital. They say that but I tell you to-night, Alvin 
 Mulrady/' he said, raising his voice to a hoarse outcry, 
 "I tell you that it is a lie ! I came to my senses a week 
 after I lay on that hospital cot; I kept my senses and
 
 68 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 memory ever after during the three years that I was there, 
 until Harry brought his cold, hypocritical face to my bed 
 side and recognized me. Do you understand? I, the 
 possessor of millions, lay there a pauper. Deserted by 
 wife and children a spectacle for the curious, a sport 
 for the doctors and I knew it! I heard them speculate 
 on the cause of my helplessness. I heard them talk of 
 excesses and indulgences I, that never knew wine or 
 woman ! I heard a preacher speak of the finger of God, 
 and point to me. May God curse him!" 
 
 r 'Go slow, old man; go slow," said Mulrady, gently. 
 
 "I heard them speak of me as a friendless man, an 
 outcast, a criminal a being whom no one would claim. 
 They were right; no one claimed me. The friends of 
 others visited them; relations came and took away their 
 kindred ; a few lucky ones got well ; a few, equally lucky, 
 died ! I alone lived on, uncared for, deserted. 
 
 "The first year," he went on more rapidly, "I prayed 
 for their coming. I looked for them every day. I never 
 lost hope. I said to myself, 'She has not got my letter; 
 but when the time passes she will be alarmed by my 
 silence, and then she will come or send some one to 
 seek me.' A young student got interested in my case, 
 and, by studying my eyes, thought that I was not entirely 
 imbecile and unconscious. With the aid of an alphabet, 
 he got me to spell my name and town in Illinois, and 
 promised by signs to write to my family. But in an evil 
 moment I told him of my cursed fortune, and in that 
 moment I saw that he thought me a fool and an idiot. 
 He went away, and I saw him no more. Yet I still hoped. 
 I dreamed of their joy at finding me, and the reward that 
 my wealth would give them. Perhaps I was a little weak 
 still, perhaps a little flighty, too, at times ; but I was quite 
 happy that year, even in my disappointment, for I had 
 still hope !" 
 
 He paused, and again composed his face with his 
 paralyzed hand; but his manner had become less excited, 
 and his voice was stronger. 
 
 "A change must have come over me the second year, 
 for I only dreaded their coming now and finding me so
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 69 
 
 altered. A horrible idea that they might, like the student, 
 believe me crazy if I spoke of my fortune made me pray 
 to God that they might not reach me until after I had 
 regained my health and strength and found my fortune. 
 When the third year found me still there I no longer 
 prayed for them I cursed them ! I swore to myself that 
 they should never enjoy my wealth); but I wanted to live, 
 and let them know I had it. I found myself getting 
 stronger; but as I had no money, no friends, and no 
 where to go, I concealed my real condition from the 
 doctors, except to give them my name, and to try to get 
 some little work to do to enable me to leave the hospital 
 and seek my lost treasure. One day I found out by acci 
 dent that it had been discovered ! You understand my 
 treasure ! that had cost me years of labor and my rea 
 son; had left me a helpless, forgotten pauper. That gold 
 I had never enjoyed had been found and taken possession 
 of by another!" 
 
 He checked an exclamation from Mulrady with his 
 hand. "They say they picked me up senseless from the 
 floor, where I must have fallen when I heard the news 
 I don't remember I recall nothing until I was confronted, 
 nearly three weeks after, by my son, who had called at 
 the hospital, as a reporter for a paper, and had acciden 
 tally discovered me through my name and appearance. He 
 thought me crazy, or a fool. I didn't undeceive him. I 
 did not tell him the story of the mine to excite his doubts 
 and derision, or, worse (if I could bring proof to claim 
 it), have it perhaps pass into his ungrateful hands. No; 
 I said nothing. I let him bring me here. He could do 
 no less, and common decency obliged him to do that." 
 
 "And what proof could you show of your claim ?" asked 
 Mulrady, gravely. 
 
 "If I had that letter if I could find Masters," began 
 Slinn, vaguely. 
 
 "Have you any idea where the letter is, or what has 
 become of Masters?" continued Mulrady, with a matter- 
 of-fact gravity, that seemed to increase Slinn's vagueness 
 and excite his irritability. 
 
 "I don't know I sometimes think " He stopped, sat
 
 70 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 down again, and passed his hands across his forehead. 
 "I have seen the letter somewhere since. Yes," he went 
 on, with sudden vehemence, "I know it, I have seen it ! 
 I " His brows knitted, his features began to work con 
 vulsively ; he suddenly brought his paralyzed hand down, 
 partly opened, upon the table. "I will remember where." 
 
 "Go slow, old man; go slow." 
 
 "You asked me once about my visions. Well, that is 
 one of them. I remember a man somewhere showing me 
 that letter. I have taken it from his hands and opened it, 
 and knew it was mine by the specimens of gold that were 
 in it. But where or when or what became of it, I 
 cannot tell. It will come to me it must come to me 
 soon." 
 
 He turned his eyes upon Mulrady, who was regarding 
 him with an expression of grave curiosity, and said bit 
 terly, "You think me crazy. I know it. It needed only 
 this." 
 
 "Where is this mine," asked Mulrady, without heed 
 ing him. 
 
 The old man's eyes swiftly sought the ground. 
 
 "It is a secret, then?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You have spoken of it to any one?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Not to the man who possesses it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I wouldn't take it from him." 
 
 "Why wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Because that man is yourself !" 
 
 In the instant of complete silence that followed they 
 could hear that the monotonous patter of rain on the 
 roof had ceased. 
 
 "Then all this was in my shaft, and the vein I 
 thought I struck there was your lead, found three years 
 ago in your tunnel. Is that your idea?" 
 
 "Yes?' 
 
 "Then I don't sabe why you don't want to claim it." 
 
 "I have told you why I don't want it for my children.
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 71 
 
 I go further, now, and I tell you, Alvin Mulrady, that 
 I was willing that your children should squander it, as 
 they were doing. It has only been a curse to me ; it could 
 only be a curse to them; but I thought you were happy in 
 seeing it feed selfishness and vanity. You think me bitter 
 and hard. Well, I should have left you in your fool's 
 paradise, but that I saw to-night, when you came here, 
 that your eyes had been opened like mine. You, the 
 possessor of my wealth, my treasure, could not buy your 
 children's loving care and company with your millions, 
 any more than I could keep mine in my poverty. You 
 were to-night lonely and forsaken, as I was. We were 
 equal, for the first time in our lives. If that cursed gold 
 had dropped down the shaft between us into the hell from 
 which it sprang, we might have clasped hands like brothers 
 across the chasm." 
 
 Mulrady, who in a friendly show of being at his ease 
 had not yet resumed his coat, rose in his shirt-sleeves, 
 and, standing before the hearth, straightened his square 
 figure by drawing down his waistcoat on each side with 
 two powerful thumbs. After a moment's contemplative 
 survey of the floor between him and the speaker, he 
 raised his eyes to Slinn. They were small and colorless; 
 the forehead above them was low, and crowned with a 
 shock of tawny reddish hair ; even the rude strength of 
 his lower features was enfeebled by a long, straggling, 
 goat-like beard ; but for the first time in his life the whole 
 face was impressed and transformed with a strong and 
 simple dignity. 
 
 "Ez far ez I kin see, Slinn," he said, gravely, "the 
 pint between you and me ain't to be settled by our chil 
 dren, or wot we allow is doo and right from them to us. 
 Afore we preach at them for playing in the slumgullion, 
 and gettin' themselves splashed, perhaps we mout ez well 
 remember that that thar slumgullion comes from our own 
 sluice-boxes, where we wash our gold. So we'll just put 
 them behind us, so," he continued, with a backward sweep 
 of his powerful hand towards the chimney, "and goes on. 
 The next thing that crops up ahead of us is your three 
 years in the hospital, and wot you went through at that
 
 72 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND41EADY 
 
 time. I ain't sayin' it wasn't rough on you, and that you 
 didn't have it about as big as it's made; but ez you'll 
 allow that you'd hev had that for three years, whether 
 I'd found your mine or whether I hadn't, I think we can 
 put that behind us, too. There's nothin' now left to pros 
 pect but your story of your strike. Well, take your own 
 proofs. Masters is not here; and if he was, accordin' to 
 your own story, he knows nothin' of your strike that day, 
 and could only prove you were a disappointed prospector 
 in a tunnel ; your letter that the person you wrote to 
 never got you can't produce ; and if you did, would be 
 only your own story without proof ! There is not a 
 business man ez would look at your claim; there isn't 
 a friend of yours that wouldn't believe you were crazy, 
 and dreamed it all ; there isn't a rival of yours ez wouldn't 
 say ez you'd invented it. Slinn, I'm a business man I 
 am your friend I am your rival but I don't think you're 
 lyin' I don't think you're crazy and I'm not sure your 
 claim ain't a good one ! 
 
 "Ef you reckon from that that I'm goin' to hand you 
 over the mine to-morrow," he went on, after a pause, 
 raising his hand with a deprecating gesture, "you're mis 
 taken. For your own sake, and the sake of my wife and 
 children, you've got to prove it more clearly than you 
 hev; but I promise you that from this night forward I 
 will spare neither time nor money to help you to do it. 
 I have more than doubled the amount that you would have 
 had, had you taken the mine the day you came from the 
 hospital. When you prove to me that your story is true 
 and we will find some way to prove it, if it is true that 
 amount will be yours at once, without the need of a word 
 from law or lawyers. If you want my name to that in 
 black and white, come to the office to-morrow, and you 
 shall have it." 
 
 "And you think I'll take it now?" said the old man 
 passionately. "Do you think that your charity will bring 
 back my dead wife, the three years of my lost life, the 
 love and respect of my children ? Or do you think that 
 your own wife and children, who deserted you in your 
 wealth, will come back to you in your poverty ? No !
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 73 
 
 Let the mine stay, with its curse, where it is I'll have 
 none of it !" 
 
 "Go slow, old man; go slow," said Mulrady, quietly, 
 putting on his coat. "You will take the mine if it is 
 yours ; if it isn't, I'll keep it. If it is yours, you will give 
 your children a chance to sho what they can do for you 
 in your sudden prosperity, as I shall give mine a chance 
 to show how they can stand reverse and disappointment. 
 If my head is level and I reckon it is they'll both pan 
 out all right." 
 
 He turned and opened the door. With a quick revul 
 sion of feeling, Slinn suddenly seized Mulrady's hand 
 between both of his own, and raised it to his lips. Mul 
 rady smiled, disengaged his hand gently, and saying sooth 
 ingly, "Go slow, old man ; go slow," closed the door behind 
 him, and passed out into the clear Christmas dawn. 
 
 For the stars, with the exception of one that seemed 
 to sparkle brightly over the shaft of his former fortunes, 
 were slowly paling. A burden seemed to have fallen from 
 his square shoulders as he stepped out sturdily into the 
 morning air. He had already forgotten the lonely man 
 behind him, for he was thinking only of his wife and 
 daughter. And at the same moment they were thinking 
 of him; and in their elaborate villa overlooking the blue 
 Mediterranean at Cannes were discussing, in the event of 
 Mamie's marriage with Prince Rosso e Negro, the possi 
 bility of Mr. Mulrady's paying two hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars, the gambling debts of that unfortunate 
 but deeply conscientious nobleman. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHEN Alvin Mulrady reentered his own house, he no 
 longer noticed its loneliness. Whether the events of the 
 last few hours had driven it from his mind, or whether 
 his late reflections had repeopled it with his family under 
 pleasanter auspices, it would be difficult to determine. 
 Destitute as he was of imagination, and matter-of-fact 
 in his judgments, he realized his new situation as calmly
 
 74 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 as he would have considered any business proposition. 
 While he was decided to act upon his moral convictions 
 purely, he was prepared to submit the facts of Slinn's 
 claim to the usual patient and laborious investigation of 
 his practical mind. It was the least he could do to jus 
 tify the ready and almost superstitious assent he had 
 given to Slinn's story. 
 
 When he had made a few memoranda at his desk by 
 the growing light, he again took the key of the attic, 
 and ascended to the loft that held the tangible memories 
 of his past life. If he was still under the influence of his 
 reflections, it was with very different sensations that 
 he now regarded them. Was it possible that these ashes 
 might be warmed again, and these scattered embers re 
 kindled? His practical sense said No! whatever his wish 
 might have been. A sudden chill came over him; he 
 began to realize the terrible change that was probable, 
 more by the impossibility of his accepting the old order 
 of things than by his voluntarily abandoning the new. 
 His wife and children would never submit. They would 
 go away from this place, far away, where no reminis 
 cence of either former wealth or former poverty could 
 obtrude itself upon them. Mamie his Mamie should 
 never go back to the cabin, since desecrated by Slinn's 
 daughters, and take their places. No ! Why should 
 she? because of the half-sick, half-crazy dreams of an 
 old vindictive man? 
 
 He stopped suddenly. In moodily turning over a heap 
 of mining clothing, blankets, and india-rubber boots, he 
 had come upon an old pickaxe the one he had found 
 in the shaft ; the one he had carefully preserved for a 
 year, and then forgotten ! Why had he not remembered 
 it before? He was frightened, not only at this sudden 
 resurrection of the proof he was seeking, but at his 
 own fateful forgetfulness. Why had he never thought of 
 this when Slinn was speaking? A sense of shame, as 
 if he had voluntarily withheld it from the wronged man, 
 swept over him. He was turning away, when he was 
 again startled. 
 
 This time it was by a voice from below a voice call-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 75 
 
 ing him Slinn's voice. How had the crippled man got 
 here so soon, and what did he want? He hurriedly 
 laid aside the pick, which, in his first impulse, he had 
 taken to the door of the loft with him, and descended 
 the stairs. The old man was standing at the door of his 
 office awaiting him. 
 
 As Mulrady approached, he trembled violently, and 
 clung to the doorpost for support. 
 
 "I had to come over, Mulrady," he said, in a choked 
 voice; "I could stand it there no longer. I've come to 
 beg you to forget all that I have said ; to drive all thought 
 of what passed between us last night out of your head 
 and mine forever ! I've come to ask you to swear with 
 me that neither of us will ever speak of this again for 
 ever. It is not worth the happiness I have had in your 
 friendship for the last half-year; it is not worth the 
 agony I have suffered in its loss in the last half-hour." 
 
 Mulrady grasped his outstretched hand. "P'raps," he 
 said, gravely, "there mayn't be any use for another word, 
 if you can answer one now. Come with me. No mat 
 ter," he added, as Slinn moved with difficulty; "I will 
 help you." 
 
 He half supported, half lifted the paralyzed man up 
 the three flights of stairs, and opened the door of the 
 loft. The pick was leaning against the wall, where he 
 had left it. "Look around, and see if you recognize any 
 thing." 
 
 The old man's eyes fell upon the implement in a half- 
 frightened way, and then lifted themselves interroga 
 tively to Mulrady's face. 
 
 "Do you know that pick?" 
 
 Slinn raised it in his trembling hands. "I think I do ; 
 and yet" 
 
 "Slinn! is it yours?" 
 
 "No," he said hurriedly. 
 
 "Then what makes you think you know it?" 
 
 "It has a short handle like one I've seen." 
 
 "And is isn't yours?" 
 
 "No. The handle of mine was broken and spliced. 
 I was too poor to buy a new one."
 
 76 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 "Then you say that this pick which I found in my 
 shaft is not yours?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Slinn !" 
 
 The old man passed his hand across his forehead, 
 looked at Mulrady, and dropped his eyes. "It is not 
 mine," he said simply. 
 
 "That will do," said Mulrady, gravely. 
 
 "And you will not speak of this again?" said the old 
 man, timidly. 
 
 "I promise you not until I have some more evidence." 
 
 He kept his word, but not before he had extorted from 
 Slinn as full a description of Masters as his imperfect 
 memory and still more imperfect knowledge of his 
 former neighbor could furnish. He placed this, with a 
 large sum of money and the promise of a still larger 
 reward, in the hands of a trustworthy agent. When this 
 was done he resumed his old relations with Slinn, with 
 the exception that the domestic letters of Mrs. Mulrady 
 and Mamie were no longer a subject of comment, and 
 their bills no longer passed through his private secre 
 tary's hands. 
 
 Three months passed; the rainy season had ceased, 
 the hillsides around Mulrady's shaft were bridal-like 
 with flowers; indeed, there were rumors of an approach 
 ing fashionable marriage in the air, and vague hints in 
 the "Record" that the presence of a distinguished capi 
 talist might soon be required abroad. The face of that 
 distinguished man did not, however, reflect the gayety 
 of nature nor the anticipation of happiness; on the con 
 trary, for the past few weeks, he had appeared dis 
 turbed and anxious, and that rude tranquillity which had 
 characterized him was wanting. People shook their 
 heads; a few suggested speculations; all agreed on ex 
 travagance. 
 
 One morning, after office hours, Slinn, who had been 
 watching the careworn face of his employer, suddenly 
 rose and limped to his side. 
 
 "We promised each other," he said, in a voice trem 
 bling with emotion, "never to allude to our talk of Christ-
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 77 
 
 mas Eve again unless we had other proofs of what I 
 told you then. We have none ; I don't believe we'll ever 
 have any more. I don't care if we ever do, and I break 
 that promise now because I cannot bear to see you un 
 happy and know that this is the cause." 
 
 Mulrady made a motion of deprecation, but the old 
 man continued 
 
 "You are unhappy, Alvin Mulrady. You are unhappy 
 because you want to give your daughter a dowry of two 
 hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and you will not use 
 the fortune that you think may be mine." 
 
 "Who's been talking about a dowry?" asked Mulrady, 
 with an angry flush. 
 
 "Don Caesar Alvarado told my daughter." 
 
 "Then that is why he has thrown off on me since he 
 returned," said Mulrady, with sudden small malevolence, 
 "just that he might unload his gossip because Mamie 
 wouldn't have him. The old woman was right in warnin' 
 me agin him." 
 
 The outburst was so unlike him, and so dwarfed his 
 large though common nature with its littleness, that it 
 was easy to detect its feminine origin, although it filled 
 Slinn with vague alarm. 
 
 "Never mind him," said the old man, hastily; "what 
 I wanted to say now is that I abandon everything to 
 you and yours. There are no proofs ; there never will 
 be any more than what we know, than what we have 
 tested and found wanting. I swear to you that, except 
 to show you that I have not lied and am not crazy, I 
 would destroy them on their way to your hands. Keep 
 the money, and spend it as you will. Make your 
 daughter happy, and, through her, yourself. You have 
 made me happy through your liberality; don't make me 
 suffer through your privation." 
 
 "I tell you what, old man," said Mulrady, rising to 
 his feet, with an awkward mingling of frankness and 
 shame in his manner and accent, "I should like to pay 
 that money for Mamie, and let her be a princess, if it 
 would make her happy. I should like to shut the lantern 
 jaws of that Don Caesar, who'd be too glad if anything
 
 78 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 happened to break off Mamie's match. But I shouldn't 
 touch that capital unless you'd lend it to me. If you'll 
 take a note from me, payable if the property ever be 
 comes yours, I'd thank you. A mortgage on the old 
 house and garden, and the lands I bought of Don Caesar, 
 outside the mine, will screen you." 
 
 "If that pleases you," said the old man, with a smile, 
 "have your way; and if I tear up the note, it does not 
 concern you." 
 
 It did please the distinguished capitalist of Rough-and- 
 Ready ; for the next few days his face wore a bright 
 ened expression, and he seemed to have recovered his 
 old tranquillity. There was, in fact, a slight touch of 
 consequence in his manner, the first ostentation he had 
 ever indulged in, when he was informed one morning 
 at his private office that Don Caesar Alvarado was in 
 the counting-house, desiring a few moments' conference. 
 "Tell him to come in," said Mulrady, shortly. The door 
 opened upon Don Caesar erect, sallow, and grave. Mul 
 rady had not seen him since his return from Europe, 
 and even his inexperienced eyes were struck with the 
 undeniable ease and grace with which the young 
 Spanish-American had assimilated the style and fashion 
 of an older civilization. It seemed rather as if he had 
 returned to a familiar condition than adopted a new one. 
 
 "Take a cheer," said Mulrady. 
 
 The young man looked at Slinn with quietly persis 
 tent significance. 
 
 "You can talk all the same," said Mulrady, accepting 
 the significance. "He's my private secretary." 
 
 "It seems that for that reason we might choose an 
 other moment for our conversation," returned Don 
 Caesar, haughtily. "Do I understand you cannot see me 
 now?" 
 
 Mulrady hesitated. He had always revered and 
 recognized a certain social superiority in Don Ramon 
 Alvarado; somehow his son a young man of half his 
 age, and once a possible son-in-law appeared to claim 
 that recognition also. He rose, without a word, and 
 preceded Don Caesar up-stairs into the drawing-room.
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 79 
 
 The alien portrait on the wall seemed to evidently take 
 sides with Don Caesar, as against the common intruder, 
 Mulrady. 
 
 "I hoped the Sefiora Mulrady might have saved me 
 this interview," said the young man, stiffly; "or at least 
 have given you some intimation of the reason why I 
 seek it. As you just now proposed my talking to you 
 in the presence of the unfortunate Senor Esslinn him 
 self, it appears she has not." 
 
 "I don't know what you're driving at, or what Mrs. 
 Mulrady's got to do with Slinn or you," said Mulrady, 
 in angry uneasiness. 
 
 "Do I understand," said Don Caesar, sternly, "that 
 Sefiora Mulrady has not told you that I entrusted to her 
 an important letter, belonging to Senor Esslinn, which 
 I had the honor to discover in the wood six months 
 ago, and which she said she would refer to you?" 
 
 "Letter?" echoed Mulrady, slowly; "my wife had a 
 letter of Slinn's?" 
 
 Don Caesar regarded the millionaire attentively. "It is 
 as I feared," he said, gravely. "You do not know, or 
 you would not have remained silent." He then briefly 
 recounted the story of his finding Slinn's letter, his ex 
 hibition of it to the invalid, its disastrous effect upon 
 him, and his innocent discovery of the contents. "I be 
 lieved myself at that time on the eve of being allied 
 with your family, Senor Mulrady," he said, haughtily; 
 "and when I found myself in the possession of a secret 
 which affected its integrity and good name, I did not 
 choose to leave it in the helpless hands of its imbecile 
 owner, or his sillier children, but proposed to trust it to 
 the care of the Sefiora, that she and you might deal with 
 it as became your honor and mine. I followed her to 
 Paris, and gave her the letter there. She affected to 
 laugh at any pretension of the writer, or any claim he 
 might have on your bounty ; but she kept the letter, and, 
 I fear, destroyed it. You will understand, Senor Mul 
 rady, that when I found that my attentions were no 
 longer agreeable to your daughter, I had no longer the 
 right to speak to you on the subject, nor could I, with-
 
 80 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 out misapprehension, force her to return it. I should 
 have still kept the secret to myself, if I had not since 
 my return here made the nearer acquaintance of Senor 
 Esslinn's daughters. I cannot present myself at his 
 house, as a suitor for the hand of the Senorita Vashti, 
 until I have asked his absolution for my complicity in 
 the wrong that has been done to him. I cannot, as a 
 caballero, do that without your permission. It is for 
 that purpose I am here." 
 
 It needed only this last blow to complete the humilia 
 tion that whitened Mulrady's face. But his eye was 
 none the less clear and his voice none the less steady 
 as he turned to Don Caesar. 
 
 "You know perfectly the contents of that letter?" 
 
 "I have kept a copy of it." 
 
 "Come with me." 
 
 He preceded his visitor down the staircase and back 
 into his private office. Slinn looked up at his employer's 
 face in unrestrained anxiety. Mulrady sat down at his 
 desk, wrote a few hurried lines, and rang a bell. A 
 manager appeared from the counting-room. 
 
 "Send that to the bank." 
 
 He wiped his pen as methodically as if he had not 
 at that moment countermanded the order to pay his 
 daughter's dowry, and turned quietly to Slinn. 
 
 "Don Caesar Alvarado has found the letter you wrote 
 you wife on the day you made your strike in the tunnel 
 that is now my shaft. He gave the letter to Mrs. Mul 
 rady ; but he has kept a copy." 
 
 Unheeding the frightened gesture of entreaty from 
 Slinn, equally with the unfeigned astonishment of Don 
 Caesar, who was entirely unprepared for this revelation 
 of Mulrady's and Slinn's confidences, he continued, "He 
 has brought the copy with him. I reckon it would be 
 only square for you to compare it with what you remem 
 ber of the original." 
 
 In obedience to a gesture from Mulrady, Don Caesar 
 mechanically took from his pocket a folded paper, and 
 handed it to the paralytic. But Slinn's trembling fingers 
 could scarcely unfold the paper; and as his eyes fell
 
 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 81 
 
 upon its contents, his convulsive lips could not articulate 
 a word. 
 
 "P'raps I'd better read it for you," said Mulrady, 
 gently. "You kin follow me and stop me when I go 
 wrong." 
 
 He took the paper, and, in dead silence, read as fol 
 lows : 
 
 "DEAR WIFE, I've just struck gold in my tunnel, and 
 you must get ready to come here with the children, at 
 once. It was after six months' hard work; and I'm so 
 weak I ... It's a fortune for us all. We should be 
 rich even if it were only a branch vein dipping west 
 towards the next tunnel, instead of dipping east, accord 
 ing to my theory " 
 
 "Stop !" said Slinn, in a voice that shook the room. 
 
 Mulrady looked up. 
 
 "It's wrong, ain't it?" he asked, anxiously; "it should 
 be east towards the next tunnel." 
 
 "No! It's right! I am wrong! We're all wrong!" 
 
 Slinn had risen to his feet, erect and inspired. "Don't 
 you see," he almost screamed, with passionate ve 
 hemence, "it's Masters' abandoned tunnel your shaft has 
 struck? Not mine! It was Masters' pick you found! 
 I know it now !" 
 
 "And your own tunnel?" said Mulrady, springing to 
 his feet in excitement. "And your strike?" 
 
 "Is still there!" 
 
 The next instant, and before another question could 
 be asked, Slinn had darted from the room. In the ex 
 altation of that supreme discovery he regained the full 
 control of his mind and body. Mulrady and Don Caesar, 
 no less excited, followed him precipitately, and with dif 
 ficulty kept up with his feverish speed. Their way lay 
 along the base of the hill below Mulrady's shaft, and 
 on a line with Masters' abandoned tunnel. Only once he 
 stopped to snatch a pick from the hand of an astonished 
 Chinaman at work in a ditch, as he still kept on his way, 
 a quarter of a mile beyond the shaft. Here he stopped 
 before a jagged hole in the hillside. Bared to the sky 
 and air, the very openness of its abandonment, its un-
 
 82 A MILLIONAIRE OF ROUGH-AND-READY 
 
 propitious position, and distance from the strike in Mul- 
 rady's shaft had no doubt preserved its integrity from 
 wayfarer or prospector. 
 
 "You can't go in there alone, and without a light," 
 said Mulrady, laying his hand on the arm of the ex 
 cited man. "Let me get more help and proper tools." 
 
 "I know every step in the dark as in the daylight," 
 returned Slinn, struggling. "Let me go, while I have 
 yet strength and reason ! Stand aside !" 
 
 He broke from them, and the next moment was swal 
 lowed up in the yawning blackness. They waited with 
 bated breath until, after a seeming eternity of night and 
 silence, they heard his returning footsteps, and ran for 
 ward to meet him. As he was carrying something 
 clasped to his breast, they supported him to the opening. 
 But at the same moment the object of his search and 
 his burden, a misshapen wedge of gold and quartz, 
 dropped with him, and both fell together with equal 
 immobility to the ground. He had still strength to turn 
 his fading eyes to the other millionaire of Rough-and- 
 Ready, who leaned over him. 
 
 "You see," he gasped, brokenly, "I was not crazy !" 
 
 No. He was dead!
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was a season of unequalled prosperity in Devil's 
 Ford. The half a dozen cabins scattered along the 
 banks of the North Fork, as if by some overflow of that 
 capricious river, had become augmented during a week 
 of fierce excitment by twenty or thirty others, that were 
 huddled together on the narrow gorge of Devil's Spur, 
 or cast up on its steep sides. So sudden and violent 
 had been the change of fortune, that the dwellers in the 
 older cabins had not had time to change with it, but 
 still kept their old habits, customs, and even their old 
 clothes. The flour pan in which their daily bread was 
 mixed stood on the rude table side by side with the 
 "prospecting pans," half full of gold washed up from 
 their morning's work; the front windows of the newer 
 tenements looked upon the one single thoroughfare, but 
 the back door opened upon the uncleared wilderness, 
 still haunted by the misshapen bulk of bear or the nightly 
 gliding of catamount. 
 
 Neither had success as yet affected their boyish sim 
 plicity and the frankness of old frontier habits ; they 
 played with their new-found riches with the naive de 
 light of children, and rehearsed their glowing future 
 with the importance and triviality of school-boys. 
 
 "I've bin kalklatin'/' said Dick Mattingly, leaning on 
 his long-handled shovel with lazy gravity, "that when 
 I go to Rome this winter, I'll get one o' them marble 
 sharps to chisel me a statoo o' some kind to set up on the 
 spot where we made our big strike. Suthin' to remember 
 it by, you know." 
 
 "What kind o' statoo Washington or Webster?" 
 83
 
 84 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 asked one of the Kearney brothers, without looking up 
 from his work. 
 
 "No I reckon one o' them fancy groups one o' them 
 Latin goddesses that Fairfax is always gassin' about, 
 sorter leadin', directin' and bossin' us where to dig." 
 
 "You'd make a healthy-lookin' figger in a group," re 
 sponded Kearney, critically regarding an enormous patch 
 in Mattingly's trousers. "Why don't you have a fountain 
 instead ?" 
 
 "Where'll you get the water?" demanded the first 
 speaker, in return. "You know there ain't enough in the 
 North Fork to do a week's washing for the camp to 
 say nothin' of its color." 
 
 "Leave that to me," said Kearney, with self-posses 
 sion. "When I've built that there reservoir on Devil's 
 Spur, and bring the water over the ridge from Union 
 Ditch, there'll be enough to spare for that." 
 
 "Better mix it up, I reckon have suthin' half statoo, 
 half fountain," interposed the elder Mattingly, better 
 known as "Maryland Joe," "and set it up afore the Town 
 Hall and Free Library I'm kalklatin' to give. Do that, 
 and you can count on me." 
 
 After some further discussion, it was gravely settled 
 that Kearney should furnish water brought from the 
 Union Ditch, twenty miles away, at a cost of two hun 
 dred thousand dollars, to feed a memorial fountain 
 erected by Mattingly, worth a hundred thousand dollars, 
 as a crowning finish to public buildings contributed by 
 Maryland Joe, to the extent of half a million more. The 
 disposition of these vast sums by gentlemen wearing 
 patched breeches awakened no sense of the ludicrous, 
 nor did any doubt, reservation, or contingency enter into 
 the plans of the charming enthusiasts themselves. The 
 foundation of their airy castles lay already before them 
 in the strip of rich alluvium on the river bank, where 
 the North Fork, sharply curving round the base of 
 Devil's Spur, had for centuries swept the detritus of 
 gulch and canon. They had barely crossed the thresh 
 old of this treasure-house, to find themselves rich men ; 
 what possibilities of affluence might be theirs when they
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 85 
 
 had fully exploited their possessions? So confident were 
 they of that ultimate prospect, that the wealth already 
 thus obtained was religiously expended in engines and 
 machinery for the boring of wells and the conveyance 
 of that precious water which the exhausted river had 
 long since ceased to yield. It seemed as if the gold they 
 had taken out was by some ironical compensation grad 
 ually making its way back to the soil again through 
 ditch and flume and reservoir. 
 
 Such was the position of affairs at Devil's Ford on 
 the 1 3th of August, 1860. It was noon of a hot day. 
 Whatever movement there was in the stifling air was 
 seen rather than felt in a tremulous, quivering, upward- 
 moving dust along the flank of the mountain, through 
 which the spires of the pines were faintly visible. 
 There was no water in the bared and burning bars of 
 the river to reflect the vertical sun, but under its direct 
 rays one or two tinned roofs and corrugated zinc cabins 
 struck fire, a few canvas tents became dazzling to the 
 eye, and the white wooded corral of the stage office 
 and hotel insupportable. For two hours no one ventured 
 in the glare of the open, or even to cross the narrow, 
 unshadowed street, whose dull red dust seemed to glow 
 between the lines of straggling houses. The heated 
 shells of these green unseasoned tenements gave out a 
 pungent odor of scorching wood and resin. The usual 
 hurried, feverish toil in the claim was suspended; the 
 pick and shovel were left sticking in the richest "pay 
 gravel;" the toiling millionaires themselves, ragged, 
 dirty, and perspiring, lay panting under the nearest 
 shade, where the pipes went out listlessly, and conver 
 sation sank to monosyllables. 
 
 "There's Fairfax," said Dick Mattingly, at last, with 
 a lazy effort. His face was turned to the hillside, where 
 a man had just emerged from the woods, and was halt 
 ing irresolutely before the glaring expanse of upheaved 
 gravel and glistening boulders that stretched between 
 him and the shaded group. "He's going to make a break 
 for it," he added, as the stranger, throwing his linen 
 coat over his head, suddenly started into an Indian trot
 
 86 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 through the pelting sunbeams toward them. This strange 
 act was perfectly understood by the group, who knew 
 that in that intensely dry heat the danger of exposure 
 was lessened by active exercise and the profuse perspira 
 tion that followed it. In another moment the stranger 
 had reached their side, dripping as if rained upon, mop 
 ping his damp curls and handsome bearded face with 
 his linen coat, as he threw himself pantingly on the 
 ground. 
 
 "I struck out over here first, boys, to give you a little 
 warning," he said, as soon as he had gained breath. 
 "That engineer will be down here to take charge as soon 
 as the six o'clock stage comes in. He's an oldish chap, 
 
 has got a family of two daughters, and I am d d 
 
 if he is not bringing them down here with him." 
 
 "Oh, go long !" exclaimed the five men in one voice, 
 raising themselves on their hands and elbows, and glar 
 ing at the speaker. 
 
 "Fact, boys ! Soon as I found it out I just waltzed 
 into that Jew shop at the Crossing and bought up all 
 the clothes that would be likely to suit you fellows, be 
 fore anybody else got a show. I reckon I cleared out 
 the shop. The duds are a little mixed in style, but I 
 reckon they're clean and whole, and a man might face 
 a lady in 'em. I left them round at the old Buckeye 
 Spring, where they're handy without attracting attention. 
 Yo'.i boys can go there for a general wash-up, rig your 
 selves up without saying anything, and then meander 
 back careless and easy in your store clothes, just as the 
 stage is coming in, sabef" 
 
 "Why didn't you let us know earlier?" asked Mat- 
 tingly aggrievedly ; "you've been back here at least an 
 hour." 
 
 "I've been getting some place ready for them," re 
 turned the new-comer. "We might have managed to put 
 the man somewhere, if he'd been alone, but these women 
 want family accommodation. There was nothing left for 
 me to do but to buy up Thompson's saloon." 
 
 "No?" interrupted his audience, half in incredulity, 
 half in protestation.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 87 
 
 "Fact ! You boys will have to take your drinks under 
 canvas again, I reckon ! But I made Thompson let 
 those gold-framed mirrors that used to stand behind the 
 bar go into the bargain, and they sort of furnish the 
 room. You know the saloon is one of them patent 
 houses you can take to pieces, and I've been reckoning 
 you boys will have to pitch in and help me to take the 
 whole shanty over to the laurel bushes, and put it up 
 agin Kearney's cabin." 
 
 "What's all that?" said the younger Kearney, with 
 an odd mingling of astonishment and bashful gratifica 
 tion. 
 
 "Yes, I reckon yours is the cleanest house, because 
 it's the newest, so you'll just step out and let us knock 
 in one o' the gables, and clap it on to the saloon, and 
 make one house of it, don't you see? There'll be two 
 rooms, one for the girls and the other for the old man." 
 
 The astonishment and bewilderment of the party had 
 gradually given way to a boyish and impatient interest. 
 
 "Hadn't we better do the job at once?" suggested 
 Dick Mattingly. 
 
 "Or throw ourselves into those new clothes, so as to 
 be ready," added the younger Kearney, looking down at 
 his ragged trousers. "I say, Fairfax, what are the girls 
 like, eh?" 
 
 All the others had been dying to ask the question, 
 yet one and all laughed at the conscious manner and 
 blushing cheek of the questioner. 
 
 "You'll find out quick enough," returned Fairfax, 
 whose curt carelessness did not, however, prevent a 
 slight increase of color on his own cheek. "We'd better 
 get that job off our hands before doing anything else. 
 So, if you're ready, boys, we'll just waltz down to 
 Thompson's and pack up the shanty. He's out of it by 
 this time, I reckon. You might as well be perspiring 
 to some purpose over there as gaspin' under this tree. 
 We won't go back to work this afternoon, but knock 
 off now, and call it half a day. Come ! Hump your 
 selves, gentlemen. Are you ready? One, two, three, 
 and away !"
 
 88 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 In another instant the tree was deserted; the figures 
 of the five millionaires of Devil's Ford, crossing the 
 fierce glare of the open space, with boyish alacrity, glis 
 tened in the sunlight, and then disappeared in the nearest 
 fringe of thickets. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Six hours later, when the shadow of Devil's Spur 
 had crossed the river, and spread a slight coolness over 
 the flat beyond, the Pioneer coach, leaving the summit, 
 began also to bathe its heated bulk in the long shadows 
 of the descent. Conspicuous among the dusty passengers, 
 the two pretty and youthful faces of the daughters of 
 Philip Carr, mining superintendent and engineer, looked 
 from the windows with no little anxiety towards their 
 future home in the straggling settlement below, that oc 
 casionally came in view at the turns of the long zig 
 zagging road. A slight look of comical disappointment 
 passed between them as they gazed upon the sterile 
 flat, dotted with unsightly excrescences that stood equally 
 for cabins or mounds of stone and gravel. It was so 
 feeble and inconsistent a culmination to the beautiful 
 scenery they had passed through, so hopeless and imbe 
 cile a conclusion to the preparation of that long pic 
 turesque journey, with its glimpses of sylvan and 
 pastoral glades and canons, that, as the coach swept 
 down the last incline, and the remorseless monotony 
 of the dead level spread out before them, furrowed 
 by ditches and indented by pits, under cover of shield 
 ing their cheeks from the impalpable dust that rose 
 beneath the plunging wheels, they buried their faces 
 in their handkerchiefs, to hide a few half-hysterical 
 tears. Happily, their father, completely absorbed in a 
 practical, scientific, and approving contemplation of the 
 topography and material resources of the scene of his 
 future labors, had no time to notice their defection. It 
 was not until the stage drew up before a rambling tene 
 ment bearing the inscription, "Hotel and Stage Office," 
 that he became fully aware of it.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 89 
 
 "We can't stop here, papa," said Christie Carr de 
 cidedly, with a shake of her pretty head. "You can't 
 expect that." 
 
 Mr. Carr looked up at the building; it was half 
 grocery, half saloon. Whatever other accommodations 
 it contained must have been hidden in the rear, as the 
 flat roof above was almost level with the raftered ceiling 
 of the shop. 
 
 "Certainly," he replied hurriedly; "we'll see to that in 
 a moment. I dare say it's all right. I told Fairfax 
 we were coming. Somebody ought to be here." 
 
 "But they're not," said Jessie Carr indignantly ; "and 
 the few that were here scampered off like rabbits to 
 their burrows as soon as they saw us get down." 
 
 It was true. The little gro*up of loungers before the 
 building had suddenly disappeared. There was the flash 
 of a red shirt vanishing in an adjacent doorway; the 
 fading apparition of a pair of high boots and blue over 
 alls in another; the abrupt withdrawal of a curly blond 
 head from a sashless window over the way. Even the 
 saloon was deserted, although a back door in the dim 
 recess seemed to creak mysteriously. The stage-coach, 
 with the other passengers, had already rattled away. 
 
 "I certainly think Fairfax understood that I " began 
 Mr. Carr. 
 
 He was interrupted by the pressure of Christie's fin 
 gers on his arm and a subdued exclamation from Jessie, 
 who was staring down the street. 
 
 "What are they?" she whispered in her sister's ear. 
 "Nigger minstrels, a circus, or what?" 
 
 The five millionaires of Devil's Ford had just turned 
 the corner of the straggling street, and were approach 
 ing in single file. One glance was sufficient to show 
 that they had already availed themselves of the new 
 clothing bought by Fairfax, had washed, and one or two 
 had shaved. But the result was startling. 
 
 Through some fortunate coincidence in size, Dick Mat- 
 tingly was the only one who had achieved an entire 
 new suit. But it was of funereal black cloth, and al 
 though relieved at one extremity by a pair of high rid-
 
 90 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 ing boots, in which his too short trousers were tucked, 
 and at the other by a tall white hat, and cravat of ag 
 gressive yellow, the effect was depressing. In agreeable 
 contrast, his brother, Maryland Joe, was attired in a 
 thin fawn-colored summer overcoat, lightly worn open, 
 so as to show the unstarched bosom of a white em 
 broidered shirt, and a pair of nankeen trousers and 
 pumps. 
 
 The Kearney brothers had divided a suit between them, 
 the elder wearing a tightly-fitting, single-breasted blue 
 frock-coat and a pair of pink striped cotton trousers, 
 while the younger candidly displayed the trousers of his 
 brother's suit, as a harmonious change to a shining black 
 alpaca coat and crimson neckerchief. Fairfax, who 
 brought up the rear, had, with characteristic unselfish 
 ness, contented himself with a French workman's blue 
 blouse and a pair of white duck trousers. Had they 
 shown the least consciousness of their finery, or of its 
 absurdity, they would have seemed despicable. But only 
 one expression beamed on the five sunburnt and shining 
 faces a look of unaffected boyish gratification and un 
 restricted welcome. 
 
 They halted before Mr. Carr and his daughters, 
 simultaneously removed their various and remarkable 
 head coverings, and waited until Fairfax advanced and 
 severally presented them. Jessie Carr's half-frightened 
 smile took refuge in the trembling shadows of her dark 
 lashes; Christie Carr stiffened slightly, and looked 
 straight before her. 
 
 "We reckoned that is we intended to meet you and 
 the young ladies at the grade," said Fairfax, reddening 
 a little as he endeavored to conceal his too ready slang, 
 "and save you from trapesing from dragging yourselves 
 up grade again to your house." 
 
 "Then there is a house ?" said Jessie, with an alarming 
 frank laugh of relief, that was, however, as frankly 
 reflected in the boyishly appreciative eyes of the young 
 men. 
 
 "Such as it is," responded Fairfax, with a shade of 
 anxiety, as he glanced at the fresh and pretty costumes
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 91 
 
 a small one by Thursday. You couldn't do anything on 
 Saratoga trunks resting hopelessly on the veranda. "I'm 
 afraid it isn't much, for what you're accustomed to. 
 But," he added more cheerfully, "it will do for a day 
 or two, and perhaps you'll give us the pleasure of show 
 ing you the way there now." 
 
 The procession was quickly formed. Mr. Carr, alive 
 only to the actual business that had brought him there, 
 at once took possession of Fairfax, and began to dis 
 close his plans for the working of the mine, occasion 
 ally halting to look at the work already done in the 
 ditches, and to examine the field of his future operations. 
 Fairfax, not displeased at being thus relieved of a lighter 
 attendance on Mr. Carr's daughters, nevertheless from 
 time to time cast a paternal glance backwards upon their 
 escorts, who had each seized a handle of the two trunks, 
 and were carrying them in couples at the young ladies' 
 side. The occupation did not offer much freedom for 
 easy gallantry, but no sign of discomfiture or uneasiness 
 was visible in the grateful faces of the young men. The 
 necessity of changing hands at times with their burdens 
 brought a corresponding change of cavalier at the lady's 
 side, although it was observed that the younger Kearney, 
 for the sake of continuing a conversation with Miss 
 Jessie, kept his grasp of the handle nearest the young 
 lady until his hand was nearly cut through, and his arm 
 worn out by exhaustion. 
 
 "The only thing on wheels in the camp is a mule 
 wagon, and the mules are packin' gravel from the river 
 this afternoon," explained Dick Mattingly apologetically 
 to Christie, "or we'd have toted I mean carried you 
 and your baggage up to the shant the your house. 
 Give us two weeks more, Miss Carr only two weeks 
 to wash up our work and realize and we'll give you a 
 pair of 2.40 steppers and a skeleton buggy to meet you 
 at the top of the hill and drive you over to the cabin. 
 Perhaps you'd prefer a regular carriage ; some ladies 
 do. And a nigger driver. But what's the use of plan 
 ning anything? Afore that time comes we'll have run 
 you up a house on the hill, and you shall pick out the
 
 92 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 spot. It wouldn't take long unless you preferred brick. 
 I suppose we could get brick over from La Grange, if 
 you cared for it, but it would take longer. If you could 
 put up for a time with something of stained glass and a 
 mahogany veranda " 
 
 In spite of her cold indignation, and the fact that she 
 could understand only a part of Mattingly's speech, 
 Christie comprehended enough to make her lift her clear 
 eyes to the speaker, as she replied freezingly that she 
 feared she would not trouble them long with her com 
 pany. 
 
 "Oh, you'll get over that," responded Mattingly, with 
 an exasperating confidence that drove her nearly frantic, 
 from the manifest kindliness of intent that made it im 
 possible for her to resent it. "I felt that way myself at 
 first. Things will look strange and unsociable for a 
 while, until you get the hang of them. You'll naturally 
 stamp round and cuss a little " He stopped in conscious 
 consternation. 
 
 With ready tact, and before Christie could reply, Mary 
 land Joe had put down the trunk and changed hands 
 with his brother. 
 
 "You musn't mind Dick, or he'll go off and kill him 
 self with shame," he whispered laughingly in her ear. 
 "He means all right, but he's picked up so much slang 
 here that he's about forgotten how to talk English, 
 and it's nigh on to four years since he's met a young 
 lady." 
 
 Christie did not reply. Yet the laughter of her sister 
 in advance with the Kearney brothers seemed to make 
 the reserve with which she tried to crush further famil 
 iarity only ridiculous. 
 
 "Do you know many operas, Miss Carr?" 
 
 She looked at the boyish, interested, sunburnt face 
 so near to her own, and hesitated. After all, why 
 should she add to her other real disappointments by 
 taking this absurd creature seriously? 
 
 "In what way?" she returned, with a half smile. 
 
 "To play. On the piano, of course. There isn't one 
 nearer here than Sacramento ; but I reckon we could get
 
 DEVIL'S FOKD 93 
 
 a small one by Thursday. You couldn't do anything on 
 a banjo?" he added doubtfully; "Kearney's got one." 
 
 "I imagine it would be very difficult to carry a piano 
 over those mountains," said Christie laughingly, to avoid 
 the collateral of the banjo. 
 
 "We got a billiard-table over from Stockton," half 
 bashfully interrupted Dick Mattingly, struggling from 
 his end of the trunk to recover his composure, "and it 
 had to be brought over in sections on the back of a mule, 
 so I don't see why " He stopped short again in confu 
 sion, at a sign from his brother, and then added, "I 
 mean, of course, that a piano is a heap more delicate, 
 and valuable, and all that sort of thing, but it's worth 
 trying for." 
 
 "Fairfax was always saying he'd get one for himself, 
 so I reckon it's possible," said Joe. 
 
 "Does he play?" asked Christie. 
 
 "You bet," said Joe, quite forgetting himself in his 
 enthusiasm. "He can snatch Mozart and Beethoven 
 bald-headed." 
 
 In the embarrassing silence that followed this speech 
 the fringe of pine wood nearest the flat was reached. 
 Here there was a rude "clearing," and beneath an enor 
 mous pine stood the two recently joined tenements. 
 There was no attempt to conceal the point of junction 
 between Kearney's cabin and the newly-transported sa 
 loon from the flat no architectural illusion of the pal 
 pable collusion of the two buildings, which seemed to 
 be telescoped into each other. The front room or living 
 room occupied the whole of Kearney's cabin. It con 
 tained, in addition to the necessary articles for house 
 keeping, a "bunk" or berth for Mr. Carr, so as to leave 
 the second building entirely to the occupation of his 
 daughters as bedroom and boudoir. 
 
 There was a half-humorous, half-apologetic exhibition 
 of the rude utensils of the living room, and then the 
 young men turned away as the two girls entered the open 
 door of the second room. Neither Christie nor Jessie 
 could for a moment understand the delicacy which kept 
 these young men from accompanying them into the room
 
 94 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 they had but a few moments before decorated and ar 
 ranged with their own hands, and it was not until they 
 turned to thank their strange entertainers that they 
 found that they were gone. 
 
 The arrangement of the second room was rude and 
 bizarre, but not without a singular originality and even 
 tastefulness of conception. What had been the counter 
 or "bar" of the saloon, gorgeous in white and gold, now 
 sawn in two and divided, was set up on opposite sides 
 of the room as separate dressing-tables, decorated with 
 huge bunches of azaleas, that hid the rough earthenware 
 bowls, and gave each table the appearance of a vestal 
 altar. 
 
 The huge gilt plate-glass mirror which had hung be 
 hind the bar still occupied one side of the room, but its 
 length was artfully divided by an enormous rosette of 
 red, white, and blue muslin one of the surviving Fourth 
 of July decorations of Thompson's saloon. On either 
 side of the door two pathetic-looking, convent-like cots, 
 covered with spotless sheeting, and heaped up in the 
 middle, like a snow-covered grave, had attracted their 
 attention. They were still staring at them when Mr. 
 Carr anticipated their curiosity. 
 
 "I ought to tell you that the young men confided to me 
 the fact that there was neither bed nor mattress to be 
 had on the Ford. They have filled some flour sacks with 
 clean dry moss from the woods, and put half a dozen 
 blankets on the top, and they hope you can get along 
 until the messenger who starts to-night for La Grange 
 can bring some bedding over." 
 
 Jessie flew with mischievous delight to satisfy herself 
 of the truth of this marvel. "It's so, Christie," she said 
 laughingly "three flour-sacks apiece; but I'm jealous: 
 yours are all marked 'superfine,' and mine 'middlings.'" 
 
 Mr. Carr had remained uneasily watching Christie's 
 shadowed face. 
 
 "What matters?" she said drily. "The accommoda 
 tion is all in keeping." 
 
 "It will be better in a day or two," he continued, 
 casting a longing look towards the door the first refuge
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 95 
 
 of masculine weakness in an impending domestic emer 
 gency. "I'll go and see what can be done," he said 
 feebly, with a sidelong impulse towards the opening and 
 freedom. "I've got to see Fairfax again to-night any 
 way." 
 
 "One moment, father," said Christie, wearily. "Did 
 you know anything of this place and these these people 
 before you came?" 
 
 "Certainly of course I did," he returned, with the 
 sudden testiness of disturbed abstraction. "What are 
 you thinking of? I knew the geological strata and the 
 the report of Fairfax and his partners before I consented 
 to take charge of the works. And I can tell you that 
 there is a fortune here. I intend to make my own terms, 
 and share in it." 
 
 "And not take a salary or some sum of money down?" 
 said Christie, slowly removing her bonnet in the same 
 resigned way. 
 
 "I am not a hired man, or a workman, Christie," said 
 her father sharply. "You ought not to oblige me to re 
 mind you of that." 
 
 "But the hired men the superintendent and his work 
 men were the only ones who ever got anything out of 
 your last experience with Colonel Waters at La Grange, 
 and and we at least lived among civilized people 
 there." 
 
 "These young men are not common people, Christie; 
 even if they have forgotten the restraints of speech and 
 manners, they're gentlemen." 
 
 "Who are willing to live like like negroes." 
 
 "You can make them what you please." 
 
 Christie raised her eyes. There was a certain cynical 
 ring in her father's voice that was unlike his usual hesi 
 tating abstraction. It both puzzled and pained her. 
 
 "I mean," he said hastily, "that you have the same op 
 portunity to direct the lives of these young men into 
 more regular, disciplined channels that I have to regulate 
 and correct their foolish waste of industry and material 
 here. It would at least beguile the time for you." 
 
 Fortunately for Mr. Carr's escape and Christie's un-
 
 96 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 easiness, Jessie, who had been examining the details of 
 the living-room, broke in upon this conversation. 
 
 "I'm sure it will be as good as a perpetual picnic. 
 George Kearney says we can have a cooking-stove under 
 the tree outside at the back, and as there will be no rain 
 for three months we can do the cooking there, and that 
 will give us more room for for the piano when it 
 comes; and there's an old squaw to do the cleaning and 
 washing-up any day and and it will be real fun." 
 
 She stopped breathlessly, with glowing cheeks and 
 sparkling eyes a charming picture of youth and trust 
 fulness. Mr. Carr had seized the opportunity to escape. 
 
 "Really, now, Christie," said Jessie confidentially, 
 when they were alone, and Christie had begun to un 
 pack her trunk, and to mechanically put her things away, 
 "they're not so bad." 
 
 "Who?" asked Christie. 
 
 "Why, the Kearneys, and Mattinglys, and Fairfax, 
 and the lot, provided you don't look at their clothes. 
 And think of it ! they told me for they tell one every 
 thing in the most alarming way that those clothes were 
 bought to please us. A scramble of things bought at 
 La Grange, without reference to size or style. And to 
 hear these creatures talk, why, you'd think they were 
 Astors or Rothschilds. Think of that little one with the 
 curls I don't believe he is over seventeen, for all his 
 baby moustache says he's going to build an assembly 
 hall for us to give a dance in next month; and apolo 
 gizes the next breath to tell us that there isn't any milk 
 to be had nearer than La Grange, and we must do with 
 out it, and use syrup in our tea to-morrow." 
 
 "And where is all this wealth?" said Christie, forcing 
 herself to smile at her sister's animation. 
 
 "Under our very feet, my child, and all along the 
 river. Why, what we thought was pure and simple mud 
 is what they call 'gold-bearing cement.' " 
 
 "I suppose that is why they don't brush their boots 
 and trousers, it's so precious," returned Christie drily. 
 "And have they ever translated this precious dirt into 
 actual coin?"
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 97 
 
 "Bless you, yes. Why, that dirty little gutter, you 
 know, that ran along the side of the road and followed 
 us down the hill all the way here, that cost them let 
 me see yes, nearly sixty thousand dollars. And fancy ! 
 papa's just condemned it says it won't do; and they've 
 got to build another." 
 
 An impatient sigh from Christie drew Jessie's atten 
 tion to her troubled eyebrows. 
 
 "Don't worry about our disappointment, dear. It isn't 
 so very great. I dare say we'll be able to get along here 
 in some way, until papa is rich again. You know they 
 intend to make him share with them." 
 
 "It strikes me that he is sharing with them already," 
 said Christie, glancing bitterly round the cabin; "sharing 
 everything ourselves, our lives, our tastes." 
 
 "Ye-e-s I" said Jessie, with vaguely hesitating assent. 
 "Yes, even these:" she showed two dice in the palm of 
 her little hand. "I found 'em in the drawer of our 
 dressing-table." 
 
 "Throw them away," said Christie impatiently. 
 
 But Jessie's small fingers closed over the dice. I'll 
 give them to the little Kearney. I dare say they were 
 the poor boy's playthings." 
 
 The appearance of these relics of wild dissipation, 
 however, had lifted Christie out of her sublime resigna 
 tion. "For Heaven's sake, Jessie," she said, "look around 
 and see if there is anything more !" 
 
 To make sure, they each began to scrimmage; the 
 broken-spirited Christie exhibiting both alacrity and pene 
 tration in searching obscure corners. In the dining-room, 
 behind the dresser, three or four books were discovered : 
 an odd volume of Thackeray, another of Dickens, a 
 memorandum-book or diary. "This seems to be Latin," 
 said Jessie, fishing out a smaller book. "I can't 
 read it." 
 
 "It's just as well you shouldn't," said Christie shortly, 
 whose ideas of a general classical impropriety had been 
 gathered from pages of Lempriere's dictionary. "Put 
 it back directly." 
 
 Jessie returned certain odes of one Horatius Flaccus 
 4 VOL. 2
 
 98 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 to the corner, and uttered an exclamation. "Oh, 
 Christie ! here are some letters tied up with a ribbon." 
 
 They were two or three prettily written letters, exhal 
 ing a faint odor of refinement and of the pressed flowers 
 that peeped from between the loose leaves. "I see, 'My 
 darling Fairfax.' It's from some woman." 
 
 "I don't think much of her, whosoever she is," said 
 Christie, tossing the intact packet back into the corner. 
 
 "Nor I," echoed Jessie. 
 
 Nevertheless, by some feminine inconsistency, evidently 
 the circumstance did make them think more of him, for 
 a minute later, when they had reentered their own room, 
 Christie remarked, "The idea of petting a man by his 
 family name ! Think of mamma ever having called papa 
 'darling Carr' !" 
 
 "Oh, but his family name isn't Fairfax," said Jessie 
 hastily; "that's his first name, his Christian name. I 
 forget what's his other name, but nobody ever calls him 
 by it." 
 
 "Do you mean," said Christie, with glistening eyes 
 and awful deliberation "do you mean to say that we're 
 expected to fall in with this insufferable familiarity? I 
 suppose they'll be calling us by our Christian names 
 next." 
 
 "Oh, but they do !" said Jessie, mischievously. 
 
 "What !" 
 
 "They call me Miss Jessie; and Kearney, the little 
 one, asked me if Christie played." 
 
 "And what did you say?*' 
 
 "I said that you did," answered Jessie, with an affec 
 tation of cherubic simplicity. "You do, dear; don't 
 you? . . . There, don't get angry, darling; I couldn't 
 flare up all of a sudden in the face of that poor little 
 creature; he looked so absurd and so so honest." 
 
 Christie turned away, relapsing into her old resigned 
 manner, and assuming her household duties in a quiet, 
 temporizing way that was, however, without hope or 
 expectation. 
 
 Mr. Carr, who had dined with his friends under the 
 excuse of not adding to the awkwardness of the first
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 99 
 
 day's housekeeping returned late at night with a mass 
 of papers and drawings, into which he afterwards with 
 drew, but not until he had delivered himself of a myste 
 rious package entrusted to him by the young men for 
 his daughters. It contained a contribution to their board 
 in the shape of a silver spoon and battered silver mug, 
 which Jessie chose to facetiously consider as an affect 
 ing reminiscence of the youthful Kearney's christening 
 days which it probably was. 
 
 The young girls retired early to their white snow 
 drifts : Jessie not without some hilarious struggles with 
 hers, in which she was, however, quickly surprised by 
 the deep and refreshing sleep of youth; Christie to lie 
 awake and listen to the night wind, that had changed 
 from the first cool whispers of sunset to the sturdy 
 breath of the mountain. At times the frail house shook 
 and trembled. Wandering gusts laden with the deep 
 resinous odors of the wood found their way through 
 the imperfect jointure of the two cabins, swept her 
 cheek and even stirred her long, wide-open lashes. A 
 broken spray of pine needles rustled along the roof, 
 or a pine cone dropped with a quick reverberating tap- 
 tap that for an instant startled her. Lying thus, wide 
 awake, she fell into a dreamy reminiscence of the past, 
 hearing snatches of old melody in the moving pines, frag 
 ments of sentences, old words, and familiar epithets in the 
 murmuring wind at her ear, and even the faint breath of 
 long-forgotten kisses on her cheek. She remembered 
 her mother a pallid creature, who had slowly faded 
 out of one of her father's vague speculations in a vaguer 
 speculation of her own, beyond his ken whose place 
 she had promised to take at her father's side. The 
 words, "Watch over him, Christie ; he needs a woman's 
 care," again echoed in her ears, as if borne on the night 
 wind from the lonely grave in the lonelier cemetery by 
 the distant sea. She had devoted herself to him with 
 some little sacrifices of self, only remembered now for 
 their uselessness in saving her father the disappointment 
 that sprang from his sanguine and one-idea'd tempera 
 ment. She thought of him lying asleep in the other
 
 100 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 room, ready on the morrow to devote those fateful quali 
 ties to the new enterprise that with equally fateful dispo 
 sition she believed would end in failure. It did not 
 occur to her that the doubts of her own practical nature 
 were almost as dangerous and illogical as his enthusiasm, 
 and that for that reason she was fast losing what little 
 influence she possessed over him. With the example of 
 her mother's weakness before her eyes, she had become 
 an unsparing and distrustful critic, with the sole effect 
 of awakening his distrust and withdrawing his confidence 
 from her. 
 
 He was beginning to deceive her as he had never 
 deceived her mother. Even Jessie knew more of this last 
 enterprise than she did herself. 
 
 All that did not tend to decrease her utter restlessness. 
 It was already past midnight when she noticed that the 
 wind had again abated. The mountain breeze had by 
 this time possessed the stifling valleys and heated bars 
 of the river in its strong, cold embraces; the equilibrium 
 of Nature was restored, and a shadowy mist rose from 
 the hollow. A stillness, more oppressive and intolerable 
 than the previous commotion, began to pervade the house 
 and the surrounding woods. She could hear the regular 
 breathing of the sleepers ; she even fancied she could 
 detect the faint impulses of the more distant life in the 
 settlement. The far-off barking of a dog, a lost shout, 
 the indistinct murmur of some nearer watercourse mere 
 phantoms of sound made the silence more irritating. 
 With a sudden resolution she arose, dressed herself 
 quietly and completely, threw a heavy cloak over her 
 head and shoulders, and opened the door between the 
 living-room and her own. Her father was sleeping 
 soundly in his bunk in the corner. She passed noise 
 lessly through the room, opened the lightly fastened 
 door, and stepped out into the night. 
 
 In the irritation and disgust of her walk hither, she 
 had never noticed the situation of the cabin, as it 
 nestled on the slope at the fringe of the woods; in the 
 preoccupation of her disappointment and the mechani 
 cal putting away of her things, she had never looked
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 101 
 
 once from the window of her room, or glanced backward 
 out of the door that she had entered. The view before 
 her was a revelation a reproach, a surprise that took 
 away her breath. Over her shoulders the newly risen 
 moon poured a flood of silvery light, stretching from her 
 feet across the shining bars of the river to the opposite 
 bank, and on up to the very crest of the Devil's Spur 
 no longer a huge bulk of crushing shadow, but the 
 steady exaltation of plateau, spur, and terrace clothed 
 with replete and unutterable beauty. In this magical 
 light that beauty seemed to be sustained and carried 
 along by the river winding at its base, lifted again to 
 the broad shoulder of the mountain, and lost only in 
 the distant vista of death-like, overcrowning snow. Be 
 hind and above where she stood the towering woods 
 seemed to be waiting with opened ranks to absorb her 
 with the little cabin she had quitted, dwarfed into insig 
 nificance in the vast prospect ; but nowhere was there an 
 other sign or indication of human life and habitation. 
 She looked in vain for the settlement, for the rugged 
 ditches, the scattered cabins, and the unsightly heaps of 
 gravel. In the glamour of the moonlight they had van 
 ished; a veil of silver-gray vapor touched here and there 
 with ebony shadows masked its site. A black strip be 
 yond was the river bank. All else was changed. With 
 a sudden sense of awe and loneliness she turned to the 
 cabin and its sleeping inmates all that seemed left to 
 her in the vast and stupendous domination of rock and 
 wood and sky. 
 
 But in another moment the loneliness passed. A new 
 and delicious sense of an infinite hospitality and friendli 
 ness in their silent presence began to possess her. This 
 same slighted, forgotten, uncomprehended, but still fool 
 ish and forgiving Nature seemed to be bending over her 
 frightened and listening ear with vague but thrilling 
 murmurings of freedom and independence. She felt her 
 heart expand with its wholesome breath, her soul fill 
 with its sustaining truth. 
 
 She felt 
 
 What was that?
 
 102 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 An unmistakable outburst of a drunken song at the 
 foot of the slope : 
 
 " Oh, my name it is Johnny from Pike, 
 I'm h 11 on a spree or a strike "... 
 
 She stopped as crimson with shame and indignation 
 as if the viewless singer had risen before her. 
 
 " I knew when to bet, and get up and get " 
 
 "Hush ! D n it all. Don't you hear ?" 
 
 There was the sound of hurried whispers, a "No" and 
 "Yes," and then a dead silence. 
 
 Christie crept nearer to the edge of the slope in the 
 shadow of a buckeye. In the clearer view she could 
 distinguish a staggering figure in the trail below who 
 had evidently been stopped by two other expostulating 
 shadows that were approaching from the shelter of a 
 tree. 
 
 "Sho ! didn't know !" 
 
 The staggering figure endeavored to straighten itself, 
 and then slouched away in the direction of the settle 
 ment. The two mysterious shadows retreated again to 
 the tree, and were lost in its deeper shadow. Christie 
 darted back to the cabin, and softly reentered her room. 
 
 "I thought I heard a noise that woke me, and I missed 
 you," said Jessie, rubbing her eyes. "Did you see any 
 thing?" 
 
 "No," said Christie, beginning to undress. 
 
 "You weren't frightened, dear?" 
 
 "Not in the least," said Christie, with a strange little 
 laugh. "Go to sleep." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE five impulsive millionaires of Devil's Ford ful 
 filled not a few of their most extravagant promises. In 
 less than six weeks Mr. Carr and his daughters were in 
 stalled in a new house, built near the site of the double 
 cabin, which was again transferred to the settlement, in
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 103 
 
 order to give greater seclusion to the fair guests. It was 
 a long, roomy, one-storied villa, with a not unpicturesque 
 combination of deep veranda and trellis work, which re 
 lieved the flat monotony of the interior and the barrenness 
 of the freshly-cleared ground. An upright piano, brought 
 from Sacramento, occupied the corner of the parlor. A 
 suite of gorgeous furniture, whose pronounced and ex 
 travagant glories the young girls instinctively hid under 
 home-made linen covers, had also been spoils from afar. 
 Elsewhere the house was filled with ornaments and deco 
 rations that in their incongruity forcibly recalled the 
 gilded plate-glass mirrors of the bedroom in the old 
 cabin. In the hasty furnishing of this Aladdin's palace, 
 the slaves of the ring had evidently seized upon anything 
 that would add to its glory, without reference always to 
 fitness. 
 
 "I wish it didn't look so cussedly like a robber's cave," 
 said George Kearney, when they were taking a quiet pre 
 liminary survey of the unclassified treasures, before the 
 Carrs took possession. 
 
 "Or a gambling hell," said his brother reflectively. 
 
 "It's about the same thing, I reckon," said Dick Mat- 
 tingly, who was supposed, in his fiery youth, to have 
 encountered the similarity. 
 
 Nevertheless, the two girls managed to bestow the 
 heterogeneous collection with tasteful adaptation to their 
 needs. A crystal chandelier, which had once lent a fasci 
 nating illusion to the game of Monte, hung unlighted in 
 the broad hall, where a few other bizarre and public ar 
 ticles were relegated. A long red sofa or bench, which 
 had done duty beside a billiard-table found a place here 
 also. Indeed, it is to be feared that some of the more 
 rustic and bashful youths of Devil's Ford, who had felt 
 it incumbent upon them to pay their respects to the 
 new-comers, were more at ease in this vestibule than in 
 the arcana beyond, whose glories they could see through 
 the open door. To others, it represented a recognized 
 state of probation before their re-entree into civilization 
 again. "I reckon, if you don't mind, miss," said the 
 spokesman of one party, "ez this is our first call, we'll
 
 104 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 sorter hang out in the hall yer, until you'r used to us." 
 On another occasion, one Whiskey Dick, impelled by a 
 sense of duty, paid a visit to the new house and its fair 
 occupants, in a fashion frankly recounted by him after 
 wards at the bar of the Tecumseh Saloon. 
 
 "You see, boys, I dropped in there the other night, 
 when some of you fellers was doin' the high-toned 
 'thankee, marm' business in the parlor. I just came to 
 anchor in the corner of the sofy in the hall, without 
 lettin' on to say that I was there, and took up a Webster's 
 dictionary that was on the table and laid it open keerless 
 like, on my knees, ez if I was sorter consultin' it and 
 kinder dozed off there, listenin' to you fellows gassin' 
 with the young ladies, and that yer Miss Christie just 
 snakin' music outer that pianner, and I reckon I fell 
 asleep. Anyhow, I was there nigh on to two hours. 
 It's mighty soothin', them fashionable calls ; sorter knocks 
 the old camp dust outer a fellow, and sets him up again." 
 
 It would have been well if the new life of the Devil's 
 Ford had shown no other irregularity than the harmless 
 eccentricities of its original locaters. But the news of 
 its sudden fortune, magnified by report, began presently 
 to flood the settlement with another class of adventurers. 
 A tide of waifs, strays, and malcontents of old camps 
 along the river began to set towards Devil's Ford, in very 
 much the same fashion as the debris, drift, and alluvium 
 had been carried down in bygone days and cast upon its 
 banks. A few immigrant wagons, diverted from the 
 highways of travel by the fame of the new diggings, 
 halted upon the slopes of Devil's Spur and on the arid 
 flats of the Ford, and disgorged their sallow freight of 
 alkali-poisoned, prematurely-aged women and children 
 and maimed and fever-stricken men. Against this rude 
 form of domesticity were opposed the chromo-tinted 
 dresses and extravagant complexions of a few single un 
 attended women happily seen more often at night be 
 hind gilded bars than in the garish light of day and an 
 equal number of pale-faced, dark-moustached, well- 
 dressed, and suspiciously idle men. A dozen rivals of 
 Thompson's Saloon had sprung up along the narrow
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 105 
 
 main street. There were two new hotels one a "Tem 
 perance House," whose ascetic quality was confined only 
 to the abnegation of whiskey a rival stage office, and a 
 small one-storied building, from which the "Sierran Ban 
 ner" fluttered weekly, for "ten dollars a year, in advance." 
 Insufferable in the glare of a Sabbath sun, bleak, windy,, 
 and flaring in the gloom of a Sabbath night, and hope 
 lessly depressing on all days of the week, the First Presby 
 terian Church lifted its blunt steeple from the barrenest 
 area of the flats, and was hideous ! The civic improve 
 ments so enthusiastically contemplated by the five million 
 aires in the earlier pages of this veracious chronicle 
 the fountain, reservoir, town-hall, and free library had 
 not yet been erected. Their sites had been anticipated by 
 more urgent buildings and mining works, unfortunately 
 not considered in the sanguine dreams of the enthusiasts, 
 and, more significant still, their cost and expense had 
 been also anticipated by the enormous outlay of their 
 earnings in the work upon Devil's Ditch. 
 
 Nevertheless, the liberal fulfilment of their promise 
 in the new house in the suburbs blinded the young girls' 
 eyes to their shortcomings in the town. Their own re 
 moteness and elevation above its feverish life kept them 
 from the knowledge of much that was strange, and per 
 haps disturbing to their equanimity. As they did not 
 mix with the immigrant women Miss Jessie's good- 
 natured intrusion into one of their half-nomadic camps 
 one day having been met with rudeness and suspicion 
 they gradually fell into the way of trusting the responsi 
 bility of new acquaintances to the hands of their original 
 hosts, and of consulting them in the matter of local 
 recreation. It thus occurred that one day the two girls, 
 on their way to the main street for an hour's shopping at 
 the Villa de Paris and Variety Store, were stopped by 
 Dick Mattingly a few yards from their house, with the 
 remark that, as the county election was then in progress, 
 it would be advisable for them to defer their intention 
 for a few hours. As he did not deem it necessary to 
 add that two citizens, in the exercise of a freeman's 
 franchise, had been supplementing their ballots with bul-
 
 106 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 lets, in front of an admiring crowd, they knew nothing 
 of that accident that removed from Devil's Ford an enter 
 taining stranger, who had only the night before partaken 
 of their hospitality. 
 
 A week or two later, returning one morning from a 
 stroll in the forest, Christie and Jessie were waylaid by 
 George Kearney and Fairfax, and, under pretext of being 
 shown a new and romantic trail, were diverted from the 
 regular path. This enabled Mattingly and Maryland Joe 
 to cut down the body of a man hanged by the Vigilance 
 Committee a few hours before on the regular trail, and 
 to remonstrate with the committee on the incompatibility 
 of such exhibitions with a maidenly worship of nature. 
 
 "With the whole county to hang a man in," expostu 
 lated Joe, "you might keep clear of Carr's woods." 
 
 It is needless to add that the young girls never knew 
 of this act of violence, or the delicacy that kept them in 
 ignorance of it. Mr. Carr was too absorbed in business 
 to give heed to what he looked upon as a convulsion of 
 society as natural as a geological upheaval, and too pru 
 dent to provoke the criticism of his daughters by comment 
 in their presence. 
 
 An equally unexpected confidence, however, took its 
 place. Mr. Carr having finished his coffee one morning, 
 lingered a moment' over his perfunctory paternal em 
 braces, with the awkwardness of a preoccupied man en 
 deavoring by the assumption of a lighter interest to veil 
 another abstraction. 
 
 "And what are we doing to-day, Christie?" he asked, 
 as Jessie left the dining-room. 
 
 "Oh, pretty much the usual thing nothing in par 
 ticular. . If George Kearney gets the horses from the 
 summit, we're going to ride over to Indian Spring to 
 picnic. Fairfax Mr. Munroe I always forget that 
 man's real name in this dreadfully familiar country 
 well, he's coming to escort us, and take me, I suppose 
 that is, if Kearney takes Jessie." 
 
 "A very nice arrangement," returned her father, with 
 a slight nervous contraction of the corners of his mouth 
 and eyelids to indicate mischievousness. "I've no doubt
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 107 
 
 they'll both be here. You know they usually are ha! 
 ha! And what about the two Mattinglys and Philip 
 Kearney, eh?" he continued; "won't they be jealous?" 
 
 "It isn't their turn," said Christie carelessly; "besides, 
 they'll probably be there." 
 
 "And I suppose they're beginning to be resigned," said 
 Carr, smiling. 
 
 "What on earth are you talking of, father?" 
 
 She turned her clear brown eyes upon him, and was 
 regarding him with such manifest unconsciousness of 
 the drift of his speech, and, withal, a little vague im 
 patience of his archness, that Mr. Carr was feebly 
 alarmed. It had the effect of banishing his assumed play 
 fulness, which made his serious explanation the more 
 irritating. 
 
 "Well, I rather thought that that young Kearney was 
 paying considerable attention to to to Jessie," replied 
 her father, with hesitating gravity. 
 
 "What! that boy?" 
 
 "Young Kearney is one of the original locators, and 
 an equal partner in the mine. A very enterprising young 
 fellow. In fact, much more advanced and bolder in his 
 conceptions than the others. I find no difficulty with 
 him." 
 
 At another time Christie would have questioned the 
 convincing quality of this proof, but she was too much 
 shocked at her father's first suggestion, to think of any 
 thing else. 
 
 "You don't mean to say, father, that you are talking 
 seriously of these men your friends whom we see every 
 day and our only company?" 
 
 "No, no!" said Mr. Carr hastily; "you misunderstand. 
 I don't suppose that Jessie or you " 
 
 "Or me! Am / included?" 
 
 "You don't let me speak, Christie. I mean, I am not 
 talking seriously," continued Mr. Carr, with his most 
 serious aspect, "of you and Jessie in this matter; but it 
 may be a serious thing to these young men to be thrown 
 continually in the company of two attractive girls." 
 
 "I understand you mean that we should not see so
 
 108 DEVIL'S FORD. 
 
 much of them," said Christie, with a frank expression of 
 relief so genuine as to utterly discompose her father. 
 "Perhaps you are right, though I fail to discover any 
 thing serious in the attentions of young Kearney to Jessie 
 or whoever it may be to me. But it will be very 
 easy to remedy it, and see less of them. Indeed, we 
 might begin to-day with some excuse." 
 
 "Yes certainly. Of course!" said Mr. Carr, fully 
 convinced of his utter failure, but, like most weak crea 
 tures, consoling himself with the reflection that he had 
 not shown his hand or committed himself. "Yes ; but it 
 would perhaps be just as well for the present to let 
 things go on as they were. We'll talk of it again I'm 
 in a hurry now," and, edging himself through the door, 
 he slipped away. 
 
 "What do you think is father's last idea ?" said Christie, 
 with, I fear, a slight lack of reverence in her tone, as 
 her sister reentered the room. "He thinks George Kear 
 ney is paying you too much attention." 
 
 "No !" said Jessie, replying to her sister's half-inter 
 rogative, half-amused glance with a frank, unconscious 
 smile. 
 
 "Yes, and he says that Fairfax I think it's Fairfax 
 is equally fascinated with me." 
 
 Jessie's brow slightly contracted as she looked curiously 
 at her sister. 
 
 "Of all things," she said, "I wonder if any one has put 
 that idea into his dear old head. He couldn't have 
 thought it himself." 
 
 "I don't know," said Christie musingly; "but perhaps 
 it's just as well if we kept a little more to ourselves for 
 a while." 
 
 "Did father say so?" said Jessie quickly. 
 
 "No, but that is evidently what he meant." 
 
 "Ye-es," said Jessie slowly, "unless " 
 
 "Unless what?" said Christie sharply. "Jessie, you 
 don't for a moment mean to say that you could possibly 
 conceive of anything else?" 
 
 "I mean to say," said Jessie, stealing her arm around 
 her sister's waist demurely, "that you are perfectly right.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 109 
 
 We'll keep away from these fascinating Devil's Forders, 
 and particularly the youngest Kearney. I believe there 
 has been some ill-natured gossip. I remember that the 
 other day, when we passed the shanty of that Pike 
 County family on the slope, there were three women at 
 the door, and one of them said something that made poor 
 little Kearney turn white and pink alternately, and dance 
 with suppressed rage. I suppose the old lady M'Corkle, 
 that's her name would like to have a share of our 
 cavaliers for her Euphemy and Mamie. I dare say it's 
 only right; I would lend them the cherub occasionally, 
 and you might let them have Mr. Munroe twice a week." 
 
 She laughed, but her eyes sought her sister's with a 
 certain watchfulness of expression. 
 
 Christie shrugged her shoulders, with a suggestion of 
 disgust. 
 
 "Don't joke. We ought to have thought of all this 
 before." 
 
 "But when we first knew them, in the dear old cabin, 
 there wasn't any other woman and nobody to gossip, and 
 that's what made it so nice. I don't think so very much 
 of civilization, do you?" said the young lady pertly. 
 
 Christie did not reply. Perhaps she was thinking the 
 same thing. It certainly had been very pleasant to enjoy 
 the spontaneous and chivalrous homage of these men, 
 with no further suggestion of recompense or responsi 
 bility than the permission to be worshipped; but beyond 
 that she racked her brain in vain to recall any look or 
 act that proclaimed the lover. These men, whom she had 
 found so relapsed into barbarism that they had forgotten 
 the most ordinary forms of civilization; these men, even 
 in whose extravagant admiration there was a certain loss 
 of self-respect, that as a woman she would never forgive ; 
 these men, who seemed to belong to another race im 
 possible ! Yet it was so. 
 
 "What construction must they have put upon her 
 father's acceptance of their presents of their company 
 of her freedom in their presence ? No ! they must have 
 understood from the beginning that she and her sister 
 had never looked upon them except as transient hosts and
 
 110 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 chance acquaintances. Any other idea was preposterous. 
 And yet " 
 
 It was the recurrence of this "yet" that alarmed her. 
 For she remembered now that but for their slavish de 
 votion they might claim to be her equal. According to 
 her father's account, they had come from homes as good 
 as their own; they were certainly more than her equal 
 in fortune ; and her father had come to them as an em 
 ploye, until they had taken him into partnership. If there 
 had only been sentiment of any kind connected with any 
 of them ! But they were all alike, brave, unselfish, hu 
 morous and often ridiculous. If anything, Dick Mat- 
 tingly was funniest by nature, and made her laugh more. 
 Maryland Joe, his brother, told better stories (sometimes 
 of Dick), though not so good a mimic as the other 
 Kearney, who had a fairly sympathetic voice in singing. 
 They were all good-looking enough ; perhaps they set 
 store on that men are so vain. 
 
 And as for her own rejected suitor, Fairfax Munroe, 
 except for a kind of grave and proper motherliness about 
 his protecting manner, he absolutely was the most in 
 distinctive of them all. He had once brought her some 
 rare tea from the Chinese camp, and had taught her how 
 to make it ; he had cautioned her against sitting under the 
 trees at nightfall; he had once taken off his coat to wrap 
 around her. Really, if this were the only evidence of 
 devotion that could be shown, she was safe ! 
 
 "Well," said Jessie, "it amuses you, I see." 
 
 Christie checked the smile that had been dimpling the 
 cheek nearest Jessie, and turned upon her the face of an 
 elder sister. 
 
 "Tell me, have you noticed this extraordinary atten 
 tion of Mr. Munroe to me?" 
 
 "Candidly?" asked Jessie, seating herself comfortably 
 on the table sideways, and endeavoring to pull her skirt 
 over her little feet. "Honest Injun?" 
 
 "Don't be idiotic, and, above all, don't be slangy ! Of 
 course, candidly." 
 
 "Well, no. I can't say that I have." 
 
 "Then," said Christie, "why in the name of all that's
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 111 
 
 preposterous, do they persist in pairing me off with the 
 least interesting man of the lot?" 
 
 Jessie leaped from the table. 
 
 "Come now," she said, with a little nervous laugh, "he's 
 not so bad as all that. You don't know him. But what 
 does it matter now, as long as we're not going to see 
 them any more?" 
 
 "They're coming here for the ride to-day," said Christie 
 resignedly. "Father thought it better not to break it off 
 at once." 
 
 "Father thought so !" echoed Jessie, stopping with her 
 hand on the door. 
 
 "Yes; why do you ask?" 
 
 But Jessie had already left the room, and was singing 
 in the hall. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE afternoon did not, however, bring their expected 
 visitors. It brought, instead, a brief note by the hands 
 of Whiskey Dick from Fairfax, apologizing for some 
 business that kept him and George Kearney from ac 
 companying the ladies. It added that the horses were 
 at the disposal of themselves and any escort they might 
 select, if they would kindly give the message to Whiskey 
 Dick. 
 
 The two girls looked at each other awkwardly; Jessie 
 did not attempt to conceal a slight pout. 
 
 "It looks as if they were anticipating us," she said, 
 with a half-forced smile. "I wonder, now, if there 
 really has been any gossip ? But no ! They wouldn't have 
 stopped for that, unless " She looked curiously at her 
 sister. 
 
 "Unless what?" repeated Christie; "you are horribly 
 mysterious this morning." 
 
 "Am I ? It's nothing. But they're wanting an answer. 
 Of course you'll decline." 
 
 "And intimate we only care for their company ! No ! 
 We'll say we're sorry they can't come, and accept their 
 horses. We can do without an escort, we two."
 
 112 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 "Capital !" said Jessie, clapping her hands. "We'll 
 show them " 
 
 "We'll show them nothing," interrupted Christie de 
 cidedly. "In our place there's only the one thing to do. 
 Where is this Whiskey Dick?" 
 
 "In the parlor." 
 
 "The parlor!" echoed Christie. "Whiskey Dick? 
 What is he" 
 
 "Yes; he's all right," said Jessie confidently. "He's 
 been here before, but he stayed in the hall; he was so 
 shy. I don't think you saw him." 
 
 "I should think not Whiskey Dick !" 
 
 "Oh, you can call him Mr. Hall, if you like," said 
 Jessie, laughing. "His real name is Dick Hall. If you 
 want to be funny, you can say Alky Hall, as the others 
 do." 
 
 Christie's only reply to this levity was a look of supe 
 rior resignation as she crossed the hall and entered the 
 parlor. 
 
 Then ensued one of those surprising, mystifying, and 
 utterly inexplicable changes that leave the masculine 
 being so helpless in the hands of his feminine master. 
 Before Christie opened the door her face underwent a 
 rapid transformation : the gentle glow of a refined 
 woman's welcome suddenly beamed in her interested 
 eyes; the impulsive courtesy of an expectant hostess 
 eagerly seizing a long-looked-for opportunity broke in 
 a smile upon her lips as she swept across the room, and 
 stopped with her two white outstretched hands before 
 Whiskey Dick. 
 
 It needed only the extravagant contrast presented by 
 that gentleman to complete the tableau. Attired in a 
 suit of shining black alpaca, the visitor had evidently 
 prepared himself with some care for a possible inter 
 view. He was seated by the French window opening 
 upon the veranda, as if to secure a retreat in case of 
 an emergency. Scrupulously washed and shaven, some 
 of the soap appeared to have lingered in his eyes and 
 inflamed the lids, even while it lent a sleek and shining 
 lustre, not unlike his coat, to his smooth black hair.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 113 
 
 Nevertheless, leaning back in his chair, he had allowed 
 a large white handkerchief to depend gracefully from his 
 fingers a pose at once suggesting easy and elegant 
 langour. 
 
 "How kind of you to give me an opportunity to make 
 up for my misfortune when you last called ! I was so 
 sorry to have missed you. But it was entirely my fault ! 
 You were hurried, I think you conversed with others 
 in the hall you " 
 
 She stopped to assist him to pick up the handkerchief 
 that had fallen, and the Panama hat that had rolled from 
 his lap towards the window when he had started sud 
 denly to his feet at the apparition of grace and beauty. 
 As he still nervously retained the two hands he had 
 grasped, this would have been a difficult feat, even had 
 he not endeavored at the same moment, by a backward 
 furtive kick, to propel the hat out of the window, at 
 which she laughingly broke from his grasp and flew 
 to the rescue. 
 
 "Don't mind it, miss," he said hurriedly. "It is not 
 worth your demeaning yourself to touch it. Leave it 
 outside thar, miss. I wouldn't have toted it in, anyhow, 
 if some of those high-falutin' fellows hadn't allowed, the 
 other night, ez it were the reg'lar thing to do; as if, 
 miss, any gentleman kalkilated to ever put on his hat 
 in the house afore a lady !" 
 
 But Christie had already possessed herself of the un 
 lucky object, and had placed it upon the table. This 
 compelled Whiskey Dick to rise again, and as an act 
 of careless good breeding to drop his handkerchief in 
 it. He then leaned one elbow upon the piano, and, 
 crossing one foot over the other, remained standing in 
 an attitude he remembered to have seen in the pages 
 of an illustrated paper as portraying the hero in some 
 drawing-room scene. It was easy and effective, but 
 seemed to be more favorable to revery than conversa 
 tion. Indeed, he remembered that he had forgotten to 
 consult the letterpress as to which it represented. 
 
 "I see you agree with me, that politeness is quite a 
 matter of intention," said Christie, "and not of mere
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 fashion and rules. Now, for instance," she continued, 
 with a dazzling smile, "I suppose, according to the 
 rules, I ought to give you a note to Mr. Munroe, accept 
 ing his offer. That is all that is required; but it seems 
 so much nicer, don't you think, to tell it to you for him, 
 and have the pleasure of your company and a little 
 chat at the same time." 
 
 "That's it, that's just it, Miss Carr; you've hit it in 
 the centre this time," said Whiskey Dick, now quite con 
 vinced that his attitude was not intended for eloquence, 
 and shifting back to his own seat, hat and all; "that's 
 tantamount to what I said to the boys just now. 'You 
 want an excuse/ sez I, 'for not goin' out with the young 
 ladies. So, accorden' to rules, you writes a letter allowin' 
 buzziness and that sorter thing detains you. But wot's the 
 facts ? You're a gentleman, and as gentlemen you and 
 George comes to the opinion that you're rather playin' 
 it for all it's worth in this yer house, you know comin' 
 here night and day, off and on, reg'lar sociable and fam'ly 
 like, and makin' people talk about things they ain't any 
 call to talk about, and, what's a darned sight more, 
 you fellows ain't got any right yet to allow 'em to talk 
 about, d'ye see ?" He paused, out of breath. 
 
 It was Miss Christie's turn to move about. In chang 
 ing her seat to the piano-stool, so as to be nearer her 
 visitor, she brushed down some loose music, which 
 Whiskey Dick hastened to pick up. 
 
 "Pray don't mind it," she said, "pray don't, really let 
 it be " But Whiskey Dick, feeling himself on safe 
 ground in this attention, persisted to the bitter end of a 
 disintegrated and well-worn "Travatore." "So that is 
 what Mr. Munroe said," she remarked quietly. 
 
 "Not just then, in course, but it's what's bin on his 
 mind and in his talk for days off and on," returned Dick, 
 with a knowing smile and a nod of mysterious confidence. 
 "Bless your soul, Miss Carr, folks like you and me don't 
 need to have them things explained. That's what I said 
 to him, sez I. 'Don't send no note, but just go up there 
 and hev it out fair and square, and say what you do 
 mean.' But they would hev the note, and I kalkilated
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 115 
 
 to bring it. But when I set my eyes on you, and heard 
 you express yourself as you did just now, I sez to my 
 self, sez I, 'Dick, yer's a young lady, and a fash'nable 
 lady at that, ez don't go foolin' round on rules and 
 etiketts' excuse my freedom, Miss Carr 'and you and 
 her, sez I, 'kin just discuss this yer matter in a sociable, 
 off-hand, fash'nable way.' They're a good lot o' boys, 
 Miss Carr, a square lot white men all of 'em ; but 
 they're a little soft and green, may be, from livin' in 
 these yer pine woods along o' the other sap. They just 
 worship the ground you and your sister tread on cer 
 tain ! of course ! of course !" he added hurriedly, recog 
 nizing Christie's half-conscious, deprecating gesture with 
 more exaggerated deprecation. "I understand. But 
 what I wanter say is that they'd be willin' to be that 
 ground, and lie down and let you walk over them so 
 to speak, Miss Carr, so to speak if it would keep the 
 hem of your gown from gettin' soiled in the mud o' the 
 camp. But it wouldn't do for them to make a reg'lar 
 curderoy road o' themselves for the houl camp to trapse 
 over, on the mere chance of your some time passin' that 
 way, would it now ?" 
 
 "Won't you let me offer you some refreshment, Mr. 
 Hall?" said Christie, rising, with a slight color. "I'm 
 really ashamed of my forgetfulness again, but I'm afraid 
 it's partly your fault for entertaining me to the exclu 
 sion of yourself. No, thank you, let me fetch it for 
 you." 
 
 She turned to a handsome sideboard near the door, 
 and presently faced him again with a decanter of whiskey 
 and a glass in her hand, and a return of the bewitching 
 smile she had worn on entering. 
 
 "But perhaps you don't take whiskey?" suggested the 
 arch deceiver, with a sudden affected but pretty per 
 plexity of eye, brow, and lips. 
 
 For the first time in his life Whiskey Dick hesitated 
 between two forms of intoxication. But he was still 
 nervous and uneasy; habit triumphed, and he took the 
 whiskey. He, however, wiped his lips with a slight wave 
 of his handkerchief, to support a certain easy elegance
 
 116 DEVIL'S FOED 
 
 which he firmly believed relieved the act of any vulgar 
 quality. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," he continued, after an exhilarated pause. 
 "Ez I said afore, this yer's a matter you and me can dis 
 cuss after the fashion o' society. My idea is that these 
 yer boys should kinder let up on you and Miss Jessie 
 for a while, and do a little more permiskus attention 
 round the Ford. There's one or two families yer with 
 grown-up gals ez oughter be squared ; that is the boys 
 mighter put in a few fancy touches among them kinder 
 take 'em buggy riding or to church once in a while 
 just to take the pizen outer their tongues, and make 
 a kind o' bluff to the parents, d'ye see? That would 
 sorter divert their own minds; and even if it didn't, it 
 would kinder get 'em accustomed agin to the old style 
 and their own kind. I want to warn ye agin an idea 
 that might occur to you in a giniral way. I don't say 
 you hev the idea, but it's kind o' nat'ral you might be 
 thinkin' of it some time, and I thought I'd warn you 
 agin it." 
 
 "I think we understand each other too well to differ 
 much, Mr. Hall," said Christie, still smiling; "but what 
 is the idea?" 
 
 The delicate compliment to their confidential relations 
 and the slight stimulus of liquor had tremulously exalted 
 Whiskey Dick. Affecting to look cautiously out of the 
 window and around the room, he ventured to draw nearer 
 the young woman with a half-paternal, half-timid famil 
 iarity. 
 
 "It might have occurred to you," he said, laying his 
 handkerchief as if to veil mere vulgar contact, on 
 Christie's shoulder, "that it would be a good thing on 
 your side to invite down some of your high-toned gen 
 tlemen friends from 'Frisco to visit you and escort you 
 round. It seems quite nat'ral like, and I don't say it 
 ain't, but the boys wouldn't stand for it." 
 
 In spite of her self-possession, Christie's eyes suddenly 
 darkened, and she involuntarily drew herself up. But 
 Whiskey Dick, guiltily attributing the movement to his 
 own indiscreet gesture, said, "Excuse me, miss," recov-
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 117 
 
 ered himself by lightly dusting her shoulder with his 
 handkerchief, as if to remove the impression, and her 
 smile returned. 
 
 "They wouldn't stand for it," said Dick, "and there'd 
 be some shooting! Not afore you, miss not afore you, 
 in course ! But theyid adjourn to the woods some morn 
 ing with them city folks, and hev it out with rifles at a 
 hundred yards. Or, seein' ez they're city folks, the boys 
 would do the square thing with pistols at twelve paces. 
 They're good boys, as I said afore ; but they're quick and 
 tetchy George, being the youngest, nat'rally is the 
 tetchiest. You know how it is, Miss Carr; his pretty, 
 gal-like face and little moustaches haz cost him half 
 a dozen scrimmages already. He'z had a fight for every 
 hair that's growed in his moustache since he kem here." 
 
 "Say no more, Mr. Hall !" said Christie, rising and 
 pressing her hands lightly on Dick's tremulous fingers. 
 "If I ever had any such idea, I should abandon it now; 
 you are quite right in this as in your other opinions. I 
 shall never cease to be thankful to Mr. Munroe and Mr. 
 Kearney that they intrusted this delicate matter to your 
 hands." 
 
 "Well," said the gratified and reddening visitor, "it 
 ain't perhaps the square thing to them or myself to say 
 that they reckoned to have me discuss their delicate af 
 fairs for them, but " 
 
 "I understand," interrupted Christie. "They simply 
 gave you the letter as a friend. It was my good fortune 
 to find you a sympathizing and liberal man of the world." 
 The delighted Dick, with conscious vanity beaming from 
 every feature of his shining face, lightly waved the com 
 pliment aside with his handkerchief, as she continued, 
 "But I am forgetting the message. We accept the 
 horses. Of course we could do without an escort ; but 
 forgive my speaking so frankly, are you engaged this 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 "Excuse me, miss, I don't take " stammered Dick, 
 scarcely believing his ears. 
 
 "Could you give us your company as an escort?" re' 
 peated Christie with a smile.
 
 118 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 Was he awake or dreaming, or was this some trick 
 of liquor in his often distorted fancy? He, Whiskey 
 Dick ! the butt of his friends, the chartered oracle of the 
 barrooms, even in whose wretched vanity there was al 
 ways the haunting suspicion that he was despised and 
 scorned; he, who had dared so much in speech, and 
 achieved so little in fact ! he, whose habitual weakness 
 had even led him into the wildest indiscretion here ; he, 
 now offered a reward for that indiscretion ! He, Whis 
 key Dick, the solicited escort of these two beautifu> 
 and peerless girls! What would they say at the FordV 
 What would his friends think? It would be all over the 
 Ford the next day. His past would be vindicated, his 
 future secured. He grew erect at the thought. It was 
 almost in other voice, and with no trace of his pre 
 vious exaggeration, that he said, "With pleasure." 
 
 "Then, if you will bring the horses at once, we shall 
 be ready when you return." 
 
 In another instant he had vanished, as if afraid to 
 trust the reality of his good fortune to the dangers of 
 delay. At the end of half an hour he reappeared, leading 
 the two horses, himself mounted on a half-broken mus 
 tang. A pair of large, jingling silver spurs and a stiff 
 sombrero, borrowed with the mustang from some myste 
 rious source, were donned to do honor to the occasion. 
 
 The young girls were not yet ready, but he was shown 
 by the Chinese servant into the parlor to wait for them. 
 The decanter of whiskey and glasses were still invitingly 
 there. He was hot, trembling, and flushed with triumph. 
 He walked to the table and laid his hand on the decanter, 
 when an odd thought flashed upon him. He would not 
 drink this time. No, it should not be said that he, the 
 selected escort of the elite of Devil's Ford, had to fill 
 himself up with whiskey before they started. The boys 
 might turn to each other in their astonishment, as he 
 proudly passed with his fair companions, and say, "It's 
 
 Whiskey Dick," but he'd be d -d if they should add, 
 
 "and full as ever." No, sir ! Nor when he was riding 
 beside these real ladies, and leaning over them at some 
 confidential moment, should they even know it from his
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 119 
 
 breath ! No. . . . Yet a thimbleful, taken straight, only 
 a thimbleful, wouldn't be much, and might help to pull 
 him together. He again reached his trembling hand for 
 the decanter, hesitated, and then, turning his back upon 
 it, resolutely walked to the open window. Almost 
 at the same instant he found himself face to face with 
 Christie on the veranda. 
 
 She looked into his bloodshot eyes, and cast a swift 
 glance at the decanter. 
 
 "Won't you take something before you go?" she said 
 sweetly. 
 
 "I reckon not, jest now," stammered Whiskey Dick, 
 with a heroic effort. 
 
 "You're right," said Christie. "I see you are like 
 me. It's too hot for anything fiery. Come with me." 
 
 She led him into the dining-room, and pouring out a 
 glass of iced tea handed it to him. Poor Dick was not 
 prepared for this terrible culmination. Whiskey Dick and 
 iced tea ! But under pretence of seeing if it was properly 
 flavored, Christie raised it to her own lips. 
 
 "Try it, to please me." 
 
 He drained the goblet. 
 
 "Now, then," said Christie gayly, "let's find Jessie, 
 and be off !" 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WHATEVER might have been his other deficiencies as an 
 escort, Whiskey Dick was a good horseman, and, in spite 
 of his fractious brute, exhibited such skill and confidence 
 as to at once satisfy the young girls of his value to them 
 in the management of their own horses, to whom side 
 saddles were still an alarming novelty. Jessie, who had 
 probably already learned from her sister the purport of 
 Dick's confidences, had received him with equal cordiality 
 and perhaps a more unqualified amusement; and now, 
 when fairly lifted into the saddle by his tremulous but 
 respectful hands, made a very charming picture of youth 
 ful and rosy satisfaction. And when Christie, more fasci 
 nating than ever in her riding-habit, took her place on the
 
 120 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 other side of Dick, as they sallied from the gate, that 
 gentleman felt his cup of happiness complete. His tri 
 umphal entree into the world of civilization and fashion 
 was secure. He did not regret the untasted liquor; here 
 was an experience in after years to lean his back against 
 comfortably in bar-rooms, to entrance or defy mankind. 
 He had even got so far as to formulate in fancy the 
 sentence: "I remember, gentlemen, that one afternoon, 
 being on a pasear with two fash'nable young ladies," etc., 
 etc. 
 
 At present, however, he was obliged to confine himself 
 to the functions of an elegant guide and cicerone when 
 not engaged in "having it out" with his horse. Their way 
 lay along the slope, crossing the high-road at right angles, 
 to reach the deeper woods beyond. Dick would have 
 lingered on the highway ostensibly to point out to his 
 companions the new flume that had taken the place of the 
 condemned ditch, but really in the hope of exposing him 
 self in his glory to the curious eyes of the wayfaring 
 world. 
 
 Unhappily the road was deserted in the still powerful 
 sunlight, and he was obliged to seek the cover of the 
 woods, with a passing compliment to the parent of his 
 charges. Waving his hands towards the flume, he said, 
 "Look at that work of your father's ; there ain't no other 
 man in Californy but Philip Carr ez would hev the grit 
 to hold up such a bluff agin natur and agin luck ez that 
 yer flume stands for. I don't say it 'cause you're his 
 daughters, ladies ! That ain't the style, ez you know, in 
 sassiety, Miss Carr," he added, turning to Christie as the 
 more socially experienced. "No ! but there ain't another 
 man to be found ez could do it. It cost already two hun 
 dred thousand; it'll cost five hundred thousand afore it's 
 done ; and every cent of it is got out of the yearth be 
 neath it, or hez got to be out of it. 'Tain't ev'ry man, 
 Miss Carr, ez hev got the pluck to pledge not only what 
 he's got, but what he reckons to git." 
 
 "But suppose he don't get it?" said Christie, slightly 
 contracting her brows. 
 
 "Then there's the flume to show for it," said Dick.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 121 
 
 "But of what use is the flume, if there isn't any more 
 gold?" continued Christie, almost angrily. 
 
 "That's good from you, miss," said Dick, giving way to 
 a fit of hilarity. "That's good for a fash'nable young lady 
 own daughter of Philip Carr. She sez, says she," con 
 tinued Dick, appealing to the sedate pines for apprecia 
 tion of Christie's rare humor, " 'Wot's the use of a flume, 
 when gold ain't there ?' I must tell that to the boys." 
 
 "And what's the use of the gold in the ground when the 
 flume isn't there to work it out ?" said Jessie to her sister, 
 with a cautioning glance towards Dick. 
 
 But Dick did not notice the look that passed between 
 the sisters. The richer humor of Jessie's retort had 
 thrown him into convulsions of laughter. 
 
 "And now she says, wot's the use o' the gold without 
 the flume? 'Xcuse me, ladies, but that's just puttin' the 
 hull question that's agitatin' this yer camp inter two 
 speeches as clear as crystal. There's the hull crowd out 
 side and some on 'em inside, like Fairfax, hez their 
 doubts ez says with Miss Christie; and there's all of us 
 inside, ez holds Miss Jessie's views." 
 
 "I never heard Mr. Munroe say that the flume was 
 wrong," said Jessie quickly. 
 
 "Not to you, nat'rally," said Dick, with a confidential 
 look at Christie ; "but I reckon he'd like some of the 
 money it cost laid out for suthin' else. But what's the 
 odds ? The gold is there, and we're bound to get it." 
 
 Dick was the foreman of a gang of paid workmen, who 
 had replaced the millionaires in mere manual labor, and 
 the we was a polite figure of speech. 
 
 The conversation seemed to have taken an unfortunate 
 turn, and both the girls experienced a feeling of relief 
 when they entered the long gulch or defile that led to 
 Indian Spring. The track now becoming narrow, they 
 were obliged to pass in single file along the precipitous 
 hillside, led by this escort. This effectually precluded any 
 further speech, and Christie at once surrendered herself 
 to the calm, obliterating influences of the forest. The set 
 tlement and its gossip were far behind and forgotten. In 
 the absorption of nature, her companions passed out of
 
 122 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 her mind, even as they sometimes passed out of her sight 
 in the windings of the shadowy trail. As she rode alone, 
 the fronds of breast-high ferns seemed to caress her with 
 outstretched and gently-detaining hands ; strange wild- 
 flowers sprang up through the parting underbrush; even 
 the granite rocks that at times pressed closely upon the 
 trail appeared as if cushioned to her contact with star- 
 rayed mosses, or lightly flung after her long lassoes of 
 delicate vines. She recalled the absolute freedom of their 
 al-fresco life in the old double cabin, when she spent the 
 greater part of her waking hours under the mute trees in 
 the encompassing solitude, and, half regretting the more 
 civilized restraints of this newer and more ambitious 
 abode, forgot that she had ever rebelled against it. The 
 social complication that threatened her now seemed to 
 her rather the outcome of her half-civilized parlor than 
 of the sylvan glade. How easy it would have been to 
 have kept the cabin, and then to have gone away en 
 tirely, than for her father to have allowed them to be 
 compromised with the growing fortunes of the settle 
 ment ! The suspicions and distrust that she had always 
 felt of their fortunes seemed to grow with the involun 
 tary admission of Whiskey Dick that they were shared by 
 others who were practical men. She was fain to have 
 recourse to the prospect again to banish these thoughts, 
 and this opened her eyes to the fact that her companions 
 had been missing from the trail ahead of her for some 
 time. She quickened her pace slightly to reach a pro 
 jecting point of rock that gave her a more extended 
 prospect. But they had evidently disappeared. 
 
 She was neither alarmed nor annoyed. She could 
 easily overtake them soon, for they would miss her, and 
 return or wait for her at the spring. At the worst she 
 would have no difficulty in retracing her steps home. In 
 her present mood, she could readily spare their company; 
 indeed she was not sorry that no other being should 
 interrupt that sympathy with the free woods which was 
 beginning to possess her. 
 
 She was destined, however, to be disappointed. She 
 had not proceeded a hundred yards before she noticed
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 123 
 
 the moving figure of a man beyond her in the hillside 
 chaparral above the trail. He seemed to be going in the 
 same direction as herself, and, as she fancied, endeavor 
 ing to avoid her. This excited her curiosity to the point 
 of urging her horse forward until the trail broadened 
 into the level forest again, which she now remembered 
 was a part of the environs of Indian Spring. The 
 stranger hesitated, pausing once or twice with his back 
 towards her, as if engaged in carefully examining the 
 dwarf willows to select a switch. Christie slightly 
 checked her speed as she drew nearer ; when, as if obedi 
 ent to a sudden resolution, he turned and advanced 
 towards her. She was relieved and yet surprised to 
 recognize the boyish face and figure of George Kearney. 
 He was quite pale and agitated, although attempting, by 
 a jaunty swinging of the switch he had just cut, to as 
 sume the appearance of ease and confidence. 
 
 Here was an opportunity. Christie resolved to profit 
 by it. She did not doubt that the young fellow had al 
 ready passed her sister on the trail, but, from bashful- 
 ness, had not dared to approach her. By inviting his 
 confidence, she would doubtless draw something from 
 him that would deny or corroborate her father's opinion 
 of his sentiments. If he was really in love with Jessie, 
 she would learn what reasons he had for expecting a 
 serious culmination of his suit, and perhaps she might 
 be able delicately to open his eyes to the' truth. If, as 
 she believed, it was only a boyish fancy, she would laugh 
 him out of it with that camaraderie which had always 
 existed between them. A half motherly sympathy, albeit 
 born quite as much from a contemplation of his beauti 
 ful yearning eyes as from his interesting position, light 
 ened the smile with which she greeted him. 
 
 "So you contrived to throw over your stupid business 
 and join us, after all," she said; "or was it that you 
 changed your mind at the last moment?" she added mis 
 chievously. "I thought only we women were permitted 
 that !" Indeed, she could not help noticing that there 
 was really a strong feminine suggestion in the shifting 
 color and slightly conscious eyelids of the young fellow.
 
 124 DEVIL'S FOKD 
 
 "Do young girls always change their minds?" asked 
 George, with an embarrassed smile. 
 
 "Not, always ; but sometimes they don't know their 
 own mind particularly if they are very young; and 
 when they do at last, you clever creatures of men, who 
 have interpreted their ignorance to please yourselves, 
 abuse them for being fickle." She stopped to observe 
 the effect of what she believed a rather clear and sig 
 nificant exposition of Jessie's and George's possible situa 
 tion. But she was not prepared for the look of blank 
 resignation that seemed to drive the color from his face 
 and moisten the fire of his dark eyes. 
 
 "I reckon you're right," he said, looking down. 
 
 "Oh ! we're not accusing you of fickleness," said 
 Christie gayly ; "although you didn't come, and we were 
 obliged to ask Mr. Hall to join us. I suppose you found 
 him and Jessie just now?" 
 
 But George made no reply. The color was slowly 
 coming back to his face, which, as she glanced covertly 
 at him, seemed to have grown so much older that his 
 returning blood might have brought two or three years 
 with it. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Kearney," she said dryly, "one would 
 think that some silly, conceited girl" she was quite 
 earnest in her epithets, for a sudden, angry conviction 
 of some coquetry and disingenuousness in Jessie had 
 come to her in contemplating its effects upon the young 
 fellow at her side "some country jilt, had been trying 
 her rustic hand upon you." 
 
 "She is not silly, conceited, nor countrified," said 
 George, slowly raising his beautiful eyes to the young 
 girl half reproachfully. "It is I who am all that. No, 
 she is right, and you know it." 
 
 Much as Ch'ristie admired and valued her sister's 
 charms, she thought this was really going too far. What 
 had Jessie ever done what was Jessie to provoke and 
 remain insensible to such a blind devotion as this? And 
 really, looking at him now, he was not so very young 
 for Jessie; whether his unfortunate passion had brought 
 out all his latent manliness, or whether he had hitherto
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 125 
 
 kept his serious nature in the background, certainly he 
 was not a boy. And certainly his was not a passion that 
 he could be laughed out of. It was getting very tire 
 some. She wished she had not met him at least until 
 she had had some clearer understanding with her sister. 
 He was still walking beside her, with his hand on her 
 bridle rein, partly to lead her horse over some boulders 
 in the trail, and partly to conceal his first embarrassment. 
 When they had fairly reached the woods, he stopped. 
 
 "I am going to say good-by, Miss Carr." 
 
 "Are you not coming further? We must be near 
 Indian Spring, now; Mr. Hall and and Jessie cannot 
 be far away. You will keep me company until we meet 
 them ?" 
 
 "No," he replied quietly. "I only stopped you to say 
 good-by. I am going away." 
 
 "Not from Devil's Ford?" she asked, in half-incredu 
 lous astonishment. "At least, not for long?" 
 
 "I am not coming back," he replied. 
 
 "But this is very abrupt," she said hurriedly, feeling 
 that in some ridiculous way she had precipitated an 
 equally ridiculous catastrophe. "Surely you are not go 
 ing away in this fashion, without saying good-by to 
 Jessie and and father?" 
 
 "I shall see your father, of course and you will give 
 my regards to Miss Jessie." 
 
 He evidently was in earnest. Was there ever any 
 thing so perfectly preposterous? She became indig 
 nant. 
 
 "Of course," she said coldly, "I won't detain you; your 
 business must be urgent, and I forgot at least I had 
 forgotten until to-day that you have other duties more 
 important than that of squire of dames. I am afraid this 
 forgetfulness made me think you would not part from us 
 in quite such a business fashion. I presume, if you had 
 not met me just now, we should none of us have seen 
 you again?" 
 
 He did not reply. 
 
 "Will you say good-by, Miss Carr?" 
 
 He held out his hand.
 
 126 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 "One moment, Mr. Kearney. If I have said any 
 thing which you think justifies this very abrupt leave- 
 taking, I beg you will forgive and forget it or, at least, 
 let it have no more weight with you than the idle words 
 of any woman. I only spoke generally. You know I 
 I might be mistaken." 
 
 His eyes, which had dilated when she began to speak, 
 darkened ; his color, which had quickly come, as quickly 
 sank when she had ended. 
 
 "Don't say that, Miss Carr. It is not like you, and 
 it is useless. You know what I meant a moment ago. I 
 read it in your reply. You meant that I, like others, had 
 deceived myself. Did you not?" 
 
 She could not meet those honest eyes with less than 
 equal honesty. She knew that Jessie did not love him 
 would not marry him whatever coquetry she might have 
 shown. 
 
 "I did not mean to offend you," she said hesitatingly; 
 "I only half suspected it when I spoke." 
 
 "And you wish to spare me the avowal?" he said 
 bitterly. 
 
 "To me, perhaps, yes, by anticipating it. I could not 
 tell what ideas you might have gathered from some in 
 discreet frankness of Jessie or my father," she added, 
 with almost equal bitterness. 
 
 "I have never spoken to either," he replied quickly. 
 He stopped, and added, after a moment's mortifying 
 reflection, "I've been brought up in the woods, Miss 
 Carr, and I suppose I have followed my feelings, instead 
 of the etiquette of society." 
 
 Christie was too relieved at the rehabilitation of 
 Jessie's truthfulness to notice the full significance of his 
 speech. 
 
 "Good-by," he said again, holding out his hand. 
 
 "Good-by !" 
 
 She extended her own, ungloved, with a frank smile. 
 He held it for a moment, with his eyes fixed upon hers. 
 Then suddenly, as if obeying an uncontrollable impulse, 
 he crushed it like a flower again and again against his 
 burning lips, and darted away.
 
 DEVIL'S FOED 127 
 
 Christie sank back in her saddle with a little cry, half 
 of pain and half of frightened surprise. Had the poor 
 boy suddenly gone mad, or was this vicarious farewell 
 a part of the courtship of Devil's Ford? She looked at 
 her little hand, which had reddened under the pressure, 
 and suddenly felt the flush extending to her cheeks and 
 the roots of her hair. This was intolerable. 
 
 "Christie !" 
 
 It was her sister emerging from the wood to seek her. 
 In another moment she was at her side. 
 
 "We thought you were following," said Jessie. "Good 
 heavens ! how you look ! What has happened ?" 
 
 "Nothing. I met Mr. Kearney a moment ago on the 
 trail. He is going away, and and " She stopped, 
 furious and flushing. 
 
 "And," said Jessie, with a burst of merriment, "he told 
 you at last he loved you. Oh, Christie !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE abrupt departure of George Kearney from Devil's 
 Ford excited but little interest in the community, and was 
 soon forgotten. It was generally attributed to differ 
 ences between himself and his partners on the question 
 of further outlay of their earnings on mining improve 
 ments he and Philip Carr alone representing a san 
 guine minority whose faith in the future of the mine 
 accepted any risks. It was alleged by some that he had 
 sold out to his brother ; it was believed by others that he 
 had simply gone to Sacramento to borrow money on his 
 share, in order to continue the improvements on his own 
 responsibility. The partners themselves were uncom 
 municative ; even Whiskey Dick, who since his remark 
 able social elevation had become less oracular, much to 
 his own astonishment, contributed nothing to the gossip 
 except a suggestion that as the fiery temper of George 
 Kearney brooked no opposition, even from his brother, 
 it was better they should separate before the estrange 
 ment became serious.
 
 128 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 Mr. Carr did not disguise his annoyance at the loss of 
 his young disciple and firm ally. But an unlucky allu 
 sion to his previous remarks on Kearney's attentions to 
 Jessie, and a querulous regret that he had permitted a 
 disruption of their social intimacy, brought such an omi 
 nous and frigid opposition, not only from Christie, but 
 even the frivolous Jessie herself, that Carr sank back in 
 a crushed and terrified silence. "I only meant to say," 
 he stammered after a pause, in which he, however, re 
 sumed his aggrieved manner, "that Fairfax seems to 
 come here still, and he is not such a particular friend 
 of mine." 
 
 "But she is and has your interest entirely at heart," 
 said Jessie, stoutly, "and he only comes here to tell us 
 how things are going on at the works." 
 
 "And criticise your father, I suppose," said Mr. Carr, 
 with an attempt at jocularity that did not, however, dis 
 guise an irritated suspiciousness. "He really seems to 
 have supplanted me as he has poor Kearney in your 
 estimation." 
 
 "Now, father," said Jessie, suddenly seizing him by 
 the shoulders in affected indignation, but really to con 
 ceal a certain embarrassment that sprang quite as much 
 from her sister's quietly observant eye as her father's 
 speech, "you promised to let this ridiculous discussion 
 drop. You will make me and Christie so nervous that 
 we will not dare to open the door to a visitor, until he 
 declares his innocence of any matrimonial intentions. 
 You don't want to give color to the gossip that agree 
 ment with your views about the improvements is neces 
 sary to getting on with us." 
 
 "Who dares talk such rubbish?" said Carr, redden 
 ing; "is that the kind of gossip that Fairfax brings 
 here?" 
 
 "Hardly, when it's known that he don't quite agree 
 with you, and does come here. That's the best denial 
 of the gossip." 
 
 Christie, who had of late loftily ignored these dis 
 cussions, waited until her father had taken his depar 
 ture.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 129 
 
 "Then that is the reason why you still see Mr. Mun- 
 roe, after what you said," she remarked quietly to 
 Jessie. 
 
 Jessie, who would have liked to escape with her father, 
 was obliged to pause on the threshold of the door, with 
 a pretty assumption of blank forgetfulness in her blue 
 eyes and lifted eyebrows. 
 
 "Said what? when?" she asked vacantly. 
 
 "When when Mr. Kearney that day in the woods 
 went away," said Christie, faintly coloring. 
 
 "Oh! that day," said Jessie briskly; "the day he just 
 gloved your hand with kisses, and then fled wildly into 
 the forest to conceal his emotion." . 
 
 "The day he behaved very foolishly," said Christie, 
 with reproachful calmness, that did not, however, pre 
 vent a suspicion of indignant moisture in her eyes 
 "when you explained" 
 
 "That it wasn't meant for me," interrupted Jessie. 
 
 "That it was to you that Mr. Munroe's attentions were 
 directed. And then we agreed that it was better to pre 
 vent any further advances of this kind by avoiding any 
 familiar relations with either of them." 
 
 "Yes," said Jessie, "I remember ; but you're not con 
 founding my seeing Fairfax occasionally now with that 
 sort of thing. He doesn't kiss my hand like anything," 
 she added, as if in abstract reflection. 
 
 "Nor run away, either," suggested the trodden worm, 
 turning. 
 
 There was an ominous silence. 
 
 "Do you know we are nearly out of coffee?" said 
 Jessie choking, but moving towards the door with 
 Spartan-like calmness. 
 
 "Yes. And something must be done this very day 
 about the washing," said Christie, with suppressed emo 
 tion, going towards the opposite entrance. 
 
 Tears stood in each other's eyes with this terrible ex 
 change of domestic confidences. Nevertheless, after a 
 moment's pause, they deliberately turned again, and, 
 facing each other with frightful calmness, left the room 
 by purposeless and deliberate exits other than those they 
 
 5 v. 2
 
 130 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 had contemplated a crushing abnegation of self, that, 
 to some extent, relieved their surcharged feelings. 
 
 Meantime the material prosperity of Devil's Ford in 
 creased, if a prosperity based upon no visible foundation 
 but the confidences and hopes of its inhabitants could be 
 called material. Few, if any, stopped to consider that 
 the improvements, buildings, and business were simply 
 the outlay of capital brought from elsewhere, and as yet 
 the settlement or town, as it was now called, had neither 
 produced nor exported capital of itself equal to half the 
 amount expended. It was true that some land was cul 
 tivated on the further slope, some mills erected and lum 
 ber furnished from the inexhaustible forest; but the 
 consumers were the inhabitants themselves, who paid 
 for their produce in borrowed capital or unlimited credit. 
 It was never discovered that while all roads led to Devil's 
 Ford, Devil's Ford led to nowhere. The difficulties over 
 come in getting things into the settlement were never 
 surmounted for getting things out of it. The lumber 
 was practically valueless for export to other settlements 
 across the mountain roads, which were equally rich in 
 timber. The theory so enthusiastically held by the 
 original locators, that Devil's Ford was a vast sink that 
 had, through ages, exhausted and absorbed the trickling 
 wealth of the adjacent hills and valleys, was suffering 
 an ironical corroboration. 
 
 One morning it was known that work was stopped at 
 the Devil's Ford Ditch temporarily only, it was alleged, 
 and many of the old workmen simply had their labor for 
 the present transferred to excavating the river banks, 
 and the collection of vast heaps of "pay gravel." Speci 
 mens from these mounds, taken from different localities, 
 and at different levels, were sent to San Francisco for 
 more rigid assay and analysis. It was believed that this 
 would establish the fact of the permanent richness of 
 the drifts, and not only justify past expenditure, but a 
 renewed outlay of credit and capital. The suspension 
 of engineering work gave Mr. Carr an opportunity to 
 visit San Francisco on general business of the mine, 
 which could not, however, prevent him from arranging
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 181 
 
 further combinations with capital. His two daughters 
 accompanied him. It offered an admirable opportunity 
 for a shopping expedition, a change of scene, and a 
 peaceful solution of their perplexing and anomalous so 
 cial relations with Devil's Ford. In the first flush of 
 gratitude to their father for this opportune holiday, some 
 thing of harmony had been restored to the family circle 
 that had of late been shaken by discord. 
 
 But their sanguine hopes of enjoyment were not en 
 tirely fulfilled. Both Jessie and Christie were obliged 
 to confess to a certain disappointment in the aspect of 
 the civilization they were now reentering. They at first 
 attributed it to the change in their own habits during 
 the last three months, and their having become bar 
 barous and countrified in their seclusion. Certainly in 
 the matter of dress they were behind the fashions as 
 revealed in Montgomery Street. But when the brief 
 solace afforded them by the modiste and dressmaker was 
 past, there seemed little else to be gained. They missed 
 at first, I fear, the chivalrous and loyal devotion that had 
 only amused them at Devil's Ford, and were the more in 
 clined, I think, to distrust the conscious and more civil 
 ized gallantry of the better dressed and more carefully 
 presented men they met. For it must be admitted that, for 
 obvious reasons, their criticisms were at first confined 
 to the sex they had been most in contact with. They 
 could not help noticing that the men were more eager, 
 annoyingly feverish, and self-asserting in their superior 
 elegance and external show than their old associates 
 were in their frank, unrestrained habits. It seemed to 
 them that the five millionaires of Devil's Ford, in their 
 radical simplicity and thoroughness, were perhaps nearer 
 the type of true gentlemanhood than these citizens who 
 imitated a civilization they were unable yet to reach. 
 
 The women simply frightened them, as being, even 
 more than the men, demonstrative and excessive in their 
 fine looks, their fine dresses, their extravagant demand 
 for excitement. In less than a week they found them 
 selves regretting not the new villa on the slope of 
 Devil's Ford, which even in its own bizarre fashion was
 
 132 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 exceeded by the barbarous ostentation of the villas an3 
 private houses around them but the double cabin under 
 the trees, which now seemed to them almost aristocratic 
 in its grave simplicity and abstention. In the mysterious 
 forests of masts that thronged the city's quays they re 
 called the straight shafts of the pines on Devil's slopes, 
 only to miss the sedate repose and infinite calm that used 
 to environ them. In the feverish, pulsating life of the 
 young metropolis they often stopped oppressed, giddy, 
 and choking; the roar of the streets and thoroughfares 
 was meaningless to them, except to revive strange memo 
 ries of the deep, unvarying monotone of the evening 
 wind over their humbler roof on the Sierran hillside. 
 Civic bred and nurtured as they were, the recurrence of 
 these sensations perplexed and alarmed them. 
 
 "It seems so perfectly ridiculous," said Jessie, "for us 
 to feel as out of place here as that Pike County servant 
 girl in Sacramento who had never seen a steamboat be 
 fore; do you know, I quite had a turn the other day at 
 seeing a man on the Stockton wharf in a red shirt, with 
 a rifle on his shoulder." 
 
 "And you wanted to go and speak to him?" said 
 Christie, with a sad smile. 
 
 "No, that's just it; I felt awfully hurt and injured that 
 he did not come up and speak to me! I wonder if we 
 got any fever or that sort of thing up there; it makes 
 one quite superstitious." 
 
 Christie did not reply; more than once before she had 
 felt that inexplicable misgiving. It had sometimes 
 seemed to her that she had never been quite herself 
 since that memorable night when she had slipped out 
 of their sleeping-cabin, and stood alone in the gracious 
 and commanding presence of the woods and hills. In the 
 solitude of night, with the hum of the great city rising 
 below her at times even in theatres or crowded as 
 semblies of men and women she forgot herself, and 
 again stood in the weird brilliancy of that moonlight 
 night in mute worship at the foot of that slowly-rising 
 mystic altar of piled terraces, hanging forests, and lifted 
 plateaus that climber forever to the lonely skies, Again
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 133 
 
 she felt before her the expanding and opening arms of 
 the protecting woods. Had they really closed upon her 
 in some pantheistic embrace that made her a part of 
 them? Had she been baptized in that moonlight as a 
 child of the great forest? It was easy to believe in the 
 myths of the poets of an idyllic life under those trees, 
 where, free from conventional restrictions, one loved and 
 was loved. If she, with her own worldly experience, 
 could think of this now, why might not George Kearney 
 have thought? . . . She stopped, and found herself 
 blushing even in the darkness. As the thought and 
 blush were the usual sequel of her reflections, it is to be 
 feared that they may have been at times the impelling 
 cause. 
 
 Mr. Carr, however, made up for his daughters' want of 
 sympathy with metropolitan life. To their astonishment, 
 he not only plunged into the fashionable gayeties and 
 amusements of the town, but in dress and manner as 
 sumed the role of a leader of society. The invariable 
 answer to their half-humorous comment was the neces 
 sities of the mine, and the policy of frequenting the com 
 pany of capitalists, to enlist their support and confidence. 
 There was something in this so unlike their father, that 
 what at any other time they would have hailed as a re 
 lief to his habitual abstraction now half alarmed them. 
 Yet he was not dissipated he did not drink nor gamble. 
 There certainly did not seem any harm in his frequenting 
 the society of ladies, with a gallantry that appeared to 
 be forced and a pleasure that to their critical eyes was 
 certainly apocryphal. He did not drag his daughters 
 into the mixed society of that period ; he did not press 
 upon them the company of those he most frequented, 
 and whose accepted position in that little world of 
 fashion was considered equal to their own. When Jessie 
 strongly objected to the pronounced manners of a certain 
 widow, whose actual present wealth and pecuniary in 
 fluence condoned for a more uncertain prehistoric past, 
 Mr. Carr did not urge a further acquaintance. "As long 
 as you're not thinking of marrying again, papa," Jessie 
 had said finally, "I don't see the necessity of our knowing;
 
 134 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 her." "But suppose I were," had replied Mr. Carr. with 
 affected humor. "Then you certainly wouldn't care for 
 any one like her," his daughter had responded trium 
 phantly. Mr. Carr smiled, and dropped the subject, but it 
 is probable that his daughters' want of sympathy with 
 his acquaintances did not in the least interfere with his 
 social prestige. A gentleman in all his relations and 
 under all circumstances, even his cold scientific abstrac 
 tion was provocative; rich men envied his lofty igno 
 rance of the smaller details of money-making, even while 
 they mistrusted his judgment. A man still well pre 
 served, and free from weakening vices, he was a danger 
 ous rival to younger and faster San Francisco, in the 
 eyes of the sex, who knew how to value a repose they 
 did not themselves possess. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Carr announced his intention of proceed 
 ing to Sacramento, on further business of the mine, 
 leaving his two daughters in the family of a wealthy 
 friend until he should return for them. He opposed their 
 ready suggestion to return to Devil's Ford with a new 
 and unnecessary inflexibility : he even met their com 
 promise to accompany him to Sacramento with equal 
 decision. 
 
 "You will be only in my way," he said curtly. "Enjoy 
 yourselves here while you can." 
 
 Thus left to themselves, they tried to accept his ad 
 vice. Possibly some slight reaction to their previous 
 disappointment may have already set in; perhaps they 
 felt any distraction to be a relief to their anxiety about 
 their father. They went out more ; they frequented con 
 certs and parties; they accepted, with their host and 
 his family, an invitation to one of those opulent and 
 barbaric entertainments with which a noted San Fran 
 cisco millionaire distracted his rare moments of reflec 
 tion in his gorgeous palace on the hills. Here they could 
 at least be once more in the country they loved, albeit of 
 a milder and less heroic type, and a little degraded by 
 the overlapping tinsel and scattered spangles of the 
 palace. 
 
 It was a three days' fete; the style and choice of
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 135 
 
 amusements left to the guests, and an equal and active 
 participation by no means necessary or indispensable. 
 Consequently, when Christie and Jessie Carr proposed 
 a ride through the adjacent canon on the second morn 
 ing, they had no difficulty in finding horses in the well- 
 furnished stables of their opulent entertainers, nor 
 cavaliers among the other guests, who were too happy 
 to find favor in the eyes of the two pretty girls who 
 were supposed to be abnormally fastidious and refined. 
 Christie's escort was a good-natured young banker, 
 shrewd enough to avoid demonstrative attentions, and 
 lucky enough to interest her during the ride with his 
 clear and half-humorous reflections on some of the busi 
 ness speculations of the day. If his ideas were occa 
 sionally too clever, and not always consistent with a 
 high sense of honor, she was none the less interested 
 to know the ethics of that world of speculation into 
 which her father had plunged, and the more convinced, 
 with mingled sense of pride and anxiety, that his still 
 dominant gentlemanhood would prevent his coping with 
 it on equal terms. Nor could she help contrasting 
 the conversation of the sharp-witted man at her side 
 with what she still remembered of the vague, touching, 
 boyish enthusiasm of the millionaires of Devil's Ford. 
 Had her escort guessed the result of this contrast, he 
 would hardly have been as gratified as he was with the 
 grave attention of her beautiful eyes. 
 
 The fascination of a gracious day and the leafy soli 
 tude of the canon led them to prolong their ride beyond 
 the proposed limit, and it became necessary towards 
 sunset for them to seek some shorter cut home. 
 
 "There's a vaquero in yonder field," said Christie's 
 escort, who was riding with her a little in advance of the 
 others, "and those fellows know every trail that a horse 
 can follow. I'll ride on, intercept him, and try my Span 
 ish on him. If I miss him, as he's galloping on, you 
 might try your hand on him yourself. He'll understand 
 your eyes, Miss Carr, in any language." 
 
 As he dashed away, to cover his first audacity of com 
 pliment, Christie lifted the eyes thus apostrophized to
 
 136 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 the opposite field. The vaquero, who was chasing some 
 cattle, was evidently too preoccupied to heed the shouts 
 of her companion, and wheeling round suddenly to in 
 tercept one of the deviating fugitives, permitted Christie's 
 escort to dash past him before that gentleman 
 could rein in his excited steed. This brought the 
 vaquero directly in her path. Perceiving her, he threw 
 his horse back on its haunches, to prevent a collision. 
 Christie rode up to him, suddenly uttered a cry, and 
 halted. For before her, sunburnt in cheek and throat, 
 darker in the free growth of moustache and curling hair, 
 clad in the coarse, picturesque finery of his class, un 
 disguised only in his boyish beauty, sat George Kearney. 
 
 The blood, that had forsaken her astonished face, 
 rushed as quickly back. His eyes, which had suddenly 
 sparkled with an electrical glow, sank before hers. His 
 hand dropped, and his cheek flushed with a dark em 
 barrassment. 
 
 "You here, Mr. Kearney ? How strange ! but how 
 glad I am to meet you again !" 
 
 She tried to smile ; her voice trembled, and her little 
 hand shook as she extended it to him. 
 
 He raised his dark eyes quickly, and impulsively 
 urged his horse to her side. But, as if suddenly awaken 
 ing to the reality of the situation, he glanced at her 
 hurriedly, down at his barbaric finery, and threw a 
 searching look towards her escort. 
 
 In an instant Christie saw the infelicity of her posi 
 tion, and its dangers. The words of Whiskey Dick, 
 "He wouldn't stand that," flashed across her mind. 
 There was no time to lose. The banker had already 
 gained control over his horse, and was approaching 
 them, all unconscious of the fixed stare with which 
 George was regarding him. Christie hastily seized the 
 hand which he had allowed to fall at his side, and said 
 quickly. 
 
 "Will you ride with me a little way, Mr. Kearney?" 
 
 He turned the same searching look upon her. She met 
 it clearly and steadily; he even thought reproachfully. 
 
 "Do !" she said hurriedly. "I ask it as a favor. I
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 137 
 
 want to speak to you. Jessie and I are here alone. 
 Father is away. You are one of our oldest friends." 
 
 He hesitated. She turned to the astonished young 
 banker, who rode up. 
 
 "I have just met an old friend. Will you please ride 
 back as quickly as you can, and tell Jessie that Mr. 
 Kearney is here, and ask her to join us?" 
 
 She watched her dazed escort, still speechless from 
 the spectacle of the fastidious Miss Carr tete-a-tete with 
 a common Mexican vaqucro, gallop off in the direction 
 of the canon, and then turned to George. 
 
 "Now take me home, the shortest way, as quick as 
 you can." 
 
 "Home?" echoed George. 
 
 "I mean to Mr. Prince's house. Quick ! before they 
 can come up to us." 
 
 He mechanically put spurs to his horse; she followed. 
 They presently struck into a trail that soon diverged 
 again into a disused logging track through the woods. 
 
 "This is the short cut to Prince's, by two miles," he 
 said, as they entered the woods. 
 
 As they were still galloping, without exchanging a 
 word, Christie began to slacken her speed ; George did 
 the same. They were safe from intrusion at the present, 
 even if the others had found the short cut. Christie, 
 bold and self-reliant a moment ago, suddenly found her 
 self growing weak and embarrassed. What had she 
 done? 
 
 She checked her horse suddenly. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better wait for them," she said 
 timidly. 
 
 George had not raised his eyes to hers. 
 
 "You said you wanted to hurry home," he replied 
 gently, passing his hand along his mustang's velvety 
 neck, "and and you had something to say to me." 
 
 "Certainly," she answered, with a faint laugh. "I'm 
 so astonished at meeting you here. I'm quite bewildered. 
 You are living here; you have forsaken us to buy a 
 ranche ?" she continued, looking at him attentively. 
 
 His brow colored slightly.
 
 138 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 "No, I'm living here, but I have bought no ranche. 
 I'm only a hired man on somebody else's ranche, to 
 look after the cattle." 
 
 He saw her beautiful eyes fill with astonishment and 
 something else. His brow cleared; he went on, with his 
 old boyish laugh: 
 
 "No, Miss Carr. The fact is, I'm dead broke. I've 
 lost everything since I saw you last. But as I know how 
 to ride, and I'm not afraid of work, I manage to keep 
 along." 
 
 "You have lost money in in the mines ?" said Christie 
 suddenly. 
 
 "No" he replied quickly, evading her eyes. "My 
 brother has my interest, you know. I've been foolish 
 on my own account solely. You know I'm rather in 
 clined to that sort of thing. But as long as my folly 
 don't affect others, I can stand it." 
 
 "But it may affect others and they may not think 
 of it as folly " She stopped short, confused by his 
 brightening color and eyes. "I mean Oh, Mr. 
 Kearney, I want you to be frank with me. I know noth 
 ing of business, but I know there has been trouble about 
 the mine at Devil's Ford. Tell me honestly, has my 
 father anything to do with it? If I thought that through 
 any imprudence of his, you had suffered if I believed 
 that you could trace any misfortune of yours to him to 
 us I should never forgive myself" she stopped and 
 flashed a single look at him "I should never forgive 
 you for abandoning us." 
 
 The look of pain which had at first shown itself in his 
 face, which never concealed anything, passed, and a 
 quick smile followed her feminine anticlimax. 
 
 "Miss Carr," he said, with boyish eagerness, "if any 
 man suggested to me that your father wasn't the bright 
 est and best of his kind too wise and clever for the 
 fools about him to understand I'd I'd shoot him." 
 
 Confused ly his ready and gracious disclaimer of what 
 she had not intended to say, there was nothing left for 
 her but to rush upon what she really intended to say, 
 with what she felt was shameful precipitation.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 139 
 
 "One word more, Mr. Kearney," she began, looking 
 down, but feeling the color come to her face as she 
 spoke. "When you spoke to me the day you left, you 
 must have thought me hard and cruel. When I tell 
 you that I thought you were alluding to Jessie and some 
 feeling you had for her " 
 
 "For Jessie !" echoed George. 
 
 "You will understand that that " 
 
 "That what?" said George, drawing nearer to her. 
 
 "That I was only speaking as she might have spoken 
 had you talked to her of me," added Christie hurriedly, 
 slightly backing her horse away from him. 
 
 But this was not so easy, as George was the better 
 rider, and by an imperceptible movement of his wrist 
 and foot had glued his horse to her side. "He will go 
 now," she had thought, but he didn't. 
 
 "We must ride on," she suggested faintly. 
 
 "No," he said with a sudden dropping of his boyish 
 manner and a slight lifting of his head. "We must 
 ride together no further, Miss Carr. I must go back to 
 the work I am hired to do, and you must go on with 
 your party, whom I hear coming. But when we part 
 here you must bid me good-by not as Jessie's sister 
 but as Christie the one the only woman that I love, 
 or that I ever have loved." 
 
 He held out his hand. With the recollection of their 
 previous parting, she tremblingly advanced her own. 
 He took it, but did not raise it to his lips. And it was 
 she who found herself half confusedly retaining his 
 hand in hers, until she dropped it with a blush. 
 
 "Then is this the reason you give for deserting 
 us as you have deserted Devil's Ford?" she said coldly. 
 
 He lifted his eyes to her with a strange smile, and 
 said, "Yes," wheeled his horse, and disappeared in the 
 forest. 
 
 He had left her thus abruptly once before, kissed, 
 blushing, and indignant. He was leaving her now, un- 
 kissed, but white and indignant. Yet she was so self- 
 possessed when the party joined her, that the singular 
 rencontre and her explanation of the stranger's sudden
 
 140 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 departure excited no further comment. Only Jessie 
 managed to whisper in her ear, 
 
 "I hope you are satisfied now that it wasn't me he 
 meant ?" 
 
 "Not at all," said Christie coldly. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A FEW days after the girls had returned to San 
 Francisco, they received a letter from their father. His 
 business, he wrote, would detain him in Sacramento 
 some days longer. There was no reason why they should 
 return to Devil's Ford in the heat of the summer ; their 
 host had written to beg him to allow them a more ex 
 tended visit, and, if they were enjoying themselves, he 
 thought it would be well not to disoblige an old friend. 
 He had heard they had a pleasant visit to Mr. Prince's 
 place, and that a certain young banker had been very 
 attentive to Christie. 
 
 "Do you know what all this means, dear?" asked 
 Jessie, who had been watching her sister with an un 
 usually grave face. 
 
 Christie whose thoughts had wandered from the letter, 
 replied carelessly, 
 
 "I suppose it means that we are to wait here until 
 father sends for us." 
 
 "It means a good deal more. It means that papa 
 has had another reverse ; it means that the assay has 
 turned out badly for the mine that the further they 
 go from the flat the worse it gets that all the gold 
 they will probably ever see at Devil's Ford is what 
 they have already found or will find on the flat ; it 
 means that all Devil's Ford is only a 'pocket,' and not 
 a 'lead.' " She stopped, with unexpected tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Who told you this?" asked Christie breathlessly. 
 
 "Fairfax Mr. Munroe," stammered her sister, "writes 
 to me as if we already knew it tells me not to be 
 alarmed, that it isn't so bad and all that."
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 141 
 
 "How long has this happened, Jessie?" said Christie, 
 taking her hand, with a white but calm face. 
 
 "Nearly ever since we've been here, I suppose. It 
 must be so, for he says poor papa is still hopeful of doing 
 something yet." 
 
 "And Mr. Munroe writes to you?" said Christie ab 
 stractedly. 
 
 "Of course," said Jessie quickly. "He feels interested 
 in us." 
 
 "Nobody tells me anything," said Christie. 
 
 "Didn't" 
 
 "No," said Christie bitterly. 
 
 "What on earth did you talk about? But people don't 
 confide in you because they're afraid of you. You're 
 so " 
 
 "So what?" 
 
 "So gently patronizing, and so 'I-don't-suppose-you- 
 can-help-it,-poor-thing,' in your general style," said 
 Jessie, kissing her. "There ! I only wish I was like 
 you. What do you say if we write to father that we'll 
 go back to Devil's Ford? Mr. Munroe thinks we will 
 be of service there just now. If the men are dissatis 
 fied, and think we're spending money " 
 
 "I'm afraid Mr. Munroe is hardly a disinterested ad 
 viser. At least, I don't think it would look quite decent 
 for you to fly back without your father, at his sugges 
 tion," said Christie coldly. "He is not the only partner. 
 We are spending no money. Besides, we have engaged to 
 go to Mr. Prince's again next week." 
 
 "As you like, dear," said Jessie, turning away to hide 
 a faint smile. 
 
 Nevertheless, when they returned from their visit to 
 Mr. Prince's, and one or two uneventful rides, Christie 
 looked grave. It was only a few days later that Jessie 
 burst upon her one morning. 
 
 "You were saying that nobody ever tells you any 
 thing. Well, here's your chance. Whiskey Dick is 
 below." 
 
 "Whiskey Dick?" repeated Christie. "What does he 
 want?"
 
 142 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 "You, love. Who else? You know he always scorns 
 me as not being high-toned and elegant enough for his 
 social confidences. He asked for you only." 
 
 With an uneasy sense of some impending revelation, 
 Christie descended to the drawing-room. As she opened 
 the door, a strong flavor of that toilet soap and eau de 
 Cologne with which Whiskey Dick was in the habit 
 of gracefully effacing the traces of dissipation made 
 known his presence. In spite of a new suit of clothes, 
 whose pristine folds refused to adapt themselves entirely 
 to the contour of his figure, he was somewhat subdued 
 by the unexpected elegance of the drawing-room of 
 Christie's host. But a glance at Christie's sad but 
 gracious face quickly reassured him. Taking from his 
 hat a three-cornered parcel, he unfolded a handsome 
 saffrona rose, which he gravely presented to her. Hav 
 ing thus reestablished his position, he sank elegantly into 
 a tete-a-tete ottoman. Finding the position inconvenient 
 to face Christie, who had seated herself on a chair, he 
 transferred himself to the other side of the ottoman, and 
 addressed her over its back as from a pulpit. 
 
 "Is this really a fortunate accident, Mr. Hall, or did 
 you try to find us?" said Christie pleasantly. 
 
 "Partly promiskuss, and partly coincident, Miss 
 Christie, one up and t'other down," said Dick lightly. 
 "Work being slack at present at Devil's Ford, I reck'ned 
 I'd take a pasear down to 'Frisco, and dip into the 
 vortex o' fash'nable society and out again." He lightly 
 waved a new handkerchief to illustrate his swallow-like 
 intrusion. "This yer minglin' with the bo-tong is apt 
 to be wearisome, ez you and me knows, unless combined 
 with experience and judgment. So when them boys 
 up there allows that there's a little too much fash'nable 
 society and San Francisco capital and high-falutin' about 
 the future goin' on fer square surface mining, I sez, 
 'Look yere, gentlemen,' sez I, 'you don't see the pint. 
 The pint is to get the pop'lar eye fixed, so to speak, on 
 Devil's Ford. When a fash'nable star rises above the 
 'Frisco horizon like Miss Carr and, so to speak, daz 
 zles the gineral eye, people want to know who she is.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 143 
 
 And when people say that's the accomplished daughter 
 o' the accomplished superintendent of the Devil's Ford 
 claim otherwise known as the Star-eyed Goddess o' 
 Devil's Ford every eye is fixed on the mine, and Capital, 
 so to speak, tumbles to her.' And when they sez that 
 the old man excuse my freedom, but that's the way the 
 boys talk of your father, meaning no harm the old man, 
 instead o' trying ta corral rich widders grass or other 
 wise to spend their money on the big works for the 
 gold that ain't there yet should stay in Devil's Ford 
 and put all his sabe and genius into grindin' out the 
 little gold that is there, I sez to them that it ain't your 
 father's style. 'His style,' sez I, *ez to go in and build 
 them works.' When they're done he turns round to 
 Capital, and sez he 'Look yer,' sez he, 'thar's all the 
 works you want, first quality cost a million ; thar's all 
 the water you want, onlimited cost another million ; 
 thar's all the pay gravel you want in and outer the 
 ground call it two millions more. Now my time's too 
 vally'ble ; my professhun's too high-toned to work mines. 
 I make 'em. Hand me over a check for ten millions and 
 call it square, and work it for yourself.' So Capital 
 hands over the money and waltzes down to run the 
 mine, and you original locators walks round with yer 
 hands in yer pockets a-top of your six million profit, 
 and you let's Capital take the work and the respon 
 sibility." 
 
 Preposterous as this seemed from the lips of Whiskey 
 Dick, Christie had a haunting suspicion that it was not 
 greatly unlike the theories expounded by the clever young 
 banker who had been her escort. She did not interrupt 
 his flow of reminiscent criticism ; when he paused for 
 breath, she said, quietly: 
 
 "I met Mr. George Kearney the other day in the 
 country." 
 
 Whiskey Dick stopped awkwardly, glanced hurriedly 
 at Christie, and coughed behind his handkerchief. 
 
 "Mr. Kearney eh er certengly yes er met him, 
 you say. Was he er er well?" 
 
 "In health, yes; but otherwise he has lost every-
 
 144 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 thing," said Christie, fixing her eyes on the embarrassed 
 Dick. 
 
 "Yes er in course in course " continued Dick, 
 nervously glancing round the apartment as if endeavor 
 ing to find an opening to some less abrupt statement of 
 the fact. 
 
 "And actually reduced to take some menial employ 
 ment," added Christie, still regarding Dick with her clear 
 glance. 
 
 "That's it that's just it," said Dick, beaming as he 
 suddenly found his delicate and confidential opportunity. 
 "That's it, Miss Christie; that's just what 1 was sayin' 
 to the boys. 'Ez it the square thing,' sez I, 'jest because 
 George hez happened to hypothecate every dollar he has, 
 or expects to hev, to put into them works, only to please 
 Mr. Carr, and just because he don't want to distress that 
 intelligent gentleman by letting him see he's dead broke 
 for him to go and demean himself and Devil's Ford 
 by rushing away and hiring out as a Mexican vaquero 
 on Mexican wages? Look/ sez I, 'at the disgrace he 
 brings upon a high-toned, fash'nable girl, at whose side 
 he's walked and danced, and passed rings, and senti 
 ments, and bokays in the changes o' the cotillion and 
 the mizzourka. And wot,' sez I, 'if some day, prancing 
 along in a fash'nable cavalcade, she all of a suddents 
 comes across him drivin' a Mexican steer?' That's what 
 I said to the boys. And so you met him, Miss Christie, 
 as usual," continued Dick, endeavoring under the appear 
 ance of a large social experience to conceal an eager 
 anxiety to know the details "so you met him ; and, in 
 course, you didn't let on yer knew him, so to speak, 
 nat'rally, or p'raps you kinder like asked him to fix your 
 saddle-girth, and give him a five-dollar piece eh?" 
 
 Christie, who had risen and gone to the window, sud 
 denly turned a very pale face and shining eyes on Dick. 
 
 "Mr. Hall," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile, 
 "we are old friends, and I feel I can ask you a favor. 
 You once before acted as our escort it was for a short 
 but a happy time will you accept a larger trust? My 
 father is busy in Sacramento for the mine: will you,
 
 DEVIL'S FOED 145 
 
 without saying anything to anybody, take Jessie and me 
 back at once to Devil's Ford?" 
 
 "Will I ? Miss Christie," said Dick, choking between 
 an intense gratification and a desire to keep back its 
 vulgar exhibition, "I shall be proud !" 
 
 "When I say keep it a secret" she hesitated "I don't 
 mean that I object to your letting Mr. Kearney, if you 
 happen to know where he is, understand that we are 
 going back to Devil's Ford." 
 
 "Cert'nly nat'rally," said Dick, waving his hand grace 
 fully ; "sorter drop him a line, saying that bizness of a 
 social and delicate nature being the escort of Miss Chris 
 tie and Jessie Carr to Devil's Ford prevents my having 
 the pleasure of calling." 
 
 "That will do very well, Mr. Hall," said Christie, 
 faintly smiling through her moist eyelashes. "Then will 
 you go at once and secure tickets for to-night's boat, 
 and bring them here? Jessie and I will arrange every 
 thing else." 
 
 "Cert'nly," said Dick impulsively, and preparing to 
 take a graceful leave. 
 
 "We'll be impatient until you return with the tickets," 
 said Christie graciously. 
 
 Dick shook hands gravely, got as far as the door, and 
 paused. 
 
 "You think it better to take the tickets now?" he said 
 dubiously. 
 
 "By all means," said Christie impetuously. "I've set 
 my heart on going to-night and unless you secure berths 
 early " 
 
 "In course in course," interrupted Dick nervously. 
 "But" 
 
 "But what?" said Christie impatiently. 
 
 Dick hesitated, shut the door carefully, and, looking 
 round the room, lightly shook out his handkerchief, ap 
 parently flicked away an embarrassing suggestion, and 
 said, with a little laugh : 
 
 "It's ridiklous, perfectly ridiklous, Miss Christie; but 
 not bein' in the habit of carryin' ready money, and havin' 
 omitted to cash a draft on Wells, Fargo & Co. "
 
 146 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 "Of course," said Christie rapidly. "How forgetful 
 I am ! Pray forgive me, Mr. Hall. I didn't think. I'll 
 run up and get it from our host; he will be glad to 
 be our banker." 
 
 "One moment, Miss Christie," said Dick lightly, as his 
 thumb and finger relaxed in his waistcoat pocket over 
 the only piece of money in the world that had remained 
 to him after his extravagant purchase of Christie's saf- 
 frona rose, "one moment: in this yer monetary trans 
 action, if you like, you are at liberty to use my name." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 As Christie and Jessie Carr looked from the windows 
 of the coach, whose dust-clogged wheels were slowly 
 dragging them, as if reluctant, nearer the last stage of 
 their journey to Devil's Ford, they were conscious of a 
 change in the landscape, which they could not entirely 
 charge upon their changed feelings. The few bared open 
 spaces on the upland, the long stretch of rocky ridge 
 near the summit, so vivid and so velvety during their 
 first journey, were now burnt and yellow; even the 
 brief openings in the forest were seared as if by a hot 
 iron in the scorching rays of a half year's sun. The 
 pastoral slopes of the valley below were cloaked in lustre- 
 leather : the rare watercourses along the road had faded 
 from the waiting eye and ear; it seemed as if the long 
 and dry summer had even invaded the close-set ranks 
 of pines, and had blown a simoom breath through the 
 densest woods, leaving its charred red ashes on every 
 leaf and spray along the tunnelled shade. As they leaned 
 out of the window and inhaled the half-dead spices of 
 the evergreens, they seemed to have entered the atmos 
 phere of some exhausted passion of some fierce excite 
 ment that was even now slowly burning itself out. 
 
 It was a relief at last to see the straggling houses of 
 Devil's Ford far below come once more into view, as 
 they rounded the shoulder of Devil's Spur and began 
 the long descent. But as they entered the town a change
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 147 
 
 more ominous and startling than the desiccation of the 
 landscape forced itself upon them. The town was still 
 there, but where were the inhabitants? Four months 
 ago they had left the straggling street thronged with 
 busy citizens groups at every corner, and a chaos of 
 merchandise and traders in the open plaza or square 
 beside the Presbyterian church. Now all was changed. 
 Only a few wayfarers lifted their heads lazily as the 
 coach rattled by, crossing the deserted square littered 
 with empty boxes, and gliding past empty cabins or 
 vacant shop windows, from which not only familiar faces, 
 but even the window sashes themselves, were gone. The 
 great unfinished serpent-like flume, crossing the river on 
 gigantic trestles, had advanced as far as the town, stoop 
 ing over it like some enormous reptile that had sucked 
 its life blood and was gorged with its prey. 
 
 Whiskey Dick, who had left the stage on the summit 
 to avail himself of a shorter foot trail to the house, 
 that would give him half an hour's grace to make prep 
 arations, met them at the stage office with a buggy. A 
 glance at the young girls, perhaps, convinced him that 
 the graces of elegant worldly conversation were out of 
 place with the revelation he read on their faces. Per 
 haps, he, too, was a trifle indisposed. The short jour 
 ney to the house was made in profound silence. 
 
 The villa had been repainted and decorated, and it 
 looked fresher, and even, to their preoccupied minds, ap 
 peared more attractive than ever. Thoughtful hands 
 had taken care of the vines and rose-bushes on the 
 trellises; water that precious element in Devil's Ford 
 had not been spared in keeping green through the 
 long drought the plants which the girls had so tenderly 
 nurtured. It was the one oasis in which the summer 
 still lingered ; and yet a singular sense of loss came 
 over the girls as they once more crossed its threshold. 
 It seemed no longer their own. 
 
 "Ef I was you, Miss Christie, I'd keep close to the 
 house for a day or two, until until things is settled," 
 said Dick ; "there's a heap o' tramps and sich cattle 
 trapsin' round. P'raps you wouldn't feel so lonesome
 
 148 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 if you was nearer town for instance, 'bout wher' you 
 useter live." 
 
 "In the dear old cabin," said Christie quickly; "I 
 remember it ; I wish we were there now." 
 
 "Do you really? Do you?" said Whiskey Dick, with 
 suddenly twinkling eyes. "That's like you to say it. 
 That's what I allus said," continued Dick, addressing 
 space generally; "if there's any one ez knows how to 
 come square down to the bottom rock without flinchin', 
 it's your high-toned, fash'nable gals. But I must mean 
 der back to town, and let the boys know you're in pos 
 session, safe and sound. It's right mean that Fairfax 
 and Mattingly had to go down to Lagrange on some 
 low business yesterday, but they'll be back to-morrow. 
 So long." 
 
 Left alone, the girls began to realize their strange posi 
 tion. They had conceived no settled plan. The night 
 they left San Francisco they had written an earnest 
 letter to their father, telling him that on learning the 
 truth about the reverses of Devil's Ford, they thought 
 it their duty to return and share them with others, with 
 out obliging him to prefer the request, and with as 
 little worry to him as possible. He would find them 
 ready to share his trials, and in what must be the scene 
 of their work hereafter. 
 
 "It will bring father back," said Christie ; "he 
 won't leave us here alone ; and then together we must 
 come to some understanding with him with them 
 for somehow I feel as if this house belonged to us 
 no longer." 
 
 Her surmise was not far wrong. When Mr. Carr 
 arrived hurriedly from Sacramento the next evening, he 
 found the house deserted. His daughters were gone; 
 there were indications that they had arrived, and, for 
 some reason, suddenly departed. The vague fear that 
 had haunted his guilty soul after receiving their letter, 
 and during his breathless journey, now seemed to be 
 realized. He was turning from the empty house, whose 
 reproachful solitude frightened him, when he was con 
 fronted on the threshold by the figure of Fairfax Munroe.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 149 
 
 "I came to the stage office to meet you," he said; "you 
 must have left the stage at the summit." 
 
 "I did," said Carr angrily. "I was anxious to meet 
 my daughters quickly, to know the reason of their foolish 
 alarm, and to know also who had been frightening them. 
 Where are they?" 
 
 "They are safe in the old cabin beyond, that has been 
 put up ready to receive them again," said Fairfax quietly. 
 
 "But what is the meaning of this? Why are they 
 not here?" demanded Carr, hiding his agitation in a 
 burst of querulous rage. 
 
 "Do you ask, Mr. Carr?" said Fairfax sadly. "Did 
 you expect them to remain here until the sheriff took 
 possession? No one knows better than yourself that 
 the money advanced you on the deeds of this homestead 
 has never been repaid." 
 
 Carr staggered, but recovered himself with feeble 
 violence. 
 
 "Since you know so much of my affairs, how do you 
 know that this claim will ever be pressed for payment? 
 How do you know it is not the advance of a a 
 friend?" 
 
 "Because I have seen the woman who advanced it," 
 said Fairfax hopelessly. "She was here to look at the 
 property before your daughters came." 
 
 "Well?" said Carr nervously. 
 
 "Well ! You force me to tell you something I should 
 like to forget. You force me to anticipate a disclosure 
 I expected to make to you only when I came to ask 
 permission to woo your daughter Jessie; and when I 
 tell you what it is, you will understand that I have no 
 right to criticise your conduct. I am only explaining 
 my own." 
 
 "Go on," said Carr impatiently. 
 
 "When I first came to this country, there was a woman 
 I loved passionately. She treated me as women of her 
 kind only treat men like me ; she ruined me, and left 
 me. That was four years ago. I love your daughter, 
 Mr. Carr, but she has never heard it from my lips. I 
 would not woo her until I had told you all. I have tried
 
 160 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 to do it ere this, and failed. Perhaps I should not now, 
 but" 
 
 "But what?" said Carr furiously; "speak out!" 
 
 "But this. Look!" said Fairfax, producing from his 
 pocket the packet of letters Jessie had found; "perhaps 
 you know the handwriting?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" gasped Carr. 
 
 "That woman my mistress is the woman who ad 
 vanced you money, and who claims this house." 
 
 The interview, and whatever came of it, remained a 
 secret with the two men. When Mr. Carr accepted the 
 hospitality of the old cabin again, it was understood that 
 he had sacrificed the new house and its furniture to 
 some of the more pressing debts of the mine, and the 
 act went far to restore his waning popularity. But a 
 more genuine feeling of relief was experienced by Devil's 
 Ford when it was rumored that Fairfax Munroe had 
 asked for the hand of Jessie Carr, and that some promise 
 contingent upon the equitable adjustment of the affairs 
 of the mine had been given by Mr. Carr. To the super 
 stitious mind of Devil's Ford and its few remaining 
 locators, this new partnership seemed to promise that 
 unity of interest and stability of fortune that Devil's Ford 
 had lacked. But nothing could be done until the rainy 
 season had fairly set in; until the long-looked-for element 
 that was to magically separate the gold from the dross 
 in those dull mounds of dust and gravel had come of its 
 own free will, and in its own appointed channels, inde 
 pendent of the feeble auxiliaries that had hopelessly 
 riven the rocks on the hillside, or hung incomplete and 
 unfinished in lofty scaffoldings above the settlement. 
 
 The rainy season came early. At first in gathered 
 mists on the higher peaks that were lifted in the morn 
 ing sun only to show a fresher field of dazzling white 
 below; in white clouds that at first seemed to be mere 
 drifts blown across from those fresh snowfields, and 
 obscuring the clear blue above; in far-off murmurs in 
 the hollow hills and gulches ; in nearer tinkling melody 
 and baby prattling in the leaves. It came with bright
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 151 
 
 flashes of sunlight by day, with deep, monotonous shadow 
 at night; with the onset of heavy winds, the roar of 
 turbulent woods, the tumultuous tossing of leafy arms, 
 and with what seemed the silent dissolution of the whole 
 landscape in days of steady and uninterrupted downfall. 
 It came extravagantly, for every canon had grown into 
 a torrent, every gulch a waterspout, every watercourse 
 a river, and all pouring into the North Fork, that, rush 
 ing past the settlement, seemed to threaten it with lifted 
 crest and flying mane. It came dangerously, for one 
 night the river, leaping the feeble barrier of Devil's 
 Ford, swept away houses and banks, scattered with un 
 conscious irony the laboriously collected heaps of gravel 
 left for hydraulic machinery, and spread out a vast and 
 silent lake across the submerged flat. 
 
 In the hurry and confusion of that night the girls had 
 thrown open their cabin to the escaping miners, who 
 hurried along the slope that was now the bank of the 
 river. Suddenly Christie felt her arm grasped, and she 
 was half-led, half-dragged, into the inner room. Her 
 father stood before her. 
 
 "Where is George Kearney?" he asked tremulously. 
 
 "George Kearney!" echoed Christie, for a moment 
 believing the excitement had turned her father's brain. 
 "You know he is not here; he is in San Francisco." 
 
 "He is here I tell you," said Carr impatiently; "he 
 has been here ever since the high water, trying to save 
 the flume and reservoir." 
 
 "George here !" Christie could only gasp. 
 
 "Yes ! He passed here a few moments ago, to see if 
 you were all safe, and he has gone on towards the flume. 
 But what he is trying to do is madness. If you see him, 
 implore him to do no more. Let him abandon the ac 
 cursed flume to its fate. It has worked already too much 
 woe upon us all ; why should it carry his brave and 
 youthful soul down with it?" 
 
 The words were still ringing in her ears, when he 
 suddenly passed away, with the hurrying crowd. Scarcely 
 knowing what she did, she ran out, vaguely intent only 
 on one thought, seeking only the one face, lately so
 
 152 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 dear in recollection that she felt she would die if she 
 never saw it again. Perplexed by confused voices in the 
 woods, she lost track of the crowd, until the voices sud 
 denly were raised in one loud outcry, followed by the 
 crashing of timber, the splashing of water, a silence, and 
 then a dull, continuous roar. She ran vaguely on in the 
 direction of the reservoir, with her father's injunction 
 still in her mind, until a terrible idea displaced it, and 
 she turned at right angles suddenly, and ran towards 
 the slope leading down to the submerged flat. She had 
 barely left the shelter of the trees behind her before the 
 roar of water seemed to rise at her very feet. She 
 stopped, dazed, bewildered, and horror-stricken, on the 
 edge of the slope. It was the slope no longer, but the 
 bank of the river itself ! 
 
 Even in the gray light of early morning, and with in 
 experienced eyes, she saw all too clearly now. The 
 trestle-work had given way ; the curving mile of flume, 
 fallen into the stream, and, crushed and dammed against 
 the opposite shore, had absolutely turned the whole 
 river through the half-finished ditch and partly excavated 
 mine in its way, a few rods further on to join the old 
 familiar channel. The bank of the river was changed ; 
 the flat had become an island, between which and the 
 slope where she stood the North Fork was rolling its 
 resistless yellow torrent. As she gazed spellbound, a 
 portion of the slope beneath her suddenly seemed to 
 sink and crumble, and was swallowed up in the rushing 
 stream. She heard a cry of warning behind her, but, 
 rooted to the spot by a fearful fascination, she heeded 
 it not. 
 
 Again there was a sudden disruption, and another part 
 of the slope sank to rise no more ; but this time she felt 
 herself seized by the waist and dragged back. It was 
 her father standing by her side. 
 
 He was flushed and excited, gazing at the water with 
 a strange exultation. 
 
 "Do you see it? Do you know what has happened?" 
 he asked quickly. 
 
 "The flume has fallen and turned the river," said
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 153 
 
 Christie hurriedly. "But have you seen him is he 
 safe?" 
 
 "He who?" he answered vacantly. 
 
 "George Kearney !" 
 
 "He is safe," he said impatiently. "But, do you see, 
 Christie? Do you know what this means?" 
 
 He pointed with his tremulous hand to the stream 
 before them. 
 
 "It means we are ruined," said Christie coldly. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind ! It means that the river is 
 doing the work of the flume. It is sluicing off the gravel, 
 deepening the ditch, and altering the slope which was 
 the old bend of the river. It will do in ten minutes 
 the work that would take us a year. If we can stop it 
 in time, or control it, we are safe ; but if we can not, it 
 will carry away the bed and deposit with the rest, and 
 we are ruined again." 
 
 With a gesture of impotent fury, he dashed away in 
 the direction of an equally excited crowd, that on a 
 point of the slope nearer the island were gesticulating 
 and shouting to a second group of men, who on the 
 opposite shore were clambering on over the choked 
 debris of the flume that had dammed and diverted the 
 current. It was evident that the same idea had occurred 
 to them, and they were risking their lives in the attempt 
 to set free the impediments. Shocked and indignant as 
 Christie had been at the degrading absorption of mate 
 rial interests at such a moment, the element of danger 
 lifted the labors of these men into heroism, and she 
 began to feel a strange exultation as she watched them. 
 Under the skilful blows of their axes, in a few moments 
 the vast body of drift began to disintegrate, and then to 
 swing round and move towards the old channel. A cheer 
 went up, but as suddenly died away again. An over 
 lapping fringe of wreckage had caught on the point of 
 the island and arrested the whole mass. 
 
 The men, who had gained the shore with difficulty, 
 looked back with a cry of despair. But the next moment 
 from among them leaped a figure, alert, buoyant, invinci 
 ble, and, axe in hand, once more essayed the passage.
 
 164 DEVIL'S FORD 
 
 Springing from timber to timber, he at last reached the 
 point of obstruction. A few strokes of the axe were 
 sufficient to clear it; but at the first stroke it was appar 
 ent that the striker was also losing his hold upon the 
 shore, and that he must inevitably be carried away with 
 the tossing debris. But this consideration did not seem 
 to affect him; the last blow was struck, and as the freed 
 timbers rolled on, over and over, he boldly plunged into 
 the flood. Christie gave a little cry her heart had 
 bounded with him ; it seemed as if his plunge had splashed 
 the water in her eyes. He did not come to the surface 
 until he had passed the point below where her father 
 stood, and then struggling feebly, as if stunned or dis 
 abled by a blow. It seemed to her that he was trying 
 to approach the side of the river where she was. Would 
 he do it? Could she help him? She was alone; he was 
 hidden from the view of the men on the point, and no 
 succor could come from them. There was a fringe of 
 alder nearly opposite their cabin that almost overhung 
 the stream. She ran to it, clutched it with a frantic hand, 
 and, leaning over the boiling water, uttered for the first 
 time his name: 
 
 "George !" 
 
 As if called to the surface by the magic of her voice, 
 he rose a few yards from her in mid-current, and turned 
 his fading eyes towards the bank. In another moment 
 he would have been swept beyond her reach, but with 
 a supreme effort he turned on one side; the current, 
 striking him sideways, threw him towards the bank, and 
 she caught him by his sleeve. For an instant it seemed 
 as if she would be dragged down with him. For one 
 dangerous moment she did not care, and almost yielded 
 to the spell ; but as the rush of water pressed him against 
 the bank, she recovered herself, and managed to lift him 
 beyond its reach. And then she sat down, half-fainting, 
 with his white face and damp curls upon her breast. 
 
 "George, darling, speak to me ! Only one word ! Tell 
 me, have I saved you?" 
 
 His eyes opened. A faint twinkle of the old days 
 came to them a boyish smile played upon his lips.
 
 DEVIL'S FORD 155 
 
 "For yourself or Jessie?" 
 
 She looked around her with a little frightened air. 
 They were alone. There was but one way of sealing 
 those mischievous lips, and she found it ! 
 
 "That's what I allus said, gentlemen," lazily remarked 
 Whiskey Dick, a few weeks later, leaning back against 
 the bar, with his glass in his hand. " 'George,' sez I, 
 'it ain't what you say to a fash'nable, high-toned young 
 lady; it's what you does ez makes or breaks you.' And 
 that's what I sez gin'rally o' things in the Ford. It 
 ain't what Carr and you boys allows to do ; it's the gin'- 
 ral average o' things ez is done that gives tone to the 
 hull, and hez brought this yer new luck to you all!"
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A LONG level of dull gray that further away became 
 a faint blue, with here and there darker patches that 
 looked like water. At times an open space, blackened 
 and burnt in an irregular circle, with a shred of news 
 paper, an old rag, or broken tin can lying in the ashes. 
 Beyond these always a low dark line that seemed to sink 
 into the ground at night, and rose again in the morning 
 with the first light, but never otherwise changed its 
 height and distance. A sense of always moving with 
 some indefinite purpose, but of always returning at night 
 to the same place with the same surroundings, the same 
 people, the same bedclothes, and the same awful black 
 canopy dropped down from above. A chalky taste of 
 dust on the mouth and lips, a gritty sense of earth on 
 the fingers, and an all-pervading heat and smell of cattle. 
 
 This was "The Great Plains" as they seemed to two 
 children from the hooded depth of an emigrant wagon, 
 above the swaying heads of toiling oxen, in the summer 
 of 1852. 
 
 It had appeared so to them for two weeks, always the 
 same and always without the least sense to them of 
 wonder or monotony. When they viewed it from the 
 road, walking beside the wagon, there was only the team 
 itself added to the unvarying picture. One of the wagons 
 bore on its canvas hood the inscription, in large black 
 letters, "Off to California!" on the other "Root, Hog, 
 or Die," but neither of them awoke in the minds of the 
 children the faintest idea of playfulness or jocularity. 
 Perhaps it was difficult to connect the serious men, who 
 
 159
 
 160 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 occasionally walked beside them and seemed to grow 
 more taciturn and depressed as the day wore on, with 
 this past effusive pleasantry. 
 
 Yet the impressions of the two children differed, 
 slightly. The eldest, a boy of eleven, was apparently 
 new to the domestic habits and customs of a life to which 
 the younger, a girl of seven, was evidently native and 
 familiar. The food was coarse and less skillfully pre 
 pared than that to which he had been accustomed. There 
 was a certain freedom and roughness in their inter 
 course, a simplicity that bordered almost on rudeness 
 in their domestic arrangements, and a speech that was 
 at times almost untranslatable to him. He slept in his 
 clothes, wrapped up in blankets; he was conscious that 
 in the matter of cleanliness he was left to himself to 
 overcome the difficulties of finding water and towels. 
 But it is doubtful if in his youthfulness it affected him 
 more than a novelty. He ate and slept well, and found 
 his life amusing. Only at times the rudeness of his 
 companions, or, worse, an indifference that made him 
 feel his dependency upon them, awoke a vague sense 
 of some wrong that had been done to him which 
 while it was voiceless to all others and even uneasily 
 put aside by himself, was still always slumbering in his 
 childish consciousness. 
 
 To the party he was known as an orphan put on the 
 train at "St. Jo" by some relative of his stepmother, 
 to be delivered to another relative at Sacramento. As 
 his stepmother had not even taken leave of him, but 
 had entrusted his departure to the relative with whom 
 he had been lately living, it was considered as an act of 
 "riddance," and accepted as such by her party, and even 
 vaguely acquiesced in by the boy himself. What con 
 sideration had been offered for his passage he did not 
 know ; he only remembered that he had been told "to 
 make himself handy." This he had done cheerfully. 
 if at times with the unskillfulness of a novice ; but it 
 was not a peculiar or a menial task in a company where 
 all took part in manual labor, and where existence 
 seemed to him to bear the charm of a prolonged picnic.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 161 
 
 Neither was he subjected to any difference of affection 
 or treatment from Mrs. Silsbee, the mother of his little 
 companion, and the wife of the leader of the train. 
 Prematurely old, of ill-health, and harassed with cares, 
 she had no time to waste in discriminating maternal 
 tenderness for her daughter, but treated the children 
 with equal and unbiased querulousness. 
 
 The rear wagon creaked, swayed, and rolled on slowly 
 and heavily. The hoofs of the draft-oxen, occasionally 
 striking in the dust with a dull report, sent little puffs 
 like smoke on either side of the track. Within, the 
 children were playing "keeping store." The little girl, 
 as an opulent and extravagant customer, was purchasing 
 of the boy, who sat behind a counter improvised from a 
 nail-keg and the front seat, most of the available con 
 tents of the wagon, either under their own names or 
 an imaginary one as the moment suggested, and paying 
 for them in the easy and liberal currency of dried beans 
 and bits of paper. Change was given by the expeditious 
 method of tearing the paper into smaller fragments. The 
 diminution of stock was remedied by buying the same 
 article over again under a different name. Neverthe 
 less, in spite of these favorable commercial conditions, 
 the market seemed dull. 
 
 "I can show you a fine quality of sheeting at four 
 cents a yard, double width," said the boy, rising and 
 leaning on his fingers on the counter as he had seen 
 the shopmen do. "All wool and will wash," he added, 
 with easy gravity. 
 
 "I can buy it cheaper at Jackson's," said the girl, with 
 the intuitive duplicity of her bargaining sex. 
 
 "Very well," said the boy. "I won't play any more." 
 
 "Who cares?" said the girl indifferently. The boy 
 here promptly upset the counter ; the rolled-up blanket 
 which had deceitfully represented the desirable sheeting 
 falling on the wagon floor. It apparently suggested 
 a new idea to the former salesman. "I say ! let's play 
 'damaged stock.' See, I'll tumble all the things down 
 here right on top o' the others, and sell 'em for less 
 than cost"
 
 162 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 The girl looked up. The suggestion was bold, bad, 
 and momentarily attractive. But she only said "No," 
 apparently from habit, picked up her doll, and the boy 
 clambered to the front of the wagon. The incomplete 
 episode terminated at once with that perfect forgetful- 
 ness, indifference, and irresponsibility common to all 
 young animals. If either could have flown away or 
 bounded off finally at that moment, they would have 
 done so with no more concern for preliminary detail 
 than a bird or squirrel. The wagon rolled steadily on. 
 The boy could see that one of the teamsters had climbed 
 up on the tail-board of the preceding vehicle. The 
 other seemed to be walking in a dusty sleep. 
 
 "Kla'uns," said the girl. 
 
 The boy, without turning his head, responded, "Susy." 
 
 "Wot are you going to be?" said the girl. 
 
 "Coin' to be?" repeated Clarence. 
 
 "When you is growed," explained Susy. 
 
 Clarence hesitated. His settled determination 'had 
 been to become a pirate, merciless yet discriminating. 
 But reading in a bethumbed "Guide to the Plains" that 
 morning of Fort Lamarie and Kit Carson, he had 
 decided upon the career of a "scout," as being more 
 accessible and requiring less water. Yet, out of com 
 passion for Susy's possible ignorance, he said neither, 
 and responded with the American boy's modest con 
 ventionality, "President." It was safe, required no 
 embarrassing description, and had been approved by 
 benevolent old gentlemen with their hands on his head. 
 
 "I'm goin' to be a parson's wife," said Susy, "and 
 keep hens, and have things giv' to me. Baby clothes, 
 and apples, and apple sass and melasses ! and more 
 baby clothes ! and pork when you kill." 
 
 She had thrown herself at the bottom of the wagon, 
 with her back towards him and her doll in her lap. He 
 could see the curve of her curly head, and beyond, her 
 bare dimpled knees, which were raised, and over which 
 she was trying to fold the hem of her brief skirt. 
 
 "I wouldn't be a President's wife," she said pres 
 ently.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 163 
 
 "You couldn't!" 
 
 "Could if I wanted to!" 
 
 "Couldn't !" 
 
 "Could now!" 
 
 "Couldn't !" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Finding it difficult to explain his convictions of her 
 ineligibility, Clarence thought it equally crushing not to 
 give any. There was a long silence. It was very hot 
 and dusty. The wagon scarcely seemed to move. Clar 
 ence gazed at the vignette of the track behind them 
 formed by the hood of the rear. Presently he rose and 
 walked past her to the tail-board. "Coin' to get down," 
 he said, putting his legs over. 
 
 "Maw says 'No/ " said Susy. 
 
 Clarence did not reply, but dropped to the ground 
 beside the slowly turning wheels. Without quickening 
 his pace he could easily keep his hand on the tail-board. 
 
 "Kla'uns." 
 
 He looked up. 
 
 "Take me." 
 
 She had already clapped on her sun-bonnet and was 
 standing at the edge of the tail-board, her little arms 
 extended in such perfect confidence of being caught 
 that the boy could not resist. He caught her cleverly. 
 They halted a moment and let the lumbering vehicle 
 move away from them, as it swayed from side to side 
 as if laboring in a heavy sea. They remained motion 
 less until it had reached nearly a hundred yards, and 
 then, with a sudden half-real, half-assumed, but alto 
 gether delightful trepidation, ran forward and caught 
 up with it again. This they repeated two or three times 
 until both themselves and the excitement were ex 
 hausted, and they again plodded on hand in hand. 
 Presently Clarence uttered a cry. 
 
 "My! Susy look there!" 
 
 The rear wagon had once more slipped away from 
 them a considerable distance. Between it and them, 
 crossing its track, a most extraordinary creature had 
 halted.
 
 164 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 At first glance it seemed a dog a discomfited, shame 
 less, ownerless outcast of streets and byways, rather 
 than an honest stray of some drover's train. It was so 
 gaunt, so dusty, so greasy, so slouching, and so lazy ! 
 But as they looked at it more intently they saw that 
 the grayish hair of its back had a bristly ridge, and there 
 were great poisonous-looking dark blotches on its flanks, 
 and that the slouch of its haunches was a peculiarity of 
 its figure, and not the cowering of fear. As it lifted its 
 suspicious head towards them they could see that its 
 thin lips, too short to cover its white teeth, were curled 
 in a perpetual sneer. 
 
 "Here, doggie !" said Clarence excitedly. "Good dog ! 
 Come." 
 
 Susy burst into a triumphant laugh. "Et tain't no dog, 
 silly; it's er coyote." 
 
 Clarence blushed. It wasn't the first time the pioneer's 
 daughter had shown her superior knowledge. He said 
 quickly, to hide his discomfiture, "I'll ketch him, any 
 way; he's nothin' mor'n a ki yi." 
 
 "Ye can't, tho," said Susy, shaking her sun-bonnet. 
 "He's faster nor a hoss !" 
 
 Nevertheless, Clarence ran towards him, followed by 
 Susy. When they had come within twenty feet of him, 
 the lazy creature, without apparently the least effort, 
 took two or three limping bounds to one side, and re 
 mained at the same distance as before. They repeated 
 this onset three or four times with more or less excite 
 ment and hilarity, the animal evading them to one side, 
 but never actually retreating before them. Finally, it 
 occurred to them both that although they were not 
 catching him they were not driving him away. The 
 consequences of that thought were put into shape by 
 Susy with round-eyed significance. 
 
 "Kla'uns, he bites." 
 
 Clarence picked up a hard sun-baked clod, and, run 
 ning forward, threw it at the coyote. It was a clever 
 shot, and struck him on his slouching haunches. He 
 snapped and gave a short snarling yelp, and vanished. 
 Clarence returned with a victorious air to his com-
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 165 
 
 panion. But she was gazing intently in the opposite 
 direction, and for the first time he discovered that the 
 coyote had been leading them half round a circle. 
 
 "Kla'uns," said Susy, with a hysterical little laugh. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "The wagon's gone." 
 
 Clarence started. It was true. Not only their wagon, 
 but the whole train of oxen and teamsters had utterly 
 disappeared, vanishing as completely as if they had been 
 caught up in a whirlwind or engulfed in the earth ! 
 Even the low cloud of dust that usually marked their 
 distant course by day was nowhere to be seen. The long 
 level plain stretched before them to the setting sun, with 
 out a sign or trace of moving life or animation. That 
 great blue crystal bowl, filled with dust and fire by day, 
 with stars and darkness by night, which had always 
 seemed to drop its rim round them everywhere and shut 
 them in, seemed to them now to have been lifted to let 
 the train pass out, and then closed down upon them 
 forever. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THEIR first sensation was one of purely animal free 
 dom. 
 
 They looked at each other with sparkling eyes and 
 long silent breaths. But this spontaneous outburst of 
 savage nature soon passed. Susy's little hand presently 
 reached forward and clutched Clarence's jacket. The 
 boy understood it, and said quickly, 
 
 "They ain't gone far, and they'll stop as soon as they 
 find us gone." 
 
 They trotted on a little faster; the sun they had fol 
 lowed every day and the fresh wagon tracks being their 
 unfailing guides ; the keen, cool air of the plains, taking 
 the place of that all-pervading dust and smell of the per 
 spiring oxen, invigorating them with its breath. 
 
 "We ain't skeered a bit, are we?" said Susy. 
 
 "What's there to be afraid of?" said Clarence scorn 
 fully. He said this none the less strongly because he
 
 166 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 suddenly remembered that they had been often left alone 
 in the wagon for hours without being looked after, and 
 that their absence might not be noticed until the train 
 stopped to encamp at dusk, two hours later. They were 
 not running very fast, yet either they were more tired 
 than they knew, or the air was thinner, for they both 
 seemed to breathe quickly. Suddenly Clarence stopped. 
 
 "There they are now." 
 
 He was pointing to a light cloud of dust in the far-off 
 horizon, from which the black hulk of a wagon emerged 
 for a moment and was lost. But even as they gazed the 
 cloud seemed to sink like a fairy mirage to the earth 
 again, the whole train disappeared, and only the empty 
 stretching track returned. They did not know that this 
 seemingly flat and level plain was really undulatory, 
 and that the vanished train had simply dipped below 
 their yiew on some further slope even as it had once 
 before. But they knew they were disappointed, and that 
 disappointment revealed to them the fact that they had 
 concealed it from each other. The girl was the first to 
 succumb, and burst into a quick spasm of angry tears. 
 That single act of weakness called out the boy's pride 
 and strength. There was no longer an equality of suffer 
 ing ; he had become her protector ; he felt himself re 
 sponsible for both. Considering her no longer his equal, 
 he was no longer frank with her. 
 
 "There's nothin' to boo-hoo for," he said, with a half- 
 affected brusqueness. "So quit, now ! They'll stop in a 
 minit, and send some one back for us. Shouldn't wonder 
 if they're doin' it now." 
 
 But Susy, with feminine discrimination detecting the 
 hollow ring in his voice, here threw herself upon him 
 and began to beat him violently with her little fists. 
 "They ain't! They ain't! They ain't. You know it! 
 How dare you?" Then, exhausted with her struggles, 
 she suddenly threw herself flat on the dry grass, shut her 
 eyes tightly, and clutched at the stubble. 
 
 "Get up," said the boy, with a pale, determined face 
 that seemed to have got much older. 
 
 "You leave me be," said Susy.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 167 
 
 "Do you want me to go away and leave you?" asked 
 the boy. 
 
 Susy opened one blue eye furtively in the secure 
 depths of her sun-bonnet, and gazed at his changed face. 
 
 "Ye-e-s." 
 
 He pretended to turn away, but really to look at the 
 height of the sinking sun. 
 
 "Kla'uns !" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Take me." 
 
 She was holding up her hands. He lifted her gently 
 in his arms, dropping her head over his shoulder. 
 "Now," he said cheerfully, "you keep a good lookout 
 that way, and I this, and we'll soon be there." 
 
 The idea seemed to please her. After Clarence had 
 stumbled on for a few moments, she said, "Do you see 
 anything, Kla'uns?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "No more don't I." This equality of perception ap 
 parently satisfied her. Presently she lay more limp in 
 his arms. She was asleep. 
 
 The sun was sinking lower; it had already touched 
 the edge of the horizon, and was level with his dazzled 
 and straining eyes. At times it seemed to impede his 
 eager search and task his vision. Haze and black spots 
 floated across the horizon, and round wafers, like dupli 
 cates of the sun, glittered back from the dull surface of 
 the plains. Then he resolved to look no more until he 
 had counted fifty, a hundred, but always with the same 
 result, the return of the empty, unending plains the 
 disk growing redder as it neared the horizon, the fire 
 it seemed to kindle as it sank, but nothing more. 
 
 Staggering under his burden, he tried to distract him 
 self by fancying how the discovery of their absence 
 would be made. He heard the listless, half-querulous 
 discussion about the locality that regularly pervaded the 
 nightly camp. He heard the discontented voice of Jake 
 Silsbee as he halted beside the wagon, and said, "Come 
 out o' that now, you two, and mighty quick about it." 
 He heard the command harshly repeated. He saw the
 
 168 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 look of irritation on Silsbee's dusty, bearded face, that 
 followed his hurried glance into the empty wagon. He 
 heard the query, "What's gone o' them limbs now?" 
 handed from wagon to wagon. He heard a few oaths; 
 Mrs. Silsbee's high rasping voice, abuse of himself, the 
 hurried and discontented detachment of a search party, 
 Silsbee and one of the hired men, and vociferation and 
 blame. Blame always for himself, the elder, who might 
 have "known better !" A little fear, perhaps, but he 
 could not fancy either pity or commiseration. Perhaps 
 the thought upheld his pride; under the prospect of sym 
 pathy he might have broken down. 
 
 At last he stumbled, and stopped to keep himself from 
 falling forward on his face. He could go no further; 
 his breath was spent ; he was dripping with perspiration ; 
 his legs were trembling under him; there was a roar 
 ing in his ears; round red disks of the sun were scat 
 tered everywhere around him like spots of blood. To 
 the right of the trail there seemed to be a slight mound 
 where he could rest awhile, and yet keep his watchful 
 survey of the horizon. But on reaching it he found that 
 it was only a tangle of taller mesquite grass, into which 
 he sank with his burden. Nevertheless, if useless as a 
 point of vantage, it offered a soft couch for Susy, who 
 seemed to have fallen quite naturally into her usual 
 afternoon siesta, and in a measure it shielded her from 
 a cold breeze that had sprung up from the west. Utterly 
 exhausted himself, but not daring to yield to the torpor 
 that seemed to be creeping over him, Clarence half sat, 
 half knelt down beside her, supporting himself with one 
 hand, and, partly hidden in the long grass, kept his 
 straining eyes fixed on the lonely track. 
 
 The red disk was sinking lower. It seemed to have 
 already crumbled away a part of the distance with its 
 eating fires. As it sank still lower, it shot out long, 
 luminous rays, diverging fan-like across the plain, as if, 
 in the boy's excited fancy, it too were searching for the 
 lost estrays. And as one long beam seemed to linger 
 over his hiding-place, he even thought that it might 
 serve as a guide to Silsbee and the qther seekers, and.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 169 
 
 was constrained to stagger to his feet, erect in its light. 
 But it soon sank, and with it Clarence dropped back 
 again to his crouching watch. Yet he knew that the 
 daylight was still good for an hour, and with the with 
 drawal of that mystic sunset glory objects became even 
 more distinct and sharply defined than at any other time. 
 And with the merciful sheathing of that flaming sword 
 which seemed to have swayed between him and the 
 vanished train, his eyes already felt a blessed relief. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WITH the setting of the sun an ominous silence fell. 
 He could hear the low breathing of Susy, and even 
 fancied he could hear the beating of his own heart in 
 that oppressive hush of all nature. For the day's march 
 had always been accompanied by the monotonous creak 
 ing of wheels and axles, and even the quiet of the night 
 encampment had been always more or less broken by the 
 movement of unquiet sleepers on the wagon beds, or the 
 breathing of the cattle. But here there was neither 
 sound nor motion. Susy's prattle, and even the sound 
 of his own voice, would have broken the benumbing 
 spell, but it was a part of his growing self-denial now 
 that he refrained from waking her even by a whisper. 
 She would awaken soon enough to thirst and hunger, 
 perhaps, and then what was he to do? If that looked- 
 for help would only come now while she still slept. 
 For it was part of his boyish fancy that if he could 
 deliver her asleep and undemonstrative of fear and suf 
 fering, he would be less blameful, and she less mindful of 
 her trouble. If it did not come but he would not think 
 of that yet ! If she was thirsty meantime well, it might 
 rain, and there was always the dew which they used to 
 brush off the morning grass; he would take off his shirt 
 and catch it in that, like a shipwrecked mariner. It 
 would be funny, and make her laugh. For himself he 
 would not laugh; he felt he was getting very old and 
 grown up in this loneliness.
 
 170 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 It was getting darker they should be looking into the 
 wagons now. A new doubt began to assail him. Ought 
 he not, now that he was rested, make the most of the 
 remaining moments of daylight, and before the glow 
 faded from the west, when he would no longer have any 
 bearings to guide him? But there was always the risk of 
 waking her! to what? The fear of being confronted 
 again with her fear and of being unable to pacify her, 
 at last decided him to remain. But he crept softly 
 through the grass, and in the dust of the track traced 
 the four points of the compass, as he could still deter 
 mine them by the sunset light, with a large printed W 
 to indicate the west ! This boyish contrivance particu 
 larly pleased him. If he had only had a pole, a stick, 
 or even a twig, on which to tie his handkerchief and 
 erect it above the clump of mesquite as a signal to the 
 searchers in case they should be overcome by fatigue or 
 sleep, he would have been happy. But the plain was 
 barren of brush or timber; he did not dream that this 
 omission and the very unobtrusiveness of his hiding- 
 place would be his salvation from a greater danger. 
 
 With the coming darkness the wind arose and swept 
 the plain with a long-drawn sigh. This increased to a 
 murmur, till presently the whole expanse before sunk 
 in awful silence seemed to awake with vague com 
 plaints, incessant sounds, and low moanings. At times 
 he thought he heard the halloaing of distant voices, at 
 times it seemed as a whisper in his own ear. In the 
 silence that followed each blast he fancied he could 
 detect the creaking of the wagon, the dull thud of the 
 oxen's hoofs, or broken fragments of speech, blown and 
 scattered even as he strained his ears to listen by the 
 next gust. This tension of the ear began to confuse his 
 brain, as his eyes had been previously dazzled by the 
 sunlight, and a strange torpor began to steal over his 
 faculties. Once or twice his head dropped. 
 
 He awoke with a start. A moving figure had suddenly 
 uplifted itself between him and the horizon ! It was 
 not twenty yards away, so clearly outlined" against the 
 still luminous sky that it seemed even nearer. A human
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 171 
 
 figure, but so disheveled, so fantastic, and yet so mean 
 and puerile in its extravagance, that it seemed the out 
 come of a childish dream. It was a mounted figure, but 
 so ludicrously disproportionate to the pony it bestrode, 
 whose slim legs were stiffly buried in the dust in a 
 breathless halt, that it might have been a straggler from 
 some vulgar wandering circus. A tall hat, crownless 
 and rimless, a castaway of civilization, surmounted by 
 a turkey's feather, was on its head; over its shoulders 
 hung a dirty tattered blanket that scarcely covered the 
 two painted legs which seemed clothed in soiled yellow 
 hose. In one hand it held a gun ; the other was bent 
 above its eyes in eager scrutiny of some distant point be 
 yond and east of the spot where the children lay concealed. 
 Presently, with a dozen quick noiseless strides of the 
 pony's legs, -the apparition moved to the right, its gaze 
 still fixed on that mysterious part of the horizon. 
 There was no mistaking it now ! The painted Hebraic 
 face, the large curved nose, the bony cheek, the broad 
 mouth, the shadowed eyes, the straight long matted 
 locks ! It was an Indian ! Not the picturesque creature 
 of Clarence's imagination, but still an Indian! The boy 
 was uneasy, suspicious, antagonistic, but not afraid. He 
 looked at the heavy animal face with the superiority of 
 intelligence, at the half-naked figure with the conscious 
 supremacy of dress, at the lower individuality with the 
 contempt of a higher race. Yet a moment after, when 
 the figure wheeled and disappeared towards the undulat 
 ing west, a strange chill crept over him. Yet he did 
 not know that in this puerile phantom and painted pigmy 
 the awful majesty of Death had passed him by. 
 
 "Mamma !" 
 
 It was Susy's voice, struggling into consciousness. 
 Perhaps she had been instinctively conscious of the boy's 
 sudden fears. 
 
 "Hush !" 
 
 He had just turned to the objective point of the 
 Indian's gaze. There was something! A dark line was 
 moving along with the gathering darkness. For a 
 moment he hardly dared to voice his thoughts even to
 
 172 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 himself. It was a following train overtaking them from 
 the rear ! And from the rapidity of its movements a 
 train with horses, hurrying forward to evening camp. 
 He had never dreamt of help from that quarter. This 
 was what the Indian's keen eyes had been watching, 
 and why he had so precipitately fled. 
 
 The strange train was now coming up at a round 
 trot. It was evidently well appointed with five or six 
 large wagons and several outriders. In half an hour 
 it would be here. Yet he refrained from waking Susy, 
 who had fallen asleep again; his old superstition of 
 securing her safety first being still uppermost. He took 
 off his jacket to cover her shoulders, and rearranged her 
 nest. Then he glanced again at the coming train. But 
 for some unaccountable reason it had changed its direc 
 tion, and instead of following the track that should have 
 brought it to his side it had turned off to the left ! In 
 ten minutes it would pass abreast of him a mile and a 
 half away ! If he woke Susy now, he knew she would 
 he helpless in her terror, and he could not carry her half 
 that distance. He might rush to the train himself and 
 return with help, but he would never leave her alone 
 in the darkness. Never ! If she woke she would die 
 of fright, perhaps, or wander blindly and aimlessly 
 away. No ! The train would pass and with it that hope 
 of rescue. Something was in his throat, but he gulped 
 it down and was quiet again albeit he shivered in the 
 night wind. 
 
 The train was nearly abreast of him now. He ran out 
 of the tall grass, waving his straw hat above his head 
 in the faint hope of attracting attention. But he did not 
 go far, for he found to his alarm that when he turned 
 back again the clump of mesquite was scarcely distin 
 guishable from the rest of the plain. This settled all 
 question of his going. Even if he reached the train and 
 returned with some one, how would he ever find her 
 again in this desolate expanse? 
 
 He watched the train slowly pass still mechanically, 
 almost hopelessly, waving his hat as he ran up and down 
 before the mesquite, as if he were waving a last fare-
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 173 
 
 well to his departing hope. Suddenly it appeared to him 
 that three of the outriders who were preceding the first 
 wagon had changed their shape. They were no longer 
 sharp, oblong, black blocks against the horizon but had 
 become at first blurred and indistinct, then taller and 
 narrower, until at last they stood out like exclamation 
 points against the sky. He continued to wave his hat, 
 they continued to grow taller and narrower. He under 
 stood it now the three transformed blocks were the out 
 riders coming towards him. 
 This is what he had seen 
 
 
 
 This is what he saw now 
 
 ! ! ! 
 
 He ran back to Susy to see if she still slept, for his 
 foolish desire to have her saved unconsciously was 
 stronger than ever now that safety seemed so near. She 
 was still sleeping, although she had moved slightly. He 
 ran to the front again. 
 
 The outriders had apparently halted. What were they 
 doing? Why wouldn't they come on? 
 
 Suddenly a blinding flash of light seemed to burst from 
 one of them. Away over his head something whistled 
 like a rushing bird, and sped off invisible. They had 
 fired a gun; they were signaling to him Clarence like 
 a grown-up man. He would have given his life at 
 that moment to have had a gun. But he could only 
 wave his hat frantically. 
 
 One of the figures here bore away and impetuously 
 darted forward again. He was coming nearer, powerful, 
 gigantic, formidable, as he loomed through the darkness. 
 All at once he threw up his arm with a wild gesture to 
 the others; and his voice, manly, frank, and assuring, 
 came ringing before him. 
 
 "Hold up ! Good God ! It's no Injun it's a child !" 
 
 In another moment he had reined up beside Clarence 
 and leaned over him, bearded, handsome, powerful and 
 protecting. 
 
 "Hallo ! What's all this ? What are you doing 
 here?"
 
 174 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 "Lost from Mr. Silsbee's train," said Clarence, point 
 ing to the darkened west. 
 
 "Lost? how long?" 
 
 "About three hours. I thought they'd come back for 
 us," said Clarence apologetically to this big, kindly man. 
 
 "And you kalkilated to wait here for 'em?" 
 
 "Yes, yes I did till I saw you." 
 
 "Then why in thunder didn't you light out straight 
 for us, instead of hanging round here and drawing us 
 out?" 
 
 The boy hung his head. He knew his reasons were 
 unchanged, but all at once they seemed very foolish and 
 unmanly to speak out. 
 
 "Only that we were on the keen jump for Injins," 
 continued the stranger, "we wouldn't have seen you at 
 all, and might hev shot you when we did. What pos 
 sessed you to stay here ?" 
 
 The boy was still silent. "Kla'uns," said a faint, 
 sleepy voice from the mesquite, "take me." The rifle 
 shot had awakened Susy. 
 
 The stranger turned quickly towards the sound. Clar 
 ence started and recalled himself. "There," he said bit 
 terly, "you've done it now, you've wakened her ! That's 
 why I stayed. I couldn't carry her over there to you. 
 I couldn't let her walk, for she'd be frightened. I 
 wouldn't wake her up, for she'd be frightened, and I 
 mightn't find her again. There ! He had made up his 
 mind to be abused, but he was reckless now that she 
 was safe. 
 
 The men glanced at each other. "Then," said the 
 spokesman quietly, "you didn't strike out for us on 
 account of your sister?" 
 
 "She ain't my sister," said Clarence quickly. "She's 
 a little girl. She's Mrs. Silsbee's little girl. We were 
 in the wagon and got down. It's my fault. I helped 
 her down." 
 
 The three men reined their horses closely round him, 
 leaning forward from their saddles, with their hands on 
 their knees and their heads on one side. "Then," said 
 the spokesman gravely, "you just reckoned to stay here,
 
 A WAIF OP THE PLAINS 175 
 
 old man, and take your chances with her rather than 
 run the risk of frightening or leaving her though it 
 was your one chance of life !" 
 
 "Yes," said the boy, scornful of this feeble, grown-up 
 repetition. 
 
 "Come here." 
 
 The boy came doggedly forward. The man pushed 
 back the well-worn straw hat from Clarence's forehead 
 and looked into his lowering face. With his hand still 
 on the boy's head he turned him round to the others, 
 and said quietly, 
 
 "Suthin of a pup, eh?" 
 
 "You bet," they responded. 
 
 The voice was not unkindly, although the speaker had 
 thrown his lower jaw forward as if to pronounce the word 
 "pup" with a humorous suggestion of a mastiff. Before 
 Clarence could make up his mind if the epithet was 
 insulting or not, the man put out his stirruped foot, and, 
 with a gesture of invitation, said, "Jump up." 
 
 "But Susy," said Clarence, drawing back. 
 
 "Look; she's making up to Phil already." 
 
 Clarence looked. Susy had crawled out of the mes- 
 quite, and with her sun-bonnet hanging down her back, 
 her curls tossed around her face, still flushed with sleep, 
 and Clarence's jacket over her shoulders, was gazing up 
 with grave satisfaction in the laughing eyes of one of 
 the men who was with outstretched hands bending over 
 her. Could he believe his senses? The terror-stricken, 
 willful, unmanageable Susy, whom he would have trans 
 lated unconsciously to safety without this terrible ordeal 
 of being awakened to the loss of her home and parents 
 at any sacrifice to himself this ingenuous infant was 
 absolutely throwing herself with every appearance of 
 forgetfulness into the arms of the first new-comer ! Yet 
 his perception of this fact was accompanied by no sense 
 of ingratitude. For her sake he felt relieved, and with 
 a boyish smile of satisfaction and encouragement vaulted 
 into the saddle before the stranger.
 
 176 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE dash forward to the train, securely held in the 
 saddle by the arms of their deliverers, was a secret joy 
 to the children that seemed only too quickly over. The 
 resistless gallop of the fiery mustangs, the rush of the 
 night wind, the gathering darkness in which the distant 
 wagons, now halted and facing them, looked like domed 
 huts in the horizon all these seemed but a delightful and 
 fitting climax to the events of the day. In the sublime for- 
 getfulness of youth, all they had gone through had left no 
 embarrassing record behind it ; they were willing to repeat 
 their experiences on the morrow, confident of some equally 
 happy end. And when Clarence, timidly reaching his 
 hand towards the horse-hair reins lightly held by his 
 companion, had them playfully yielded up to him by that 
 bold and confident rider, the boy felt himself indeed a 
 man. 
 
 But a greater surprise was in store for them. As they 
 neared the wagons, now formed into a circle with a cer 
 tain degree of military formality, they could see that the 
 appointments of the strange party were larger and more 
 liberal than their own, or indeed anything they had ever 
 known of the kind. Forty or fifty horses were tethered 
 within the circle, and the camp fires were already blazing. 
 Before one of them a large tent was erected, and through 
 the parted flaps could be seen a table actually spread with 
 a white cloth. Was it a school feast, or was this their 
 ordinary household arrangement? Clarence and Susy 
 thought of their own dinners, usually laid on bare boards 
 beneath the sky, or under the low hood of the wagon in 
 rainy weather, and marveled. And when they finally 
 halted, and were lifted from their horses, and passed one 
 wagon fitted up as a bedroom and another as a kitchen, 
 they could only nudge each other with silent appreciation. 
 But here again the difference already noted in the quality 
 of the sensations of the two children was observable. 
 Both were equally and agreeably surprised. But Susy's 
 wonder was merely the sense of novelty and inexperience,
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 177 
 
 and a slight disbelief in the actual necessity of what she 
 saw ; while Clarence, whether from some previous general 
 experience or peculiar temperament, had the conviction 
 that what he saw here was the usual custom, and what 
 he had known with the Silsbees was the novelty. The 
 feeling was attended with a slight sense of wounded 
 pride for Susy, as if her enthusiasm had exposed her 
 to ridicule. 
 
 The man who had carried him, and seemed to be the 
 head of the party, had already preceded them to the tent, 
 and presently reappeared with a lady with whom he had 
 exchanged a dozen hurried words. They seemed to refer 
 to him and Susy; but Clarence was too much preoccu 
 pied with the fact that the lady was pretty, that her 
 clothes were neat and thoroughly clean, that her hair was 
 tidy and not rumpled, and that, although she wore an 
 apron, it was as clean as her gown, and even had rib 
 bons on it, to listen to what was said. And when she 
 ran eagerly forward, and with a fascinating smile lifted 
 the astonished Susy in her arms, Clarence, in his delight 
 for his young charge, quite forgot that she had not noticed 
 him. The bearded man, who seemed to be the lady's hus 
 band, evidently pointed out the omission, with some addi 
 tions that Clarence could not catch ; for after saying, with 
 a pretty pout, "Well, why shouldn't he?" she came for 
 ward with the same dazzling smile, and laid her small and 
 clean white hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "And so you took good care of the dear little thing? 
 She's such an angel, isn't she? and you must love her 
 very much." 
 
 Clarence colored with delight. It was true it had never 
 occurred to him to look at Susy in the light of a celestial 
 visitant, and I fear he was just then more struck with 
 the fair complimenter than the compliment to his com 
 panion, but he was pleased for her sake. He was not yet 
 old enough to be conscious of the sex's belief in its irre 
 sistible domination over mankind at all ages, and that 
 Johnny in his check apron would be always a hopeless 
 conquest of Jeannette in her pinafore, and that he ought 
 to have been in love with Susy.
 
 178 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 Howbeit, the lady .suddenly whisked her away to the 
 recesses of her own wagon, to reappear later, washed, 
 curled, and beribboned like a new doll, and Clarence was 
 left alone with the husband and another of the party. 
 
 "Well, my boy, you haven't told me your name yet." 
 
 "Clarence, sir." 
 
 "So Susy calls you, but what else?" 
 
 "Clarence Brant." 
 
 "Any relation to Colonel Brant?" asked the second 
 man carelessly. 
 
 "He was my father," said the boy, brightening under 
 this faint prospect of recognition in his loneliness. 
 
 The two men glanced at each other. The leader looked 
 at the boy curiously, and said, 
 
 "Are you the son of Colonel Brant, of Louisville?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the boy, with a dim stirring of uneasi 
 ness in his heart. "But he's dead now," he added finally. 
 
 "Ah, when did he die?" said the man quickly. 
 
 "Oh, a long time ago. I don't remember him much. I 
 was very little," said the boy, half apologetically. 
 
 "Ah, you don't remember him?" 
 
 "No," said Clarence shortly. He was beginning to fall 
 back upon that certain dogged repetition which in sensi 
 tive children arises from their hopeless inability to express 
 their deeper feelings. He also had an instinctive con 
 sciousness that this want of a knowledge of his father 
 was part of that vague wrong that had been done him. 
 It did not help his uneasiness that he could see that one 
 of the two men, who turned away with a half-laugh, 
 misunderstood or did not believe him. 
 
 "How did you come with the Silsbees?" asked the 
 first man. 
 
 Clarence repeated mechanically, with a child's distaste 
 of practical details, how he had lived with an aunt at 
 St. Jo, and how his stepmother had procured his passage 
 with the Silsbees to California, where he was to meet his 
 cousin. All this with a lack of interest and abstraction 
 that he was miserably conscious told against him, but 
 he was yet helpless to resist. 
 
 The first man remained thoughtful, and then glanced
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 179 
 
 at Clarence's sunburnt hands. Presently his large, good- 
 humored smile returned. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you are hungry ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence shyly. "But " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "I should like to wash myself a little," he returned hesi 
 tatingly, thinking of the clean tent, the clean lady, and 
 Susy's ribbons. 
 
 "Certainly," said his friend, with a pleased look. "Come 
 with me." Instead of leading Clarence to the battered tin 
 basin and bar of yellow soap which had formed the toilet 
 service of the Silsbee party, he brought the boy into one 
 of the wagons, where there was a washstand, a china 
 basin, and a cake of scented soap. Standing beside Clar 
 ence, he watched him perform his ablutions with an 
 approving air which rather embarrassed his protege. 
 Presently he said, almost abruptly, 
 
 "Do you remember your father's house at Louisville?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; but it was a long time ago." 
 
 Clarence remembered it as being very different from 
 his home at St. Joseph's, but from some innate feeling 
 of diffidence he would have shrunk from describing it in 
 that way. He, however, said he thought it was a large 
 house. Yet the modest answer only made his new friend 
 look at him the more keenly. 
 
 "Your father was Colonel Hamilton Brant, of Louis 
 ville, wasn't he?" he said, half-confidentially. 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence hopelessly. 
 
 "Well," said his friend cheerfully, as if dismissing an 
 abstruse problem from his mind, "Let's go to supper." 
 
 When they reached the tent again, Clarence noticed 
 that the supper was laid only for his host and wife and 
 the second man who was familiarly called "Harry," but 
 who spoke of the former always as "Mr. and Mrs. Pey 
 ton" while the remainder of the party, a dozen men, 
 were at a second camp fire, and evidently enjoying them 
 selves in a picturesque fashion. Had the boy been allowed 
 to choose, he would have joined them, partly because it 
 seemed more "manly," and partly that he dreaded a 
 renewal of the questioning.
 
 180 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 But here, Susy, sitting bolt upright on an extemporized 
 high stool, happily diverted his attention by pointing to 
 the empty chair beside her. 
 
 "Kla'uns," she said suddenly, with her usual clear and 
 appalling frankness, "they is chickens, and hamanaigs, and 
 hot biksquits, and lasses, and Mister Peyton says I kin 
 have 'em all." 
 
 Clarence, who had begun suddenly to feel that he was 
 responsible for Susy's deportment, and was balefully con 
 scious that she was holding her plated fork in her chubby 
 fist by its middle, and, from his previous knowledge of 
 her, was likely at any moment to plunge it into the dish 
 before her, said softly, 
 
 "Hush !" 
 
 "Yes, you shall, dear," said Mrs. Peyton, with tenderly 
 beaming assurance to Susy and a half-reproachful glance 
 at the boy. "Eat what you like, darling." 
 
 "It's a fork," whispered the still uneasy Clarence, as 
 Susy now seemed inclined to stir her bowl of milk 
 with it. 
 
 " 'Tain't, now, Kla'uns, it's only a split spoon," said 
 Susy. 
 
 But Mrs. Peyton, in her rapt admiration, took small 
 note of these irregularities, plying the child with food, 
 forgetting her own meal, and only stopping at times to 
 lift back the forward straying curls on Susy's shoulders. 
 Mr. Peyton looked on gravely and contentedly. Sud 
 denly the eyes of husband and wife met. 
 
 "She'd have been nearly as old as this, John," said Mrs. 
 Peyton, in a faint voice. 
 
 John Peyton nodded without speaking, and turned his 
 eyes away into the gathering darkness. The man "Harry" 
 also looked abstractedly at his plate, as if he was saying 
 grace. Clarence wondered who "she" was, and why tv/o 
 little tears dropped from Mrs. Peyton's lashes into Susy's 
 milk, and whether Susy might not violently object to it. 
 He did not know until later that the Peytons had lost 
 their only child, and Susy comfortably drained this 
 mingled cup of a mother's grief and tenderness without 
 suspicion.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 181 
 
 "I suppose we'll come up with their train early to 
 morrow, if some of them don't find us to-night," said 
 Mrs. Peyton, with a long sigh and a regretful glance at 
 Susy. "Perhaps we might travel together for a little 
 while,'' she added timidly. 
 
 Harry laughed, and Mr. Peyton replied gravely, "I 
 am afraid we wouldn't travel with them, even for com 
 pany's sake; and," he added, in a lower and graver voice, 
 "it's rather odd the search party hasn't come upon us 
 yet, though I'm keeping Pete and Hank patrolling the 
 trail to meet them." 
 
 "It's heartless so it is !" said Mrs. Peyton, with 
 sudden indignation. "It would be all very well if 
 it was only this boy, who can take care of himself; 
 but to be so careless of a mere baby like this, it's 
 shameful !" 
 
 For the first time Clarence tasted the cruelty of dis 
 crimination. All the more keenly that he was beginning 
 to worship, after his boyish fashion, this sweet-faced, 
 clean, and tender-hearted woman. Perhaps Mr. Peyton 
 noticed it, for he came quietly to his aid. 
 
 "Maybe they knew better than we in what careful 
 hands they had left her," he said, with a cheerful nod 
 towards Clarence. "And, again, they may have been 
 fooled as we were by Injin signs and left the straight 
 road." 
 
 This suggestion instantly recalled to Clarence his vision 
 in the mesquite. Should he dare tell them? Would they 
 believe him, or would they laugh at him before her? He 
 hesitated, and at last resolved to tell it privately to the 
 husband. When the meal was ended, and he was made 
 happy by Mrs. Peyton's laughing acceptance of his offer 
 to help her clear the table and wash the dishes, they all 
 gathered. comfortably in front of the tent before the large 
 camp fire. At the other fire the rest of the party were 
 playing cards and laughing, but Clarence no longer cared 
 to join them. He was quite tranquil in the maternal pro 
 pinquity of his hostess, albeit a little uneasy as to his 
 reticence about the Indian. 
 
 "Kla'uns," said Susy, relieving a momentary pause,
 
 182 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 in her highest voice, "knows how to speak. Speak, 
 Kla'uns !" 
 
 It appearing from Clarence's blushing explanation that 
 this gift was not the ordinary faculty of speech, but a 
 capacity to recite verse, he was politely pressed by the 
 company for a performance. 
 
 "Speak 'em, Kla'uns, the boy what stood unto the burn- 
 in' deck, and said, 'The boy, oh, where was he ?' " said 
 Susy, comfortably lying down on Mrs. Peyton's lap, and 
 contemplating her bare knees in the air. "It's 'bout a 
 boy," she added confidentially to Mrs. Peyton, "whose 
 father wouldn't never, never stay with him on a burn- 
 in' ship, though he said, 'Stay, father, stay,' ever so 
 much." 
 
 With this clear, lucid, and perfectly satisfactory ex 
 planation of Mrs. Hemans's "Casabianca," Clarence be 
 gan. Unfortunately, his actual rendering of this popular 
 school performance was more an effort of memory than 
 anything else, and was illustrated by those wooden ges 
 tures which a Western schoolmaster had taught him. He 
 described the flames that "roared around him," by indi 
 cating with his hand a perfect circle, of which he was the 
 axis; he adjured his father, the late Admiral Casabianca, 
 by clasping his hands before his chin, as if wanting to be 
 manacled in an attitude which he was miserably conscious 
 was unlike anything he himself had ever felt or seen 
 before; he described that father "faint in death below," 
 and "the flag on high," with one single motion. Yet 
 something that the verses had kindled in his active imag 
 ination, perhaps, rather than an illustration of the verses 
 themselves, at times brightened his gray eyes, became 
 tremulous in his youthful voice, and I fear occasionally 
 incoherent on his lips. At times, when not conscious of 
 his affected art, the plain and all upon it seemed to him 
 to slip away into the night, the blazing camp fire at his 
 feet to wrap him in a fateful glory, and a vague devo 
 tion to something he knew not what so possessed him 
 that he communicated it, and probably some of his own 
 youthful delight in extravagant voice, to his hearers, until, 
 when he ceased with a glowing face, he was surprised to
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 183 
 
 find that the card players had deserted their camp fires 
 and gathered round the tent. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "You didn't say 'Stay, father, stay,' enough, Kla'uns," 
 said Susy critically. Then suddenly starting upright in 
 Mrs. Peyton's lap, she continued rapidly, "I kin dance. 
 And sing. I kin dance High Jambooree." 
 
 "What's High Jambooree, dear?" asked Mrs. Peyton. 
 
 "You'll see. Lemme down." And Susy slipped to the 
 ground. 
 
 The dance of High Jambooree, evidently of remote mys 
 tical African origin, appeared to consist of three small 
 skips to the right and then to the left, accompanied by the 
 holding up of very short skirts, incessant "teetering" on 
 the toes of small feet, the exhibition of much bare knee 
 and stocking, and a gurgling accompaniment of childish 
 laughter. Vehemently applauded, it left the little per 
 former breathless, but invincible and ready for fresh 
 conquest. 
 
 "I kin sing, too," she gasped hurriedly, as if unwilling 
 that the applause should lapse. "I kin sing. Oh, dear ! 
 Kla'uns," piteously, "what is it I sing?" 
 
 "Ben Bolt," suggested Clarence. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Oh, don't you remember sweet Alers Ben 
 Bolt ?" began Susy, in the same breath and the wrong key. 
 "Sweet Alers, with hair so brown, who wept with delight 
 when you giv'd her a smile, and " with knitted brows 
 and appealing recitative, "what's er rest of it, Kla'uns?" 
 
 "Who trembled with fear at your frown?" prompted 
 Clarer.ce. 
 
 "Who trembled with fear at my frown?" shrilled Susy. 
 "I forget er rest. Wait ! I kin sing 
 
 "Praise God," suggested Clarence. 
 
 "Yes." Here Susy, a regular attendant in camp and 
 prayer-meetings, was on firmer ground. 
 
 Promptly lifting her high treble, yet with a certain 
 acquired deliberation, she began, "Praise God, from whom
 
 184 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 all blessings flow." At the end of the second line the 
 whispering and laughing ceased. A deep voice to the 
 right, that of the champion poker player, suddenly rose 
 on the swell of the third line. He was instantly fol 
 lowed by a dozen ringing voices, and by the time the 
 last line was reached it was given with a full chorus, in 
 which the dull chant of teamsters and drivers mingled 
 with the soprano of Mrs. Peyton and Susy's childish treble. 
 Again and again it was repeated, with forgetful eyes and 
 abstracted faces, rising and falling with the night wind 
 and the leap and gleam of the camp fires, and fading again 
 like them in the immeasurable mystery of the darkened 
 plain. 
 
 In the deep and embarrassing silence that followed, at 
 last the party hesitatingly broke up, Mrs. Peyton retiring 
 with Susy after offering the child to Clarence for a per 
 functory "good-night" kiss, an unusual proceeding, which 
 somewhat astonished them both and Clarence found him 
 self near Mr. Peyton. 
 
 "I think," said Clarence timidly, "I saw an Injin 
 to-day." 
 
 Mr. Peyton bent down towards him. "An Injin 
 where?" he asked quickly, with the same look of doubting 
 interrogatory with which he had received Clarence's name 
 and parentage. 
 
 The boy for a moment regretted having spoken. But 
 with his old doggedness he particularized his statement. 
 Fortunately, being gifted with a keen perception, he was 
 able to describe the stranger accurately, and to impart 
 with his description that contempt for its subject which 
 he had felt, and which to his frontier auditor established 
 its truthfulness. Peyton turned abruptly away, but pres 
 ently returned with Harry and another man. 
 
 "You are sure of this?" said Peyton, half-encour- 
 agingly. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "As sure as you are that your father is Colonel Brant 
 and is dead?" said Harry, with a light laugh. 
 
 Tears sprang into the boy's lowering eyes. "I don't 
 lie," he said doggedly.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 185 
 
 "I believe you, Clarence," said Peyton quietly. "But 
 why didn't you say it before?" 
 
 "I didn't like to say it before Susy and her !" stam 
 mered the boy. 
 
 "Her?" 
 
 "Yes, sir Mrs. Peyton," said Clarence blushingly. 
 
 "Oh," said Harry sarcastically, "how blessed polite 
 we are !" 
 
 "That'll do. Let up on him, will you?" said Peyton, 
 roughly, to his subordinate. "The boy knows what he's 
 about. But," he continued, addressing Clarence, "how 
 was it the Injin didn't see you?" 
 
 "I was very still on account of not waking Susy," said 
 Clarence, "and " He hesitated. 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 "He seemed more keen watching what you were doing," 
 said the boy boldly. 
 
 "That's so," broke in the second man, who happened 
 to be experienced, "and as he was to wind'ard o' the boy 
 he was off his scent and bearings. He was one of their 
 rear scouts ; the rest o' them's ahead crossing our track to 
 cut us off. Ye didn't see anything else?" 
 
 "I saw a coyote first," said Clarence, greatly en 
 couraged. 
 
 "Hold on !" said the expert, as Harry turned away 
 with a sneer. "That's a sign, too. Wolf don't go where 
 wolf hez been, and coyote don't f oiler Injins there's no 
 pickin's ! How long afore did you see the coyote ?" 
 
 "Just after we left the wagon," said Clarence. 
 
 "That's it," said the man, thoughtfully. "He was driven 
 on ahead, or hanging on their flanks. These Injins are 
 betwixt us and that ar train, or following it." 
 
 Peyton made a hurried gesture of warning, as if re 
 minding the speaker of Clarence's presence a gesture 
 which the boy noticed and wondered at. Then the con 
 versation of the three men took a lower tone, although 
 Clarence distinctly heard the concluding opinion of the 
 expert. 
 
 "It ain't no good now, Mr. Peyton, and you'd be only 
 exposing yourself on their ground by breakin' camp agin
 
 186 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 to-night. And you don't know that it ain't us they're 
 watchin'. You see, if we hadn't turned off the straight 
 road when we got that first scare from these yer lost 
 children, we might hev gone on and walked plump into 
 some cursed trap of those devils. To my mind, we're 
 just in nigger luck, and with a good watch and my patrol 
 we're all right to be fixed where we be till daylight." 
 
 Mr. Peyton presently turned away, taking Clarence 
 with him. "As we'll be up early and on the track of 
 your train to-morrow, my boy, you had better turn in 
 now. I've put you up in my wagon, and as I expect to 
 be in the saddle most of the night, I reckon I won't 
 trouble you much." He led the way to a second wagon 
 drawn up beside the one where Susy and Mrs. Peyton had 
 retired which Clarence was surprised to find fitted with 
 a writing table and desk, a chair, and even a bookshelf 
 containing some volumes. A long locker, fitted like a 
 lounge, had been made up as a couch for him, 
 with the unwonted luxury of clean white sheets 
 and pillow-cases. A soft matting covered the floor of 
 the heavy wagon bed, which, Mr. Peyton explained, was 
 hung on centre springs to prevent jarring. The sides 
 and roof of the vehicle were of lightly paneled wood, 
 instead of the usual hooked canvas frame of the ordinary 
 emigrant wagon, and fitted with a glazed door and mov 
 able window for light and air. Clarence wondered why 
 the big, powerful man, who seemed at home on horse 
 back, should ever care to sit in this office like a merchant 
 or a lawyer; and if this train sold things to the other 
 trains, or took goods, like the peddlers, to towns on the 
 route; but there seemed to be nothing to sell, and the 
 other wagons were filled with only the goods required by 
 the party. He would have liked to ask Mr. Peyton who 
 he was, and have questioned him as freely as he himself 
 had been questioned. But as the average adult man never 
 takes into consideration the injustice of denying to the 
 natural and even necessary curiosity of childhood that 
 questioning which he himself is so apt to assume with 
 out right, and almost always without delicacy, Clarence 
 had no recourse. Yet the boy, like all children, was con-
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 187 
 
 scious that if he had been afterwards questioned about 
 this inexplicable experience, he would have been blamed 
 for his ignorance concerning it. Left to himself pres 
 ently, and ensconced between the sheets, he lay for some 
 moments staring about him. The unwonted comfort of 
 his couch, so different from the stuffy blanket i the hard 
 wagon bed which he had shared with o->e of the team 
 sters, and the novelty, order, and cleanliness of his sur 
 roundings, while they were grateful to his instincts, began 
 in some vague way to depress him. To his loyal nature 
 it seemed a tacit infidelity to his former rough companions 
 to be lying here ; he had a dim idea that he had lost that 
 independence which equal discomfort and equal pleasure 
 among them had given him. There seemed a sense of 
 servitude in accepting this luxury which was not his. 
 This set him endeavoring to remember something of his 
 father's house, of the large rooms, drafty staircases, and 
 far-off ceilings, and the cold formality of a life that 
 seemed made up of strange faces ; some stranger his 
 parents ; some kinder the servants ; particularly the black 
 nurse who had him in charge. Why did Mr. Peyton ask 
 him about it? Why, if it were so important to strangers, 
 had not his mother told him more of it? And why was 
 she not like this good woman with the gentle voice who 
 was so kind to to Susy? And what did they mean by 
 making him so miserable? Something rose in his throat, 
 but with an effort he choked it back, and, creeping from 
 the lounge, went softly to the window, opened it to see 
 if it "would work," and looked out. The shrouded camp 
 fires, the stars that glittered but gave no light, the dim 
 moving bulk of a patrol beyond the circle, all seemed to 
 intensify the darkness, and changed the current of his 
 thoughts. He remembered what Mr. Peyton had said of 
 him when they first met. "Suthin of a pup, ain't he?" 
 Surely that meant something that was not bad! He 
 crept back to the couch again. 
 
 Lying there, still awake, he reflected that he wouldn't 
 be a scout when he grew up, but would be something like 
 Mr. Peyton, and have a train like this, and invite the 
 Silsbees and Susy to accompany him. For this purpose,
 
 188 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 he and Susy, early to-morrow morning, would get per 
 mission to come in here and play at that game. This 
 would familiarize him with the details, so that he would 
 be able at any time to take charge of it. He was already 
 an authority on the subject of Indians! He had once 
 been fired at as an Indian. He would always carry a 
 rifle like that hanging from the hooks at the end of the 
 wagon before him, and would eventually slay many In 
 dians and keep an account of them in a big book like that 
 on the desk. Susy would help him, having grown up a 
 lady, and they would both together issue provisions and 
 rations from the door of the wagon to the gathered crowds. 
 He would be known as the "White Chief," his Indian 
 name being "Suthin of a Pup." He would have a circus 
 van attached to the train, in which he would occasion 
 ally perform. He would also have artillery for protection. 
 There would be a terrific engagement, and he would rush 
 into the wagon, heated and blackened with gunpowder; 
 and Susy would put down an account of it in a book, and 
 Mrs. Peyton for she would be there in some vague 
 capacity would say, "Really, now, I don't see but what 
 we were very lucky in having such a boy as Clarence 
 with us. I begin to understand him better." And Harry, 
 who, for purposes of vague poetical retaliation, would 
 also drop in at that moment, would mutter and say, "He 
 is certainly the son of Colonel Brant; dear me!" and 
 apologize. And his mother would come in also, in her 
 coldest and most indifferent manner, in a white ball dress, 
 and start and say, "Good gracious, how that boy has 
 grown ! I am sorry I did not see more of him when he 
 was young." Yet even in the midst of this came a con 
 fusing numbness, and then the side of the wagon seemed 
 to melt away, and he drifted out again alone into the 
 empty desolate plain from which even the sleeping Susy 
 had vanished, and he was left deserted and forgotten. 
 Then all was quiet in the wagon, and only the night wind 
 moving round it. But lo ! the lashes of the sleeping 
 White Chief the dauntless leader, the ruthless destroyer 
 of Indians were wet with glittering tears ! 
 
 Yet it seemed only a moment afterwards that he awoke
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 189 
 
 with a faint consciousness of some arrested motion. To 
 his utter consternation, the sun, three hours high, was 
 shining in the wagon, already hot and stifling in its beams. 
 There was the familiar smell and taste of the dirty road 
 in the air about him. There was a faint creaking of 
 boards and springs, a slight oscillation, and beyond the 
 audible rattle of harness, as if the train had been under 
 way, the wagon moving, and then there had been a sud 
 den halt. They had probably come up with the Silsbee 
 train ; in a few moments the change would be effected 
 and all of his strange experience would be over. He 
 must get up now. Yet, with the morning laziness of the 
 healthy young animal, he curled up a n oment longer in 
 his luxurious couch. 
 
 How quiet it was ! There were far-off voices, but they 
 seemed suppressed and hurried. Through the window he 
 saw one of the teamsters run rapidly past him with a 
 strange, breathless, preoccupied face, halt a moment at 
 one of the following wagons, and then run back again 
 to the front. 
 
 Then two of the voices came nearer, with the dull beat 
 ing of hoofs in the dust. 
 
 "Rout out the boy and ask him," said a half-suppressed, 
 impatient voice, which Clarence at once recognized as the 
 man Harry's. 
 
 "Hold on till Peyton comes up," said the second voice, 
 in a low tone; "leave it to him." 
 
 "Better find out what they were like, at once," grum 
 bled Harry. 
 
 "Wait, stand back," said Peyton's voice, joining the 
 others ; "I'll ask him." 
 
 Clarence looked wonderingly at the door. It opened 
 on Mr. Peyton, dusty and dismounted, with a strange, 
 abstracted look in his face. 
 
 "How many wagons are in your train, Clarence?" 
 
 "Three, sir." 
 
 "Any marks on them?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Clarence, eagerly : " 'Off to California' 
 and 'Root, Hog, or Die.' " 
 
 Mr. Peyton's eye seemed to leap up and hold Clarence's
 
 190 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 with a sudden, strange significance, and then looked 
 down. 
 
 "How many were you in all?" he continued. 
 
 "Five, and there was Mrs. Silsbee." 
 
 "No other woman?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Get up and dress yourself," he said gravely, "and 
 wait here till I come back. Keep cool and have your wits 
 about you." He dropped his voice slightly. "Perhaps 
 something's happened that you'll have to show yourself a 
 little man again for, Clarence !" 
 
 The door closed, and the boy heard the same muffled 
 hoofs and voices die away towards the front. He began 
 to dress himself mechanically, almost vacantly, yet con 
 scious always of a vague undercurrent of thrilling excite 
 ment. When he had finished he waited almost breath 
 lessly, feeling the same beating of his heart that he had 
 felt when he was following the vanished train the day 
 before. At last he could stand the suspense no longer, 
 and opened the door. Everything was still in the motion 
 less caravan, except it struck him oddly even then the 
 unconcerned prattling voice of Susy from one of the 
 nearer wagons. Perhaps a sudden feeling that this was 
 something that concerned her, perhaps an irresistible im 
 pulse overcame him, but the next moment he had leaped 
 to the ground, faced about, and was running feverishly to 
 the front. 
 
 The first thing that met his eyes was the helpless and 
 desolate bulk of one of the Silsbee wagons a hundred 
 rods away, bereft of oxen and pole, standing alone and 
 motionless against the dazzling sky ! Near it was the 
 broken frame of another wagon, its fore wheels and axles 
 gone, pitched forward on its knees like an ox under the 
 butcher's sledge. Not far away there were the burnt and 
 blackened ruins of a third, around which the whole party 
 on foot and horseback seemed to be gathered. As the 
 boy ran violently on, the group opened to make way for 
 two men carrying some helpless but awful object between 
 them. A terrible instinct made Clarence swerve from it 
 in his headlong course, but he was at the same moment
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 191 
 
 discovered by the others, and a cry arose of "Go back !" 
 "Stop!" "Keep him back!" Heeding it no more than 
 the wind that whistled by him, Clarence made directly 
 for the foremost wagon the one in which he and Susy 
 had played. A powerful hand caught his shoulder ; it was 
 Mr. Peyton's. 
 
 "Mrs. Silsbee's wagon," said the boy, with white lips, 
 pointing to it. "Where is she?" 
 
 "She's missing," said Peyton, "and one other the rest 
 are dead." 
 
 "She must be there," said the boy, struggling, and 
 pointing to the wagon ; "let me go." 
 
 "Clarence," said Peyton sternly, accenting his grasp 
 upon the boy's arm, "be a man ! Look around you. Try 
 and tell us who these are." 
 
 There seemed to be one or two heaps of old clothes 
 lying on the ground, and further on, where the men at 
 a command from Peyton had laid down their burden, 
 another. In those ragged, dusty heaps of clothes, from 
 which all the majesty of life seemed to have been ruth 
 lessly stamped out, only what was ignoble and grotesque 
 appeared to be left. There was nothing terrible in this. 
 The boy moved slowly towards them ; and, incredible even 
 to himself, the overpowering fear of them that a moment 
 before had overcome him left him as suddenly. He 
 walked from the one to the other, recognizing them by 
 certain marks and signs, and mentioning name after 
 name. The groups gazed at him curiously ; he was con 
 scious that he scarcely understood himself, still less the 
 same quiet purpose that made him turn towards the 
 furthest wagon. 
 
 "There's nothing there," said Peyton; "we've searched 
 it." But the boy, without replying, continued his way, 
 and the crowd followed him. 
 
 The deserted wagon, more rude, disorderly, and slovenly 
 than it had ever seemed to him before, was now heaped 
 and tumbled with broken bones, cans, scattered provisions, 
 pots, pans, blankets, and clothing in the foul confusion of 
 a dust-heap. But in this heterogeneous mingling the boy's 
 quick eye caught sight of a draggled edge of calico.
 
 192 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 "That's Mrs. Silsbee's dress !" he cried, and leapt into 
 the wagon. 
 
 At first the men stared at each other, but an instant 
 later a dozen hands were helping him, nervously digging 
 and clearing away the rubbish. Then one man uttered 
 a sudden cry, and fell back with frantic but furious eyes 
 uplifted against the pitiless, smiling sky above him. 
 
 "Great God! look here!" 
 
 It was the yellowish, waxen face of Mrs. Silsbee that 
 had been uncovered. But to the fancy of the boy it had 
 changed; the old familiar lines of worry, care, and queru- 
 lousness had given way to a look of remote peace and 
 statue-like repose. He had often vexed her in her aggres 
 sive life; he was touched with remorse at her cold, pas- 
 ' sionless apathy now, and pressed timidly forward. Even 
 as he did so, the man, with a quick but warning gesture, 
 hurriedly threw his handkerchief over the matted locks, 
 as if to shut out something awful from his view. Clar 
 ence felt himself drawn back; but not before the white 
 lips of a bystander had whispered a single word 
 
 "Scalped, too ! by God !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THEN followed days and weeks that seemed to Clar 
 ence as a dream. At first, an interval of hushed and 
 awed restraint when he and Susy were kept apart, a 
 strange and artificial interest taken little note of by him, 
 but afterwards remembered when others had forgotten 
 it; the burial of Mrs. Silsbee beneath a cairn of stones, 
 with some ceremonies that, simple though they were, 
 seemed to usurp the sacred rights of grief from him 
 and Susy, and leave them cold and frightened; days 
 of frequent and incoherent childish outbursts from Susy, 
 growing fainter and rarer as time went on, until they 
 ceased, he knew not when ; the haunting by night of that 
 morning vision of the three or four heaps of ragged 
 clothes on the ground and a half regret that he had 
 not examined them more closely; a recollection of the
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 193 
 
 awful loneliness and desolation of the broken and aban 
 doned wagon left behind on its knees as if praying 
 mutely when the train went on and left it; the trundling 
 behind of the fateful wagon in which Mrs. Silsbee s 
 body had been found, superstitiously shunned by every 
 one, and when at last turned over to the authorities at 
 an outpost garrison, seeming to drop the last link from 
 the dragging chain of the past. The revelation . to the 
 children of a new experience in that brief glimpse of the 
 frontier garrison ; the handsome officer in uniform and 
 belted sword, an heroic, vengeful figure to be admired 
 and imitated hereafter; the sudden importance and 
 respect given to Susy and himself as "survivors"; the 
 sympathetic questioning and kindly exaggerations of 
 their experiences, quickly accepted by Susy all these, 
 looking back upon them afterwards, seemed to have 
 passed in a dream. 
 
 No less strange and visionary to them seemed the real 
 transitions they noted from the moving train. How one 
 morning they missed the changeless, motionless, low, 
 dark line along the horizon, and before noon found 
 themselves among the rocks and trees and a swiftly 
 rushing river. How there suddenly appeared beside them 
 a few days later a great gray cloud-covered ridge of 
 mountains that they were convinced was that same dark 
 line that they had seen so often. How the men laughed 
 at them, and said that for the last three days they had 
 been crossing that dark line, and that it was higher than 
 the great gray-clouded range before them, which it had 
 always hidden from their view ! How Susy firmly be 
 lieved that these changes took place in her sleep, when 
 she always "kinder felt they were crawlin' up," and how 
 Clarence, in the happy depreciation of extreme youth, 
 expressed his conviction that they "weren't a bit high, 
 after all." How the weather became cold, though it was 
 already summer, and at night the camp fire was a neces 
 sity, and there was a stove in the tent with Susy; and 
 yet how all this faded away, and they were again upon a 
 dazzling, burnt, and sun-dried plain! But always as in 
 a dream! 
 
 7 v. 2
 
 194 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 More real were the persons who composed the party 
 whom they seemed to have always known and who, 
 in the innocent caprice of children, had become to them 
 more actual than the dead had even been. There was 
 Mr. Peyton, who they now knew owned the train, and 
 who was so rich that he "needn't go to California if he 
 didn't want to, and was going to buy a great deal of it 
 if he liked it," and who was also a lawyer and "police 
 man" which was Susy's rendering of "politician" 
 and was called "Squire" and "Judge" at the frontier 
 outpost, and could order anybody to be "took up if he 
 wanted to," and who knew everybody by their Christian 
 names; and Mrs. Peyton, who had been delicate and was 
 ordered by the doctor to live in the open air for six 
 months, and "never go into a house or a town agin," 
 and who was going to adopt Susy as soon as her hus 
 band could arrange with Susy's relatives, and draw up 
 the papers ! How "Harry" was Henry Benham, Mrs. 
 Peyton's brother, and a kind of partner of Mr. Peyton. 
 And how the scout's name was Gus Gildersleeve, or 
 the "White Crow," and how, through his recognized 
 intrepidity, an attack upon their train was no doubt 
 averted. Then there was "Bill," the stock herder, and 
 "Texas Jim," the vaquero the latter marvelous and 
 unprecedented in horsemanship. Such were their com 
 panions, as appeared through the gossip of the train 
 and their own inexperienced consciousness. To them, 
 they were all astounding and important personages. 
 But, either from boyish curiosity or some sense of being 
 misunderstood, Clarence was more attracted by the two 
 individuals of the party who were least kind to him 
 namely, Mrs. Peyton and her brother Harry. I fear that, 
 after the fashion of most children, and some grown-up 
 people, he thought less of the steady kindness of Mr. 
 Peyton and the others than of the rare tolerance of 
 Harry or the polite concessions of his sister. Miserably 
 conscious of this at times, he quite convinced himself 
 that if he could only win a word of approbation from 
 Harry, or a smile from Mrs. Peyton, he would after 
 wards revenge himself by "running away." Whether
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 195 
 
 he would or not, I cannot say. I am writing of a fool 
 ish, growing, impressionable boy of eleven, of whose 
 sentiments nothing could be safely predicted but uncer 
 tainty. 
 
 It was at this time that he became fascinated by 
 another member of the party whose position had been 
 too humble and unimportant to be included in the group 
 already noted. Of the same appearance as the other 
 teamsters in size, habits, and apparel, he had not at first 
 exhibited to Clarence any claim to sympathy. But it 
 appeared that he was actually a youth of only sixteen 
 a hopeless incorrigible of St. Joseph, whose parents had 
 prevailed on Peyton to allow him to join the party, by 
 way of removing him from evil associations and as a 
 method of reform. Of this Clarence was at first igno 
 rant, not from any want of frankness on the part of 
 the youth, for that ingenious young gentleman later 
 informed him that he had killed three men in St. Louis, 
 two in St. Jo, and that the officers of justice were after 
 him. But it was evident that to precocious habits of 
 drinking, smoking, chewing, and card-playing this over 
 grown youth added a strong tendency to exaggeration 
 of statement. Indeed, he was known as "Lying Jim 
 Hooker," and his various qualities presented a problem 
 to Clarence that was attractive and inspiring, doubtful, 
 but always fascinating. With the hoarse voice of early 
 wickedness and a contempt for ordinary courtesy, he had 
 a round, perfectly good-humored face, and a disposition 
 that when not called upon to act up to his self-imposed 
 role of reckless wickedness, was not unkindly. 
 
 It was only a few days after the massacre, and while 
 the children were still wrapped in the gloomy interest 
 and frightened reticence which followed it, that "Jim 
 Hooker" first characteristically flashed upon Clarence's 
 perceptions. Hanging half on and half off the saddle 
 of an Indian pony, the lank Jim suddenly made his 
 appearance, dashing violently up and down the track, and 
 around the wagon in which Clarence was sitting, tug 
 ging desperately at the reins, with every indication of 
 being furiously run away with, and retaining his seat
 
 196 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 only with the most dauntless courage and skill. Round 
 and round they went, the helpless rider at times hanging 
 by a single stirrup near the ground, and again recovering 
 himself by as it seemed to Clarence almost super 
 human effort. Clarence sat open-mouthed with anxiety 
 and excitement, and yet a few of the other teamsters 
 laughed. Then the voice of Mr. Peyton, from the win 
 dow of his car, said quietly, 
 
 "There, that will do, Jim. Quit it !" 
 
 The furious horse and rider instantly disappeared. A 
 few moments after, the bewildered Clarence saw the 
 redoubted horseman trotting along quietly in the dust of 
 the rear, on the same fiery steed, who in that prosaic 
 light bore an astounding resemblance to an ordinary 
 team horse. Later in the day he sought an explanation 
 from the rider. 
 
 "You see," answered Jim gloomily, "thar ain't a 
 galoot in this yer crowd ez knows jist what's in that 
 hoss ! And them ez suspecks daren't say ! It wouldn't 
 do for to hev it let out that the Judge hez a Morgan- 
 Mexican plug that's killed two men afore he got him, 
 and is bound to kill another afore he gets through ! 
 Why, on'y the week afore we kem up to you, that thar 
 hoss bolted with me at camping ! Bucked and throwed 
 me, but I kept my holt o' the stirrups with my foot 
 so ! Dragged me a matter of two miles, head down, and 
 me keepin' away rocks with my hand so !" 
 
 "Why didn't you loose your foot and let go?" asked 
 Clarence breathlessly. 
 
 "You might," said Jim, with deep scorn; "that ain't 
 my style. I just laid low till we kem to a steep pitched 
 hill, and goin' down when the hoss was, so to speak, 
 kinder below me, I just turned a hand spring, so, 
 and that landed me onter his back again." 
 
 This action, though vividly illustrated by Jim's throw 
 ing his hands down like feet beneath him, and indicating 
 the parabola of a spring in the air, proving altogether 
 too much for Clarence's mind to grasp, he timidly turned 
 to a less difficult detail. 
 
 "What made the horse bolt first, Mr. Hooker?"
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 197 
 
 "Smelt Injins !" said Jim, carelessly expectorating 
 tobacco juice in a curving jet from the side of his 
 mouth a singularly fascinating accomplishment, pecu 
 liarly his own, " 'n' likely your Injins." 
 
 "But," argued Clarence hesitatingly, "you said it was 
 a week before and " 
 
 "Er Mexican plug kin smell Injins fifty, yes, a hun 
 dred miles away," said Jim, with scornful deliberation ; 
 " 'n' if Judge Peyton had took my advice, and hadn't been 
 so mighty feared about the character of his hoss gettin' 
 out he'd hev played roots on them Injins afore they 
 tetched ye. But," he added, with gloomy dejection, 
 "there ain't no sand in this yer crowd, thar ain't no vim, 
 thar ain't nothin' ; and thar kan't be ez long ez thar's 
 women and babies, and women and baby fixin's, mixed 
 up with it. I'd hev cut the whole blamed gang ef it 
 weren't for one or two things," he added darkly. 
 
 Clarence, impressed by Jim's mysterious manner, for 
 the moment forgot his contemptuous allusion to Mr. 
 Peyton, and the evident implication of Susy and himself, 
 and asked hurriedly, "What things?" 
 
 Jim, as if forgetful of the boy's presence in his fitful 
 mood, abstractedly half drew a glittering bowie knife 
 from his bootleg, and then slowly put it back again. 
 "Thar's one or two old scores," he continued, in a low 
 voice, although no one was in hearing distance of them, 
 "one or two private accounts," he went on tragically, 
 averting his eyes as if watched by some one, "thet hev 
 to be wiped out with blood afore 7 leave. Thar's one or 
 two men too many alive and breathin' in this yer crowd. 
 Mebbee it's Gus Gildersleeve ; mebbee it's Harry Ben- 
 ham ; mebbee," he added, with a dark yet noble disin 
 terestedness, "it's me." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Clarence, with polite deprecation. 
 
 Far from placating the gloomy Jim, this seemed only 
 to awake his suspicions. "Mebbee," he said, dancing 
 suddenly away from Clarence, "mebbee you think I'm 
 lyin'. Mebbee you think, because you're Colonel Brant's 
 son, yer kin run me with this yer train. Mebbee," he 
 continued, dancing violently back again, "ye kalkilate,
 
 198 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 because ye run off'n' stampeded a baby, ye kin tote me 
 round too, sonny. Mebbee," he went on, executing a 
 double shuffle in the dust and alternately striking his 
 hands on the sides of his boots, "mebbee you're spyin' 
 round and reportin' to the Judge." 
 
 Firmly convinced that Jim was working himself up 
 by an Indian war-dance to some desperate assault on 
 himself, but resenting the last unjust accusation, Clar 
 ence had recourse to one of his old dogged silences. 
 Happily at this moment an authoritative voice called 
 out, "Now, then, you Jim Hooker !" and the desperate 
 Hooker, as usual, vanished instantly. Nevertheless, he 
 appeared an hour or two later beside the wagon in 
 which Susy and Clarence were seated, with an expres 
 sion of satiated vengeance and remorseful bloodguilti- 
 ness in his face, and his hair combed Indian fashion 
 over his eyes. As he generously contented himself with 
 only passing a gloomy and disparaging criticism on the 
 game of cards that the children were playing, it struck 
 Clarence for the first time that a great deal of his real 
 wickedness resided in his hair. This set him to thinking 
 that it was strange that Mr. Peyton did not try to reform 
 him with a pair of scissors, but not until Clarence him 
 self had for at least four days attempted to imitate Jim 
 by combing his own hair in that fashion. 
 
 A few days later, Jim again casually favored him 
 with a confidential interview. Clarence had been allowed 
 to bestride one of the team leaders postillionwise, and 
 was correspondingly elevated, when Jim joined him, on 
 the Mexican plug, which appeared no doubt a part 
 of its wicked art heavily docile, and even slightly 
 lame. 
 
 "How much," said Jim, in a tone of gloomy confi 
 dence, "how much did you reckon to make by stealin' 
 that gal-baby, sonny?" 
 
 "Nothing," replied Clarence with a smile. Perhaps 
 it was an evidence of the marked influence that Jim was 
 beginning to exert over him that he already did not 
 attempt to resent this fascinating implication of grown 
 up guilt.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 199 
 
 "It orter bin a good job, if it warn't revenge," contin 
 ued Jim moodily. 
 
 "No, it wasn't revenge," said Clarence hurriedly. 
 
 "Then ye kalkilated ter get er hundred dollars reward 
 ef the old man and old woman hadn't bin scelped afore 
 yet got up to 'em?" said Jim. "That's your blamed dod- 
 gasted luck, eh ! Enyhow, you'll make Mrs. Peyton plank 
 down suthin' if she adopts the babby. Look yer, 
 young feller," he said, starting suddenly and throwing 
 his face forward, glaring fiendishly through his .matted 
 side-locks, "d'ye mean ter tell me it wasn't a plant a 
 skin game the hull thing?" 
 
 "A what?" said Clarence. 
 
 "D'ye mean to say" it was wonderful how gratui 
 tously husky his voice became at this moment "d'ye 
 mean ter tell me ye didn't set on them Injins to wipe 
 out the Silsbees, so that ye could hev an out-an'-out 
 gal orfcn on hand fer Mrs. Peyton ter adopt eh?" 
 
 But here Clarence was forced to protest, and strongly, 
 although Jim contemptuously ignored it. "Don't lie ter 
 me," he repeated mysteriously, "I'm fly. I'm dark, young 
 fel. We're cahoots in this thing?" And with this artful 
 suggestion of being in possession of Clarence's guilty 
 secret he departed in time to elude the usual objurga 
 tion of his superior, "Phil," the head teamster. 
 
 Nor was his baleful fascination exercised entirely on 
 Clarence. In spite of Mrs. Peyton's jealously affection 
 ate care, Clarence's frequent companionship, and the little 
 circle of admiring courtiers that always surrounded Susy, 
 it became evident that this small Eve had been secretly 
 approached and tempted by the Satanic Jim. She was 
 found one day to have a few heron's feathers in her 
 possession with which she adorned her curls, and at 
 another time was discovered to have rubbed her face 
 and arms with yellow and red ochre, confessedly the 
 free gift of Jim Hooker. It was to Clarence alone that 
 she admitted the significance and purport of these offer 
 ings. "Jim gived 'em to me," she said, "and Jim's a kind 
 of Injin hisself that won't hurt me; and when bad Injins 
 come, they'll think I'm his Injin baby and run away.
 
 200 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 And Jim said if I'd just told the In j ins when they came 
 to kill papa and mamma, that I b'longed to him, they'd 
 hev runned away." 
 
 "But," said the practical Clarence, "you could not; 
 you know you were with Mrs. Peyton all the time." 
 
 "KJa'uns," said Susy, shaking her head and fixing her 
 round blue eyes with calm mendacity on the boy, "don't 
 you tell me. / was there!" 
 
 Clarence started back, and nearly fell over the wagon 
 in hopeless dismay at this dreadful revelation of Susy's 
 powers of exaggeration. "But," he gasped, "you know, 
 Susy, you and me left before " 
 
 "Kla'uns," said Susy calmly, making a little pleat in 
 the skirt of her dress with her small thumb and fingers, 
 "don't you talk to me. I was there. I'se a scrivcrl 
 The men at the fort said so ! The serivcrs is allus, allus 
 there, and allus allus knows everythin'." 
 
 Clarence was too dumfounded to reply. He had a 
 vague recollection of having noticed before that Susy 
 was very much fascinated by the reputation given to her 
 at Fort Ridge as a "survivor," and was trying in an 
 infantile way to live up to it. This the wicked Jim had 
 evidently encouraged. For a day or two Clarence felt 
 a little afraid of her, and more lonely than ever. 
 
 It was in this state, and while he was doggedly con 
 scious that his association with Jim did not prepossess 
 Mrs. Peyton or her brother in his favor, and that the 
 former even believed him responsible for Susy's unhal 
 lowed acquaintance with Jim, that he drifted into one 
 of those youthful escapades on which elders are apt to 
 sit in severe but not always considerate judgment. 
 Believing, like many other children, that nobody cared 
 particularly for him, except to restrain him, discovering, 
 as children do, much sooner than we complacently 
 imagine, that love and preference have no logical con 
 nection with desert or character, Clarence became boy 
 ishly reckless. But when, one day, it was rumored that 
 a herd of buffalo was in the vicinity, and that the train 
 would be delayed the next morning in order that a hunt 
 might be organized, by Gildersleeve, Benham, and a few
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 201 
 
 others, Clarence listened willingly to Jim's proposition 
 that they should secretly follow it. 
 
 To effect their unhallowed purpose required boldness 
 and duplicity. It was arranged that shortly after the 
 departure of the hunting party Clarence should ask per 
 mission to mount and exercise one of the team horses 
 a favor that had been frequently granted him; that in 
 the outskirts of the camp he should pretend that the 
 horse ran away with him, and Jim would start in pur 
 suit. The absence of the shooting party with so large 
 a contingent of horses and men would preclude any fur 
 ther detachment from the camp to assist them. Once 
 clear, they would follow the track of the hunters, and, 
 if discovered by them, would offer the same excuse, with 
 the addition that they had lost their way to the camp. 
 The plan was successful. The details were carried out 
 with almost too perfect effect; as it appeared that Jim, 
 in order to give dramatic intensity to the fractiousness 
 of Clarence's horse, had inserted a thorn apple under 
 the neck of his saddle, which Clarence only discovered 
 in time to prevent himself from being unseated. Urged 
 forward by ostentatious "Whoas !" and surreptitious cuts 
 in the rear from Jim, pursuer and pursued presently 
 found themselves safely beyond the half-dry stream and 
 fringe of alder bushes that skirted the camp. They 
 were not followed. Whether the teamsters suspected 
 and winked at this design, or believed that the boys 
 could take care of themselves, and ran no risk of being 
 lost in the proximity of the hunting party, there was no 
 general alarm. 
 
 Thus reassured, and having a general idea of the 
 direction of the hunt, the boys pushed hilariously for 
 ward. Before them opened a vast expanse of bottom 
 land, slightly sloping on the right to a distant half-filled 
 lagoon, formed by the main river overflow, on whose 
 tributary they had encamped. The lagoon was partly 
 hidden by straggling timber and "brush," and beyond 
 that again stretched the unlimitable plains the pasture 
 of their mighty game. Hither, Jim hoarsely informed 
 his companion, the buffaloes came to water. A few
 
 202 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 rods further on, he started dramatically, and, alighting, 
 proceeded to slowly examine the ground. It seemed to 
 be scattered over with half-circular patches, which he 
 pointed out mysteriously as "buffalo chip." To Clar 
 ence's inexperienced perception the plain bore a singu 
 lar resemblance to the surface of an ordinary unroman- 
 tic cattle pasture that somewhat chilled his heroic 
 fancy. However, the two companions halted and pro 
 fessionally examined their arms and equipments. 
 
 These, I grieve to say, though varied, were scarcely 
 full or satisfactory. The necessities of their flight had 
 restricted Jim to an old double-barreled fowling-piece, 
 which he usually carried slung across his shoulders; an 
 old-fashioned "six-shooter," whose barrels revolved occa 
 sionally and unexpectedly, known as "Allen's Pepper 
 Box" on account of its culinary resemblance; and a 
 bowie-knife. Clarence carried an Indian bow and arrow 
 with which he had been exercising, and a hatchet which 
 he had concealed under the flanks of his saddle. To 
 this Jim generously added the six-shooter, taking the 
 hatchet in exchange a transfer that at first delighted 
 Clarence, until, seeing the warlike and picturesque effect 
 of the hatchet in Jim's belt, he regretted the transfer. 
 The gun, Jim meantime explained, "extry charged," 
 "chuck up" to the middle with slugs and revolver bul 
 lets, could only be fired by himself, and even then, he 
 darkly added, not without danger. This poverty of 
 equipment was, however, compensated by opposite state 
 ments from Jim of the extraordinary results obtained 
 by these simple weapons from "fellers I knew:" how he 
 himself had once brought down a "bull" by a bold shot 
 with a revolver through its open bellowing mouth that 
 pierced his "innards ;" how a friend of his an intimate 
 in fact now in jail at Louisville for killing a sheriff's 
 deputy, had once found himself alone and dismounted 
 with a simple clasp-knife and a lariat among a herd of 
 buffaloes ; how, leaping calmly upon the shaggy shoulders 
 of the biggest bull, he lashed himself with the lariat 
 firmly to its horns, goading it onward with his clasp- 
 knife, and subsisting for days upon the flesh cut from
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 208 
 
 its living body, until, abandoned by its fellows and 
 exhausted by the loss of blood, it finally succumbed to 
 its victor at the very outskirts of the camp to which he 
 had artfully driven it ! It must be confessed that this 
 recital somewhat took away Clarence's breath, and he 
 would have liked to ask a few questions. But they were 
 alone on the prairie, and linked by a common trans 
 gression; the glorious sun was coming up victoriously, 
 the pure, crisp air was intoxicating their nerves ; in the 
 bright forecast of youth everything was possible ! 
 
 The surface of the bottom land that they were crossing 
 was here and there broken up by fissures and "pot 
 holes," and some circumspection in their progress be 
 came necessary. In one of these halts, Clarence was 
 struck by a dull, monotonous jarring that sounded like 
 the heavy regular fall of water over a dam. Each time 
 that they slackened their pace the sound would become 
 more audible, and was at last accompanied by that 
 slight but unmistakable tremor of the earth that betrayed 
 the vicinity of a waterfall. Hesitating over the phenom 
 enon, which seemed to imply that their topography 
 was wrong and that they had blundered from the track, 
 they were presently startled by the fact that the sound 
 was actually approaching them ! With a sudden instinct 
 they both galloped towards the lagoon. As the timber 
 opened before them Jim uttered a long ecstatic shout. 
 "Why, it's them!" 
 
 At a first glance it seemed to Clarence as if the whole 
 plain beyond was broken up and rolling in tumbling 
 waves or furrows towards them. A second glance 
 showed the tossing fronts of a vast herd of buffaloes, 
 and here and there, darting in and out and among them, 
 or emerging from the cloud of dust behind, wild figures 
 and flashes of fire. With the idea of water still in his 
 mind, it seemed as if some tumultuous tidal wave were 
 sweeping unseen towards the lagoon, carrying everything 
 before it. He turned with eager eyes, in speechless 
 expectancy, to his companion. 
 
 Alack ! that redoubtable hero and mighty hunter was, 
 to all appearances, equally speechless and astonished. It
 
 204 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 was true that he remained rooted to the saddle, a lank, 
 still heroic figure, alternately grasping his hatchet and 
 gun with a kind of spasmodic regularity. How long he 
 would have continued this would never be known, for 
 the next moment, with a deafening crash, the herd broke 
 through the brush, and, swerving at the right of the 
 lagoon, bore down directly upon them. All further 
 doubt or hesitation on their part was stopped. The far- 
 seeing, sagacious Mexican plug with a terrific snort 
 wheeled and fled furiously with his rider. Moved, no 
 doubt, by touching fidelity, Clarence's humbler team- 
 horse instantly followed. In a few moments those 
 devoted animals struggled neck to neck in noble emula 
 tion. 
 
 "What are we goin' off this way for?" gasped the 
 simple Clarence. 
 
 "Peyton and Gildersleeve are back there and they'll 
 see us," gasped Jim in reply. It struck Clarence that 
 the buffaloes were much nearer them than the hunting 
 party, and that the trampling hoofs of a dozen bulls 
 were close behind them, but with another gasp he 
 shouted, 
 
 "When are we going to hunt 'em?" 
 
 "Hunt them!" screamed Jim, with a hysterical out 
 burst of truth ; "why, they're huntin' us dash it !" 
 
 Indeed, there was no doubt that their frenzied horses 
 were flying before the equally frenzied herd behind them. 
 They gained a momentary advantage by riding into one 
 of the fissures, and out again on the other side, while 
 their pursuers were obliged to make a detour. But in a 
 few minutes they were overtaken by that part of the herd 
 who had taken the other and nearer side of the lagoon, 
 and were now fairly in the midst of them. The ground 
 shook with their trampling hoofs; their steaming breath, 
 mingling with the stinging dust that filled the air, half 
 choked and blinded Clarence. He was dimly conscious 
 that Jim had wildly thrown his hatchet at a cow- 
 buffalo pressing close upon his flanks. As they swept 
 down into another gully he saw him raise his fateful 
 gun with utter desperation. Clarence crouched low on
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 205 
 
 his horse's outstretched neck. There was a blinding 
 flash, a single stunning report of both barrels; Jim 
 reeled in one way half out of the saddle, while the 
 smoking gun seemed to leap in another over his head, 
 and then rider and horse vanished in a choking cloud 
 of dust and gunpowder. A moment after Clarence's 
 horse stopped with a sudden check, and the boy felt 
 himself hurled over its head into the gully, alighting on 
 something that seemed to be a bounding cushion of 
 curled and twisted hair. It was the shaggy shoulder 
 of an enormous buffalo ! For Jim's desperate random 
 shot and double charge had taken effect on the near 
 hind leg of a preceding bull, tearing away the flesh and 
 ham-stringing the animal, who had dropped in the gully 
 just in front of Clarence's horse. 
 
 Dazed but unhurt, the boy rolled from the lifted fore 
 quarters of the struggling brute to the ground. When 
 he staggered to his feet again, not only his horse was 
 gone but the whole herd of buffaloes seemed to have 
 passed too, and he could hear the shouts of unseen 
 hunters now ahead of him. They had evidently over 
 looked his fall, and the gully had concealed him. The 
 sides before him were too steep for his aching limbs 
 to climb; the slope by which he and the bull had 
 descended when the collision occurred was behind the 
 wounded animal. Clarence was staggering towards it 
 when the bull, by a supreme effort, lifted itself on three 
 legs, half turned, and faced him. 
 
 These events had passed too quickly for the inexperi 
 enced boy to have felt any active fear, or indeed any 
 thing but wild excitement and confusion. But the spec 
 tacle of that shaggy and enormous front, that seemed 
 to fill the whole gully, rising with awful deliberation 
 between him and escape, sent a thrill of terror through 
 his frame. The great, dull, bloodshot eyes glared at 
 him with a dumb, wondering fury ; the large wet nostrils 
 were so near that their first snort of inarticulate rage 
 made him reel backwards as from a blow. The gully 
 was only a narrow and short fissure or subsidence of the 
 plain; a few paces more of retreat and he would be at
 
 206 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 its end, against an almost perpendicular bank fifteen feet 
 high. If he attempted to climb its crumbling sides and 
 fell, there would be those short but terrible horns wait 
 ing to impale him ! It seemed too terrible, too cruel ! 
 He was so small beside this overgrown monster. It 
 wasn't fair ! The tears started to his eyes, and then, 
 in a rage at the injustice of Fate, he stood doggedly 
 still with clenched fists. He fixed his gaze with half- 
 hysterical, childish fury on those lurid eyes; he did not 
 know that, owing to the strange magnifying power of 
 the bull's convex pupils, he, Clarence, appeared much 
 bigger than he really was to the brute's heavy conscious 
 ness, the distance from him most deceptive, and that it 
 was to this fact that hunters so often owed their escape. 
 He only thought of some desperate means of attack. 
 Ah ! the six-shooter. It was still in his pocket. He drew 
 it nervously, hopelessly it looked so small compared 
 with his large enemy ! 
 
 He presented it with flashing eyes, and pulled the 
 trigger. A feeble click followed, another, and again ! 
 Even this had mocked him. He pulled the trigger once 
 more, wildly ; there was a sudden explosion, and another. 
 He stepped back ; the balls had apparently flattened 
 themselves harmlessly on the bull's forehead. He pulled 
 again, hopelessly; there was another report, a sudden 
 furious bellow, and the enormous brute threw his head 
 savagely to one side, burying his left horn deep in the 
 crumbling bank beside him. Again and again he charged 
 the bank, driving his left horn home, and bringing down 
 the stones and earth in showers. It was some seconds 
 before Clarence saw in a single glimpse of that wildly 
 tossing crest the reason of this fury. The blood was 
 pouring from his left eye, penetrated by the last bullet ; 
 the bull was blinded ! A terrible revulsion of feeling, a 
 sudden sense of remorse that was for the moment more 
 awful than evtn his previous fear, overcame him. He 
 had done that thing! As much to fly from the dreadful 
 spectacle as any instinct of self-preservation, he took 
 advantage of the next mad paroxysms of pain and blind 
 ness, that always impelled the suffering beast towards
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 207 
 
 the left, to slip past him on the right, reach the incline, 
 incl scramble wildly up to the plain again. Here he ran 
 confusedly forward, not knowing whither only caring 
 to escape that agonized bellowing, to shut out forever the 
 accusing look of that huge blood-weltering eye. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a distant angry shout. To his first 
 hurried glance the plain had seemed empty, but, looking 
 up, he saw two horsemen rapidly advancing with a led 
 horse behind them his own. With the blessed sense of 
 relief that overtook him now came the fevered desire 
 for sympathy and to tell them all. But as they came 
 nearer he saw that they were Gildersleeve, the scout, and 
 Henry Benham, and that, far from sharing any delight 
 in his deliverance, their faces only exhibited irascible 
 impatience. Overcome by this new defeat, the boy 
 stopped, again dumb and dogged. 
 
 "Now, then, blank it all, will you get up and come 
 along, or do you reckon to keep the train waiting an 
 other hour over your blanked foolishness?" said Gilder- 
 sleeve savagely. 
 
 The boy hesitated, and then mounted mechanically, 
 without a word. 
 
 " 'Twould have served 'em right to have gone and 
 left 'em," muttered Benham vindictively. 
 
 For one wild instant Clarence thought of throwing 
 himself from his horse and bidding them go on and 
 leave him. But before he could put his thought into 
 action the two men were galloping forward, with his 
 horse led by a lariat fastened to the horn of Gilder- 
 sleeve's saddle. 
 
 In two hours more they had overtaken the train, 
 already on the march, and were in the midst of the 
 group of outriders. Judge Peyton's face, albeit a trifle 
 perplexed, turned towards Clarence with a kindly, half- 
 tolerant look of welcome. The boy's heart instantly 
 melted with forgiveness. 
 
 "Well, my boy, let's hear your story. What hap 
 pened ?" 
 
 Clarence cast a hurried glance around, and saw Jim, 
 with face averted, riding gloomily behind. Then
 
 208 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 nervously and hurriedly he told how he had been thrown 
 into the gully on the back of the wounded buffalo, and 
 the manner of his escape. An audible titter ran through 
 the cavalcade. Mr. Peyton regarded him gravely. "But 
 how did the buffalo get so conveniently into the gully?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Jim Hooker lamed him with a shotgun, and he fell 
 over," said Clarence timidly. 
 
 A roar of Homeric laughter went up from the party. 
 Clarence looked up, stung and startled, but caught a 
 single glimpse of Jim Hooker's face that made him forget 
 his own mortification. In its hopeless, heart-sick, and 
 utterly beaten dejection the first and only real expres 
 sion he had seen on it he read the dreadful truth. Jim's 
 reputation had ruined him ! The one genuine and strik 
 ing episode of his life, the one trustworthy account he 
 had given of it, had been unanimously accepted as the 
 biggest and most consummate lie of his record ! 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WITH this incident of the hunt closed, to Clarence, the 
 last remembered episode of his journey. But he did not 
 know until long after that it had also closed to him what 
 might have been the opening of a new career. For it had 
 been Judge Peyton's intention in adopting Susy to include 
 a certain guardianship and protection of the boy, pro 
 vided he could get the consent of that vague relation to 
 whom he was consigned. But it had been pointed out 
 by Mrs. Peyton and her brother that Clarence's associa 
 tion with Jim Hooker had made him a doubtful companion 
 for Susy, and even the Judge himself was forced to admit 
 that the boy's apparent taste for evil company was incon 
 sistent with his alleged birth and breeding. Unfortu 
 nately, Clarence, in the conviction of being hopelessly 
 misunderstood, and that dogged acquiescence to fate which 
 was one of his characteristics, was too proud to correct 
 the impression by any of the hypocracies of childhood. 
 He had also a cloudy instinct of loyalty to Jim in his
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 209 
 
 disgrace, without, however, experiencing either the sym 
 pathy of an equal or the zeal of a partisan, but rather 
 if it could be said of a boy of his years with the 
 patronage and protection of a superior. So he accepted 
 without demur the intimation that when the train reached 
 California he would be forwarded from Stockton with an 
 outfit and a letter of explanation to Sacramento, it being 
 understood that in the event of not finding his relative he 
 would return to the Peytons in one of the southern val 
 leys, where they elected to purchase a tract of land. 
 
 With this outlook, and the prospect of change, inde 
 pendence, and all the rich possibilities that to the imag 
 ination of youth are included in them, Clarence had found 
 the days dragging. The halt at Salt Lake, the transit 
 of the dreary Alkali desert, even the wild passage of the 
 Sierras, were but a blurred picture in his memory. The 
 sight of eternal snows and the rolling of endless ranks 
 of pines, the first glimpse of a hillside of wild oats, the 
 spectacle of a rushing yellow river that to his fancy 
 seemed tinged with gold, were momentary excitements, 
 quickly forgotten. But when, one morning, halting at 
 the outskirts of a struggling settlement, he found the 
 entire party eagerly gathered around a passing stranger, 
 who had taken from his saddle-bags a small buckskin 
 pouch to show them a double handful of shining scales 
 of metal, Clarence felt the first feverish and overmaster 
 ing thrill of the gold-seekers. Breathlessly he followed 
 the breathless questions and careless replies. The gold 
 had been dug out of a placer only thirty miles away. It 
 might be worth, say, a hundred and fifty dollars; it was 
 only his share of a week's work with two partners. It 
 was not much ; "the country was getting played out with 
 fresh arrivals and greenhorns." All this falling carelessly 
 from the unshaven lips of a dusty, roughly dressed man, 
 with a long-handled shovel and pickaxe strapped on his 
 back, and a frying-pan depending from his saddle. But 
 no panoplied or armed knight ever seemed so heroic or 
 independent a figure to Clarence. What could be finer 
 than the noble scorn conveyed in his critical survey of 
 the train, with its comfortable covered wagons and appli-
 
 210 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 ances of civilization? "Ye'll hev to get rid of them ther 
 fixin's if yer goin' in for placer diggin' !" What a cor- 
 roboration of Clarence's real thoughts ! What a pictare 
 of independence was this ! The picturesque scout, the 
 all-powerful Judge Peyton, the daring young officer, all 
 crumbled on their clayey pedestals before this hero in a 
 red flannel shirt and high-topped boots. To stroll around 
 in the open air all day, and pick up those shining bits 
 of metal, without study, without method or routine 
 this was really life ; to some day come upon that large 
 nugget "you couldn't lift," that was worth as much as 
 the train and horses such a one as the stranger said was 
 found the other day at Sawyer's Bar this was worth 
 giving up everything for. That rough man, with his 
 smile of careless superiority, was the living link between 
 Clarence and the Thousand and One Nights ; in him were 
 Aladdin and Sindbad incarnate. 
 
 Two days later they reached Stockton. Here Clarence, 
 whose single suit of clothes had been reinforced by patch 
 ing, odds and ends from Peyton's stores, and an extraor 
 dinary costume of army cloth, got up by the regimental 
 tailor at Fort Ridge, was taken to be refitted at a general 
 furnishing "emporium." But alas ! in the selection of 
 the clothing for that adult locality scant provision seemed 
 to have been made for a boy of Clarence's years, and he 
 was with difficulty fitted from an old condemned Gov 
 ernment stores with "a boy's" seaman suit and a brass- 
 buttoned pea-jacket. To this outfit Mr. Peyton added a 
 small sum of money for his expenses, and a letter of 
 explanation to his cousin. The stage-coach was to start 
 at noon. It only remained for Clarence to take leave of 
 the party. The final parting with Susy had been dis 
 counted on the two previous days with some tears, small 
 frights and clingings, and the expressed determination on 
 the child's part "to go with him;" but in the excitement 
 of the arrival at Stockton it was still further mitigated, 
 and under the influence of a little present from Clarence 
 his first disbursement of his small cap'tal had at last 
 taken the form and promise of merely temporary separa 
 tion. Nevertheless, when the boy's scanty pack was depos j
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 211 
 
 ited under the stage-coach seat, and he had been left 
 alone, he ran rapidly back to the train for one moment 
 more with Susy. Panting and a little frightened, he 
 reached Mrs. Peyton's car. 
 
 "Goodness ! You're not gone yet," said Mrs. Peyton 
 sharply. "Do you want to lose the stage ?" 
 
 An instant before, in his loneliness, he might have 
 answered, "Yes." But under the cruel sting of Mrs. Pey 
 ton's evident annoyance at his reappearance he felt his 
 legs suddenly tremble, and his voice left him. He did 
 not dare to look at Susy. But her voice rose comfortably 
 from the depths of the wagon where she was sitting. 
 
 "The stage will be gone away, Kla'uns." 
 
 She too ! Shame at his foolish weakness sent the 
 yearning blood that had settled round his heart flying 
 back into his face. 
 
 "I was looking for for for Jim, ma'am," he said at 
 last, boldly. 
 
 He saw a look of disgust pass over Mrs. Peyton's face, 
 and felt a malicious satisfaction as he turned and ran 
 back to the stage. But here, to his surprise, he actually 
 found Jim, whom he really hadn't thought of, darkly 
 watching the last strapping of luggage. With a manner 
 calculated to convey the impression to the other passen 
 gers that he was parting from a brother criminal, probably 
 on his way to a state prison, Jim shook hands gloomily 
 with Clarence, and eyed the other passengers furtively 
 between his mated locks. 
 
 "Ef ye hear o' anythin' happenin', ye'll know what's 
 up," he said, in a low, hoarse, but perfectly audible whis 
 per. "Me and them's bound to part company afore long. 
 Tell the fellows at Deadman's Gulch to look out for me 
 at any time." 
 
 Although Clarence was not going to Deadman's Gulch, 
 knew nothing of it, and had a faint suspicion that Jim was 
 equally ignorant, yet as one or two of the passengers 
 glanced anxiously at the demure, gray-eyed boy who 
 seemed booked for such a baleful destination, he really 
 felt the half-delighted, half-frightened consciousness that 
 he was starting in life under fascinating immoral pre-
 
 212 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 tenses. But the forward spring of the fine-spirited horses, 
 the quickened motion, the glittering sunlight, and the 
 thought that he really was leaving behind him all the 
 shackles of dependence and custom, and plunging into a 
 life of freedom, drove all else from his mind. He turned 
 at last from this hopeful, blissful future, and began to 
 examine his fellow passengers with boyish curiosity. 
 Wedged in between two silent men on the front seat, one 
 of whom seemed a farmer, and the other, by his black 
 attire, a professional man, Clarence was finally attracted 
 by a black-mantled, dark-haired, bonnetless woman on the 
 back seat, whose attention seemed to be monopolized by 
 the jocular gallantries of her companions and the two 
 men before her in the middle seat. From her position 
 he could see little more than her dark eyes, which occa 
 sionally seemed to meet his frank curiosity in an amused 
 sort of way, but he. was chiefly struck by the pretty 
 foreign sound of hex- musical voice, which was unlike 
 anything he had ever heard before, and alas for the 
 inconstancy of youth much finer than Mrs. Peyton's. 
 Presently his farmer companion, casting a patronizing 
 glance on Clarence's pea-jacket and brass buttons, said 
 cheerily 
 
 "Jest off a voyage, sonny ?" 
 
 "No, sir," stammered Clarence; "I came across the 
 plains." 
 
 "Then I reckon that's the rig-out for the crew of a 
 prairie schooner, eh?" There was a laugh at this which 
 perplexed Clarence. Observing it, the humorist kindly 
 condescended to explain that "prairie schooner" was the 
 current slang for an emigrant wagon. 
 
 "I couldn't," explained Clarence, naively looking at the 
 dark eyes on the back seat, "get any clothes at Stockton 
 but these ; I suppose the folks didn't think there'd ever be 
 boys in California." 
 
 The simplicity of this speech evidently impressed the 
 others, for the two men in the middle seats turned at a 
 whisper from the lady and regarded him curiously. Clar 
 ence blushed slightly and became silent. Presently the 
 vehicle began to slacken its speed. They were ascending
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 213 
 
 a hill ; on either bank grew huge cottonwoods, from which 
 occasionally depended a beautiful scarlet vine. 
 
 "Ah ! eet ees pretty," said the lady, nodding her black- 
 veiled head towards it. "Eet is good in ze hair." 
 
 One of the men made an awkward attempt to clutch a 
 spray from the window. A brilliant inspiration flashed 
 upon Clarence. When the stage began the ascent of the 
 next hill, following the example of an outside passenger, 
 he jumped down to walk. At the top of the hill he re 
 joined the stage, flushed and panting, but carrying a small 
 branch of the vine in his scratched hands. Handing it 
 to the man on the middle seat, he said, with grave, boyish 
 politeness "Please for the lady." 
 
 A slight smile passed over the face of Clarence's neigh 
 bors. The bonnetless woman nodded a pleasant acknowl 
 edgment, and coquettishly wound the vine in her glossy 
 hair. The dark man at his side, who hadn't spoken yet, 
 turned to Clarence dryly. 
 
 "If you're goin' to keep up this gait, sonny, I reckon 
 ye won't find much trouble gettin' a man's suit to fit you 
 by the time you reach Sacramento." 
 
 Clarence didn't quite understand him, but noticed that 
 a singular gravity seemed to overtake the two jocular 
 men on the middle seat, and the lady looked out of the 
 window. He came to the conclusion that he had made a 
 mistake about alluding to his clothes and his size. He 
 must try and behave more manly. That opportunity 
 seemed to be offered two hours later, when the stage 
 stopped at a wayside hotel or restaurant. 
 
 Two or three passengers had got down to refresh them 
 selves at the bar. His right and left hand neighbors were, 
 however, engaged in a drawling conversation on the com 
 parative merits of San Francisco sandhill and water lots ; 
 the jocular occupants of the middle seat were still en 
 grossed with the lady. Clarence slipped out of the stage 
 and entered the bar-room with some ostentation. The 
 complete ignoring of his person by the barkeeper and his 
 customers, however, somewhat disconcerted him. He 
 hesitated a moment, and then returned gravely to the 
 stage door and opened it.
 
 214 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 "Would you mind taking a drink with me, sir?" said 
 Clarence politely, addressing the farmer-looking passenger 
 who had been most civil to him. A dead silence followed. 
 The two men on the middle seat faced entirely around to 
 gaze at him. 
 
 "The Commodore asks if you'll take a drink with him," 
 explained one of the men to Clarence's friend with the 
 greatest seriousness. 
 
 "Eh? Oh, yes, certainly," returned that gentleman, 
 changing his astonished expression to one of the deepest 
 gravity, "seeing it's the Commodore." 
 
 "And perhaps you and your friend will join, too?" said 
 Clarence timidly to the passenger who had explained; 
 "and you too, sir?" he added to the dark man. 
 
 "Really, gentlemen, I don't see how we can refuse," 
 said the latter, with the greatest formality, and appealing 
 to the others. "A compliment of this kind froir our dis 
 tinguished friend is not to be taken lightly." 
 
 "I have observed, sir, that the Commodore's head is 
 level," returned the other man with equal gravity. 
 
 Clarence could have wished they had not treated his 
 first hospitable effort quite so formally, but as they stepped 
 from the coach with unbending faces he led them, a little 
 frightened, into the bar-room. Here, unfortunately, as he 
 was barely able to reach over the counter, the barkeeper 
 would have again overlooked him but for a quick glance 
 from the dark man, which seemed to change even the bar 
 keeper's perfunctory smiling face into supernatural gravity. 
 
 "The Commodore is standing treat," said the dark man, 
 with unbroken seriousness, indicating Clarence, and lean 
 ing back with an air of respectful formality. "I will take 
 straight whiskey. The Commodore, on account of just 
 changing climate, will, I believe, for the present content 
 himself with lemon soda." 
 
 Clarence had previously resolved to take whiskey, like 
 the others, but a little doubtful of the politeness of coun 
 termanding his guest's order, and perhaps slightly embar 
 rassed by the fact that all the other customers seemed to 
 have gathered round him and his party with equally 
 immovable faces, he said hurriedly :
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 215 
 
 "Lemon soda for me, please." 
 
 "The Commodore," said the barkeeper with impassive 
 features, as he bent forward and wiped the counter with 
 professional deliberation, "is right. No matter how much 
 a man may be accustomed all his life to liquor, when he 
 is changing climate, gentlemen, he says 'Lemon soda for 
 me' all the time." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Clarence, brightening, "you will join 
 too?" 
 
 "I shall be proud on this occasion, sir." 
 
 "I think," said the tall man, still as ceremoniously un 
 bending as before, "that there can be but one toast here, 
 gentlemen. I give you the health of the Commodore. 
 May his shadow never be less." 
 
 The health was drunk solemnly. Clarence felt his 
 cheeks tingle and in his excitement drank his own health 
 with the others. Yet he was disappointed that there was 
 not more joviality; he wondered if men always drank 
 together so stiffly. And it occurred to him that it would 
 be expensive. Nevertheless, he had his purse all ready 
 ostentatiously in his hand ; in fact, the paying for it out 
 of his own money was not the least manly and inde 
 pendent pleasure he had promised himself. "How much ?" 
 he asked, with an affectation of carelessness. 
 
 The barkeeper cast his eye professionally over the bar 
 room. "I think you said treats for the crowd; call it 
 twenty dollars to make even change." 
 
 Clarence's heart sank. He had heard already of the 
 exaggeration of California prices. Twenty dollars ! It 
 was half his fortune. Nevertheless, with an heroic effort, 
 he controlled himself, and with slightly nervous fingers 
 counted out the money. It struck him, however, as curi 
 ous, not to say ungentlermnly, that the bystanders craned 
 their necks over his shoulder to look at the contents of his 
 purse, although some slight explanation was offered by 
 the tall man. 
 
 "The Commodore's purse, gentlemen, is really a 
 singular one. Permit me," he said, taking it from Clar 
 ence's hand with great politeness. "It is one of the new 
 pattern, you observe, quite worthy of inspection." He
 
 216 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 handed it to a man behind him, who in turn handed it to 
 another, while a chorus of "suthin quite new," "the 
 latest style," followed it in its passage round the room, 
 and indicated to Clarence its whereabouts. It was pres 
 ently handed back to the barkeeper, who had begged 
 also to inspect it, and who, with an air of scrupulous 
 ceremony insisted upon placing it himself in Clarence's 
 side pocket, as if it were an important part of his func 
 tion. The driver here called "all aboard." The 
 passengers hurriedly reseated themselves, and the episode 
 abruptly ended. For, to Clarence's surprise, these atten 
 tive friends of a moment ago at once became interested 
 in the views of a new passenger concerning the local 
 politics of San Francisco, and he found himself utterly 
 forgotten. The bonnetless woman had changed her posi 
 tion, and her head was no longer visible. The disillu 
 sion and depression that overcame him suddenly were as 
 complete as his previous expectations and hopefulness 
 had been extravagant. For the first time his utter unim 
 portance in the world and his inadequacy to this new 
 life around him came upon him crushingly. 
 
 The heat and jolting of the stage caused him to fall 
 into a slight slumber and when he awoke he found his 
 two neighbors had just got out at a wayside station. 
 They had evidently not cared to waken him to say 
 "Good-by." From the conversation of the other passen 
 gers he learned that the tall man was a well-known 
 gambler, and the one who looked like a farmer was a 
 ship captain who had become a wealthy merchant. Clar 
 ence thought he understood now why the latter had 
 asked him if he came off a voyage, and that the nick 
 name of "Commodore" given to him, Clarence, was some 
 joke intended for the captain's understanding. He 
 missed them, for he wanted to talk to them about his 
 relative at Sacramento, whom he was now so soon to 
 see. At last, between sleeping and waking, the end of 
 his journey was unexpectedly reached. It was dark, 
 but, being "steamer night," the shops and business places 
 were still open, and Mr. Peyton had arranged that the 
 stage-driver should deliver Clarence at the address of his
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 217 
 
 relative in "J Street," an address which Clarence had 
 luckily remembered. But the boy was somewhat discom 
 fited to find that it was a large office or banking-house. 
 He, however, descended from the stage, and with his 
 small pack in his hand entered the building as the stage 
 drove off, and, addressing one of the busy clerks, asked 
 for "Mr. Jackson Brant." 
 
 There was no such person in the office. There never 
 had been any such person. The bank had always occu 
 pied that building. Was there not some mistake in the 
 number? No; the name, number, and street had been 
 deeply engrafted in the boy's recollection. Stop ! it 
 might be the name of a customer who had given his 
 address at the bank. The clerk who made this sugges 
 tion disappeared promptly to make inquiries in the 
 counting-room. Clarence, with a rapidly beating heart, 
 awaited him. The clerk returned. There was no such 
 name on the books. Jackson Brant was utterly unknown 
 to every one in the establishment. 
 
 For an instant the counter against which the boy 
 was, leaning seemed to yield with his weight; he was 
 obliged to steady himself with both hands to keep from 
 falling. It was not his disappointment, which was ter 
 rible; it was not a thought of his future, which seemed 
 hopeless; it was not his injured pride at appearing to 
 have willfully deceived Mr. Peyton, which was more 
 dreadful than all else ; but it was the sudden, sickening 
 sense that he himself had been deceived, tricked, and 
 fooled ! For it flashed upon him for the first time that 
 the vague sense of wrong which had always haunted 
 him was this that this was the vile culmination of a 
 plan to get rid of him, and that he had been deliberately 
 lost and led astray by his relatives as helplessly and 
 completely as a useless cat or dog ! 
 
 Perhaps there was something of this in his face, for 
 the clerk, staring at him, bade him sit down for a mo 
 ment, and again vanished into the mysterious interior. 
 Clarence had no conception how long he was absent, 
 or indeed anything but his own breathless thoughts, for 
 he was conscious of wondering afterwards why the clerk
 
 218 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 was leading him through a door in the counter into an 
 inner room of many desks, and again through a glass 
 door into a smaller office, where a preternaturally busy- 
 looking man sat writing at a desk. Without looking up, 
 but pausing only to apply a blotting-pad to the paper 
 before him, the man said crisply 
 
 "So you've been consigned to some one who don't 
 seem to turn up, and can't be found, eh? Never mind 
 that," as Clarence laid Peyton's letter before him. "Can't 
 read it now. Well, I suppose you want to be shipped 
 back to Stockton?" 
 
 "No !" said the boy, recovering his voice with an effort. 
 
 "Eh, that's business, though. Know anybody here?" 
 
 "Not a living soul ; that's why they sent me," said the 
 boy, in sudden reckless desperation. He was the more 
 furious that he knew the tears were standing in his 
 eyes. 
 
 The idea seemed to strike the man amusingly. "Looks 
 a little like it, don't it?" he said, smiling grimly at the 
 paper before him. "Got any money?" 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "About twenty dollars," said Clarence hesitatingly. 
 The man opened a drawer at his side, mechanically, for 
 he did not raise his eyes, and took out two ten-dollar 
 gold pieces. "I'll go twenty better," he said, laying them 
 down on the desk. "That'll give you a chance to look 
 around. Come back here, if you don't see your way 
 clear." He dipped his pen into the ink with a signifi 
 cant gesture as if closing the interview. 
 
 Clarence pushed back the coin. "I'm not a beggar," 
 he said doggedly. 
 
 The man this time raised his head and surveyed the 
 boy with two keen eyes. "You're not, hey? Well, do I 
 look like one?" 
 
 "No," stammered Clarence, as he glanced into the 
 man's haughty eyes. 
 
 "Yet, if I were in your fix, I'd take that money and 
 be glad to get it." 
 
 "If you'll let me pay you back again," said Clarence,
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 219 
 
 a little ashamed, and considerably frightened at his im 
 plied accusation of the man before him. 
 
 "You can," said the man, bending over his desk again. 
 
 Clarence took up the money and awkwardly drew out 
 his purse. But it was the first time he had touched it 
 since it was returned to him in the bar-room, and it 
 struck him that it was heavy and full indeed, so full 
 that on opening it a few coins rolled out on to the 
 floor. The man looked up abruptly. 
 
 "I thought you said you had only twenty dollars?" he 
 remarked grimly. 
 
 "Mr. Peyton gave me forty," returned Clarence, stupe 
 fied and blushing. "I spent twenty dollars for drinks at 
 the bar and," he stammered, "I I I don't know how 
 the rest came here," 
 
 "You spent twenty dollars for drinks?" said the man, 
 laying down his pen, and leaning back in his chair to 
 gaze at the boy. 
 
 "Yes that is I treated some gentlemen of the stage, 
 sir, at Davidson's Crossing." 
 
 "Di8 you treat the whole stage company?" 
 
 "No, sir, only about four or five and the bar-keeper. 
 But everything's so dear in California. 7 know that." 
 
 "Evidently. But it don't seem to make much difference 
 with you," said the man, glancing at the purse. 
 
 "They wanted my purse to look at," said Clarence 
 hurriedly, "and that's how the thing happened. Some 
 body put his own money back into my purse by acci 
 dent." 
 
 "Of course," said the man grimly. 
 
 "Yes, that's the reason," said Clarence, a little re 
 lieved, but somewhat embarrassed by the man's per 
 sistent eyes. 
 
 "Then, of course," said the other quietly, "you don't 
 require my twenty dollars now." 
 
 "But," returned Clarence hesitatingly, "this isn't 
 my money. I must find out who it belongs to, and give 
 it back again. Perhaps," he added timidly, "I might 
 leave it here with you, and call for it when I find the 
 man, or send him here."
 
 220 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 With the greatest gravity he here separated the sur 
 plus from what was" left of Peyton's gift and the twenty 
 dollars he had just received. The balance unaccounted 
 for was forty dollars. He laid it on the desk before the 
 man, who, still looking at him, rose and opened the door 
 
 "Mr. Reed." 
 
 The clerk who had shown Clarence in appeared. 
 
 "Open an account with" He stopped and turned in 
 terrogatively to Clarence. 
 
 "Clarence Brant," said Clarence, coloring with ex 
 citement. 
 
 "With Clarence Brant. Take that deposit" pointing 
 to the money "and give him a receipt." He paused 
 as the clerk retired with a wondering gaze at the money, 
 looked again at Clarence, said, "I think you'll do," and 
 reentered the private office, closing the door behind him. 
 
 I hope it will not be deemed inconceivable that Clar 
 ence, only a few moments before crushed with bitter 
 disappointment and the hopeless revelation of his aban 
 donment by his relatives, now felt himself lifted up sud 
 denly into an imaginary height of independence and 
 manhood. He was leaving the bank, in which he stood 
 a minute before a friendless boy, not as a successful 
 beggar, for this important man had disclaimed the idea, 
 but absolutely as a customer! a depositor! a business 
 man like the grown-up clients who were thronging the 
 outer office, and before the eyes of the clerk who had 
 pitied him ! And he, Clarence, had been spoken to by 
 this man, whose name he now recognized as the one 
 that was on the door of the building a man of whom 
 his fellow-passengers had spoken with admiring envy 
 a banker famous in all California ! Will it be deemed 
 incredible that this imaginative and hopeful boy, for 
 getting all else, the object of his visit, and even the fact 
 that he considered this money was not his own, actually 
 put his hat a little on one side as he strolled out on his 
 way to the streets and prospective fortune? 
 
 Two hours later the banker had another visitor. It 
 chanced to be the farmer-looking man who had been 
 Clarence's fellow-passenger. Evidently a privileged per-
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 221 
 
 son, he was at once ushered as "Captain Stevens" into 
 the presence of the banker. At the end of a familiar 
 business interview the captain asked carelessly 
 
 "Any letters for me?" 
 
 The busy banker pointed with his pen to the letter 
 "S" in a row of alphabetically labeled pigeon-holes against 
 the wall. The captain, having selected his correspond 
 ence, paused with a letter in his hand. 
 
 "Look here, Garden, there are letters here for some 
 chap called 'John Silsbee.' They were here when I 
 called, ten weeks ago." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "That's the name of that Pike County man who was 
 killed by Injins in the plains. The 'Frisco papers had 
 all the particulars last night ; may be it's for that fellow. 
 It hasn't got a postmark. Who left it here?" 
 
 Mr. Garden summoned a clerk. It appeared that the 
 letter had been left by a certain Brant Fauquier, to be 
 called for. 
 
 Captain Stevens smiled. "Brant's been too busy 
 dealin' faro to think of 'em agin, and since that shootin' 
 affair at Angels' I hear he's skipped to the southern 
 coast somewhere. Cal Johnson, his old chum, was in 
 the up stage from Stockton this afternoon." 
 
 "Did you come by the up stage from Stockton this 
 afternoon ?" said Garden, looking up. 
 
 "Yes, as far as Ten-mile Station rode the rest of the 
 way here." 
 
 "Did you notice a queer little old-fashioned kid about 
 so high like a runaway school-boy ?" 
 
 "Did I? By G d, sir, he treated me to drinks." 
 
 Garden jumped from his chair. "Then he wasn't 
 lying!" 
 
 "No ! We let him do it ; but we made it good for the 
 little chap afterwards. Hello ! What's up ?" 
 
 But Mr. Garden was already in the outer office beside 
 the clerk who had admitted Clarence. 
 
 "You remember that boy Brant who was here?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Where did he go?"
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 "Don't know, sir." 
 
 "Go and find him somewhere and somehow. Go to 
 all the hotels, restaurants, and gin-mills near here, and 
 hunt him up. Take some one with you, if you can't do 
 it alone. Bring him back here, quick !" 
 
 It was nearly midnight when the clerk fruitlessly re 
 turned. It was the fierce high noon of "steamer nights" ; 
 light flashed brilliantly from shops, counting-houses, 
 drinking-saloons, and gambling-hells. The streets were 
 yet full of eager, hurrying feet swift of fortune, ambi 
 tion, pleasure, or crinm But from among these deeper 
 harsher footfalls the echo of the homeless boy's light, 
 innocent treaf 1 seemed to have died out forever. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHEN Clarence was once more in the busy street 
 before the bank, it seemed clear to his boyish mind that, 
 being now cast adrift upon the world and responsible 
 to no one, there was no reason why he should not at 
 once proceed to the nearest gold mines ! The idea of 
 returning to Mr. Peyton and Susy, as a disowned and 
 abandoned outcast, was not to be thought of. He would 
 purchase some kind of an outfit, such as he had seen 
 the miners carry, and start off as soon as he had got 
 his supper. But although one of his most delightful 
 anticipations had been the unfettered freedom of order 
 ing a meal at a restaurant, on entering the first one 
 he found himself the object of so much curiosity, partly 
 from his size and partly from his dress, which the un 
 fortunate boy was beginning to suspect was really pre 
 posterous, and he turned away with a stammered excuse, 
 and did not try another. Further on he found a baker's 
 shop, where he refreshed himself with some ginger 
 bread and lemon soda. At an adjacent grocery he pur 
 chased some herrings, smoked beef, and biscuits, as 
 future provisions for his "pack" or kit. Then began his 
 real quest for an outfit. In an hour he had secured 
 ostensibly for some friend, to avoid curious inquiry a
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 223 
 
 pan, a blanket, a shovel and pick, all of which he de 
 posited at the baker's, his unostentatious headquarters, 
 with the exception of a pair of disguising high boots that 
 half hid his sailor trousers, which he kept to put on 
 at the last. Even to his inexperience the cost of these 
 articles seemed enormous ; when his purchases were com 
 plete, of his entire capital scarcely four dollars remained ! 
 Yet in the fond illusions of boyhood these rude appoint 
 ments seemed possessed of far more value than the gold 
 he had given in exchange for them, and he had enjoyed 
 a child's delight in testing the transforming magic of 
 money. 
 
 Meanwhile, the feverish contact of the crowded street 
 had, strange to say, increased his loneliness, while the 
 ruder joviality of its dissipations began to fill him with 
 vague uneasiness. The passing glimpse of dancing halls 
 and gaudily whirled figures that seemed only feminine 
 in their apparel ; the shouts and boisterous choruses from 
 concert rooms; the groups of drunken roisterers that 
 congregated around the doors of saloons or, hilariously 
 charging down the streets, elbowed him against the wall, 
 or humorously insisted on his company, discomposed and 
 frightened him. He had known rude companionship be 
 fore, but it was serious, practical, and under control. 
 There was something in this vulgar degradation of in 
 tellect and power qualities that Clarence had always 
 boyishly worshiped which sickened and disillusioned 
 him. Later on a pistol shot in a crowd beyond, the rush 
 of eager men past him, the disclosure of a limp and 
 helpless figure against the wall, the closing of the crowd 
 again around it, although it stirred him with a fearful 
 curiosity, actually shocked him less hopelessly than their 
 brutish enjoyments and abandonment. 
 
 It was in one of these rushes that he had been crushed 
 against a swinging door, which, giving way to his pres 
 sure, disclosed to his wondering eyes a long, glitter- 
 ingly adorned, and brightly lit room, densely filled with 
 a silent, attentive throng in attitudes of decorous ab 
 straction and preoccupation, that even the shouts and 
 tumult at its very doors could not disturb. Men of all
 
 224 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 ranks and conditions, plainly or elaborately clad, were 
 grouped together under this magic spell of silence and 
 attention. The tables before them were covered with 
 cards and loose heaps of gold and silver. A clicking, the 
 rattling of an ivory ball, and the frequent, formal, lazy 
 reiteration of some unintelligible sentence was all that 
 he heard. But by a sudden instinct he understood it all. 
 It was a gambling saloon ! 
 
 Encouraged by the decorous stillness, and the fact 
 that everybody appeared too much engaged to notice him, 
 the boy drew timidly beside one of the tables. It was 
 covered with a number of cards, on which were placed 
 certain sums of money. Looking down, Clarence saw 
 that he was standing before a card that as yet had 
 nothing on it. A single player at his side looked up, 
 glanced at Clarence curiously, and then placed half a 
 dozen gold pieces on the vacant card. Absorbed in the 
 general aspect of the room and the players, Clarence 
 did not notice that his neighbor won twice, and even 
 thrice, upon that card. Becoming aware, however, that 
 the player while gathering in his gains, was smilingly 
 regarding him he moved in some embarrassment to the 
 other end of the table, where there seemed another gap 
 in the crowd. It so chanced that there was also another 
 vacant card. The previous neighbor of Clarence in 
 stantly shoved a sum of money across the table on the 
 vacant card and won ! At this the other players began 
 to regard Clarence singularly, one or two of the spec 
 tators smiled, and the boy, coloring, moved awkwardly 
 away. But his sleeve was caught by the successful 
 player, who, detaining him gently, put three gold pieces 
 into his hand. 
 
 "That's your share, sonny," he whispered. 
 
 "Share for what?" stammered the astounded Clar 
 ence. 
 
 "For bringing me 'the luck,' " said the man. 
 
 Clarence stared. "Am I to to play with it?" he 
 said, glancing at the coins and then at the table, in igno 
 rance of the stranger's meaning. 
 
 "No, no !" said the man hurriedly, "don't do that.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 You'll lose it, sonny, sure ! Don't you see, you bring the 
 luck to others, not to yourself. Keep it, old man, and 
 run home !" 
 
 "I don't want it ! I won't have it !" said Clarence with 
 a swift recollection of the manipulation of his purse 
 that morning, and a sudden distrust of all mankind. 
 
 "There !" He turned back to the table and laid the 
 money on the first vacant card he saw. In another 
 moment, as it seemed to him, it was raked away by the 
 dealer. A sense of relief came over him. 
 
 "There !" said the man, with an awed voice and a 
 strange, fatuous look in his eye. "What did I tell you? 
 You see, it's allus so ! Now," he added roughly, "get up 
 and get out o' this, afore you lose the boots and shirt 
 off ye." 
 
 Clarence did not wait for a second command. With 
 another glance round the room, he began to make his 
 way through the crowd towards the front. But in that 
 parting glance he caught a glimpse of a woman pre 
 siding over a "wheel of fortune" in a corner, whose face 
 seemed familiar. He looked again, timidly. In spite of 
 an extraordinary head-dress or crown that she wore as 
 the "Goddess of Fortune," he recognized, twisted in its 
 tinsel, a certain scarlet vine which he had seen before ; 
 in spite of the hoarse formula which she was continually 
 repeating, he recognized the foreign accent. It was the 
 woman of the stage-coach ! With a sudden dread that 
 she might recognize him, and likewise demand his ser 
 vices "for luck," he turned and fled. 
 
 Once more in the open air, there came upon him a 
 vague loathing and horror of the restless madness and 
 feverish distraction of this half-civilized city. It was 
 the more powerful that it was vague, and the outcome 
 of some inward instinct. He found himself longing for 
 the pure air and sympathetic loneliness of the plains 
 and wilderness; he began to yearn for the companion 
 ship of his humble associates the teamster, the scout 
 Gildersleeve, and even Jim Hooker. But above all and 
 before all was the wild desire to get away from these 
 maddening streets and their bewildering occupants. He 
 8 v. 2
 
 226 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 ran back to the baker's, gathered his purchases together, 
 took advantage of a friendly doorway to strap them on 
 his boyish shoulders, slipped into a side street, and struck 
 out at once for the outskirts. 
 
 It had been his first intention to take stage to the 
 nearest mining district, but the diminution of his small 
 capital forbade that outlay, and he decided to walk there 
 by the highroad, of whose general direction he had in 
 formed himself. In half an hour the lights of the flat, 
 struggling city, and their reflection in the shallow, turbid 
 river before it, had sunk well behind him. The air was 
 cool and soft; a yellow moon swam in the slight haze 
 that rose above the tules; in the distance a few scat 
 tered cottonwoods and sycamores marked like sentinels 
 the road. When he had walked some distance he sat 
 down beneath one of them to make a frugal supper 
 from the dry rations in his pack, but in the absence of 
 any spring he was forced to quench his thirst with a 
 glass of water in a wayside tavern. Here he was good- 
 humoredly offered something stronger, which he declined, 
 and replied to certain curious interrogations by saying 
 that he expected to overtake his friends in a wagon 
 further on. A new distrust of mankind had begun to 
 make the boy an adept in innocent falsehood, the more 
 deceptive as his careless, cheerful manner, the result of 
 his relief at leaving the city, and his perfect ease in the 
 loving companionship of night and nature, certainly 
 gave no indication of his homelessness and poverty. 
 
 It was long past midnight, when, weary in body, but 
 still hopeful and happy in mind, he turned off the dusty 
 road into a vast rolling expanse of wild oats, with the 
 same sense of security of rest as a traveler to his inn. 
 Here, completely screened from view by the tall stalks 
 of grain that rose thickly around him to the height of a 
 man's shoulder, he beat down a few of them for a bed, 
 on which he deposited his blanket. Placing his pack for 
 a pillow, he curled himself up in his blanket, and speedily 
 fell asleep. 
 
 He awoke at sunrise, refreshed, invigorated, and hun 
 gry. But he was forced to defer his first self-prepared
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 227 
 
 breakfast until he had reached water, and a less dan 
 gerous place than the wild-oat field to build his first camp 
 fire. This he found a mile further on, near some dwarf 
 willows on the bank of a half-dry stream. Of his various 
 efforts to prepare his first meal, the fire was the most 
 successful ; the coffee was somewhat too substantially 
 thick, and the bacon and herring lacked definiteness of 
 quality from having been cooked in the same vessel. In 
 this boyish picnic he missed Susy, and recalled, perhaps 
 a little bitterly, her coldness at parting. But the novelty 
 of his situation, the brilliant sunshine and sense of 
 freedom, and the road already awakening to dusty life 
 with passing teams, dismissed everything but the future 
 from his mind. Readjusting his pack, he stepped on 
 cheerily. At noon he was overtaken by a teamster, 
 who in return for a match to light his pipe gave him a 
 lift of a dozen miles. It is to be feared that Clarence's 
 account of himself was equally fanciful with his previous 
 story, and that the teamster parted from him with a 
 genuine regret, and a hope that he would soon be over 
 taken by his friends along the road. "And mind that 
 you ain't such a fool agin to let 'em make you tote their 
 clod-blasted tools fur them !" he added unsuspectingly, 
 pointing to Clarence's mining outfit. Thus saved the 
 heaviest part of the day's journey, for the road was con 
 tinually rising from the plains during the last six miles, 
 Clarence was yet abie to cover a considerable distance 
 on foot before he halted for supper. Here he was again 
 fortunate. An empty lumber team watering at the same 
 spring, its driver offered to take Clarence's purchases 
 for the boy had profited by his late friend's suggestion 
 to personally detach himself from his equipment to 
 Buckeye Mills for a dollar, which would also include 
 a "shakedown passage" for himself on the floor of the 
 wagon. "I reckon you've been foolin' away in Sacra 
 mento the money yer parents give yer for return stage 
 fare, eh? Don't lie, sonny," he added grimly, as the now 
 artful Clarence smiled diplomatically. "I've been thar 
 myself !" Luckily, the excuse that he was "tired and 
 sleepy" prevented further dangerous questioning, and
 
 228 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 the boy was soon really in deep slumber on the wagon 
 floor. 
 
 He awoke betimes to find himself already in the moun 
 tains. Buckeye Mills was a straggling settlement, and 
 Clarence prudently stopped any embarrassing inquiry 
 from his friend by dropping off the wagon with his 
 equipment as they entered it, and hurriedly saying 
 "Good-by" from a crossroad through the woods. He had 
 learned that the nearest mining camp was five miles 
 away, and its direction was indicated by a long wooden 
 "flume," or water-way, that alternately appeared and dis 
 appeared on the flank of the mountain opposite. The 
 cooler and drier air, the grateful shadow of pine and 
 bay, and the spicy balsamic odors that everywhere 
 greeted him, thrilled and exhilarated him. The trail 
 plunging sometimes into an undisturbed forest, he started 
 the birds before him like a flight of arrows through its 
 dim recesses; at times he hung breathlessly over the 
 blue depths of canons where the same forests were re 
 peated a thousand feet below. Towards noon he struck 
 into a rude road evidently the thoroughfare of the 
 locality and was surprised to find that it, as well as the 
 adjacent soil wherever disturbed, was a deep Indian red. 
 Everywhere, along its sides, powdering the banks and 
 boles of trees with its ruddy stain, in mounds and 
 hillocks of piled dirt on the road, or in liquid paint-like 
 pools, when a trickling stream had formed a gutter across 
 it, there was always the same deep sanguinary color. 
 Once or twice it became more vivid in contrast with the 
 white teeth of quartz that peeped through it from the 
 hillside or crossed the road in crumbled strata. One of 
 those pieces Clarence picked up with a quickening pulse. 
 It was veined and streaked with shining mica and tiny 
 glittering cubes of mineral that looked like gold ! 
 
 The road now began to descend towards a winding 
 stream, shrunken by drought and ditching, that glared 
 dazzingly in the sunlight from its white bars of sand, 
 or glistened in shining sheets and channels. Along 
 its banks, and even encroaching upon its bed, were scat 
 tered a few mud cabins, strange-looking wooden troughs
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 229 
 
 and gutters, and here and there, glancing through the 
 leaves, the white canvas of tents. The stumps of felled 
 trees and blackened spaces, as of recent fires, marked the 
 stream on either side. A sudden sense of disappoint 
 ment overcame Clarence. It looked vulgar, -common, 
 and worse than all familiar. It was like the unlovely 
 outskirts of a dozen other prosaic settlements he had 
 seen in less romantic localities. In that muddy red 
 stream, pouring out of a wooden gutter, in which three 
 or four bearded, slouching, half-naked figures were rak 
 ing like chiffonniers, there was nothing to suggest the 
 royal metal. Yet he was so absorbed in gazing at the 
 scene, and had walked so rapidly during the past few 
 minutes, that he was startled, on turning a sharp corner 
 of the road, to come abruptly upon an outlying dwelling. 
 
 It was a nondescript building, half canvas and half 
 boards. The interior seen through the open door was 
 fitted up with side shelves, a counter carelessly piled with 
 provisions, groceries, clothing, and hardware with no at 
 tempt at display or even ordinary selection and a table, 
 on which stood a demijohn and three or four dirty glasses. 
 Two roughly dressed men, whose long, matted beards and 
 hair left only their eyes and lips visible in the tangled 
 hirsute wilderness below their slouched hats, were lean 
 ing against the opposite sides of the doorway, smoking. 
 Almost thrown against them in the rapid momentum of 
 his descent, Clarence halted violently. 
 
 "Well, sonny, you needn't capsize the shanty," said 
 the first man, without taking his pipe from his lips. 
 
 "If yer looking fur yer ma, she and yer Aunt Jane 
 hev jest gone over to Parson Doolittle's to take tea," 
 observed the second man lazily. "She allowed that you'd 
 wait." 
 
 "I'm I'm going to to the mines," explained Clar 
 ence, with some hesitation. "I suppose this is the way." 
 
 The two men took their pipes from their lips, looked 
 at each other, completely wiped every vestige of ex 
 pression from their faces with the back of their hands, 
 turned their eyes into the interior of the cabin, and said, 
 "Will yer come yer, now will yer?" Thus adjured, half
 
 230 A WAIF OP THE PLAINS 
 
 a dozen men, also bearded and carrying pipes in their 
 mouths, straggled out of the shanty, and, filing in front 
 of it, squatted down, with their backs against the 
 boards, and gazed comfortably at the boy. Clarence 
 began to feel uneasy. 
 
 "I'll give," said one, taking out his pipe and grimly 
 eying Clarence, "a hundred dollars for him as he 
 stands." 
 
 "And seein' as he's got that bran-new rig-out o' tools," 
 said another, "I'll give a hundred and fifty and the 
 drinks. I've been," he added apologetically, "wantin' 
 sunthin' like this a long time." 
 
 "Well, gen'lemen," said the man who had first spoken 
 to him, "lookin' at him by and large; takin' in, so to 
 speak, the gin'ral gait of him in single harness; bearin' 
 in mind the perfect freshness of him, and the coolness 
 and size of his cheek the easy downyness, previousness, 
 and utter don't-care-a-damnativeness of his coming yer, 
 I think two hundred ain't too much for him, and we'll 
 call it a bargain." 
 
 Clarence's previous experience of this grim, smileless 
 Californian chaff was not calculated to restore his con 
 fidence. He drew away from the cabin, and repeated 
 doggedly, "I asked you if this was the way to the 
 mines." 
 
 "It are the mines, and these yere are the miners," 
 said the first speaker gravely. "Permit me to interdoose 
 'em. This yere's Shasta Jim, this yere's Shotcard Billy, 
 this is Nasty Bob, and this Slumgullion Dick. This 
 yere's the Dook o' Chatham Street, the Livin' Skeleton, 
 and me!" 
 
 "May we ask, fair young sir," said the Living Skele 
 ton, who, however, seemed in fairly robust condition, 
 "whence came ye on the wings of the morning, and 
 whose Marble Halls ye hev left desolate?" 
 
 "I came across the plains, and got into Stockton two 
 days ago on Mr. Peyton's train," said Clarence, indig 
 nantly, seeing no reason now to conceal anything. "I 
 came to Sacramento to find my cousin, who isn't living 
 there any more. I don't see anything funny in that!
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 231 
 
 I came here to the mines to dig gold because because 
 Mr. Silsbee, the man who was to bring me here and 
 might have found my cousin for me, was killed by In 
 dians." 
 
 "Hold up, sonny. Let me help ye," said the first 
 speaker, rising to his feet. "You didn't get killed by 
 Injins because you got lost out of a train with Silsbee's 
 infant darter. Peyton picked you up while you was 
 takin' care of her, and two days arter you kem up to 
 the broken-down Silsbee wagons, with all the folks lyin' 
 there slartered." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Clarence, breathlessly with astonish 
 ment. 
 
 "And," continued the man, putting his hand gravely 
 to his head as if to assist his memory, "when you was 
 all alone on the plains with that little child you saw one 
 of those redskins, as near to you as I be, watchin' 
 the train, and you didn't breathe or move while he was 
 there?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Clarence eagerly. 
 
 "And you was shot at by Peyton, he thinkin' you was 
 an Injun in the mesquite grass? And you once shot a 
 buffalo that had been pitched with you down a gully 
 all by yourself?" 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence, crimson with wonder and pleas 
 ure. "You know me, then?" 
 
 "Well, ye-e-es," said the man gravely, parting his 
 mustache with his fingers. "You see, you've been here 
 before." 
 
 "Before! Me?" repeated the astounded Clarence. 
 
 "Yes, before. Last night. You was taller then, and 
 hadn't cut your hair. You cursed a good deal more than 
 you do now. You drank a man's share of whiskey, and 
 you borrowed fifty dollars to get to Sacramento with. 
 I reckon you haven't got it about you now, eh ?" 
 
 Clarence's brain reeled in utter confusion and hopeless 
 terror. 
 
 Was he going crazy, or had these cruel men learned 
 his story from his faithless friends, and this was a part 
 of the plot ? He staggered forward, but the men had risen
 
 232 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 and quickly encircled him, as if to prevent his escape. In 
 vague and helpless desperation he gasped 
 
 "What place is this?" 
 
 "Folks call it Deadman's Gulch." 
 
 Deadman's Gulch ! A flash of intelligence lit up the 
 boy's blind confusion. Deadman's Gulch ! Could it have 
 been Jim Hooker who had really run away, and had taken 
 his name? He turned half-imploringly to the first speaker. 
 
 "Wasn't he older than me, and bigger? Didn't he have 
 a smooth, round face and little eyes? Didn't he talk 
 hoarse? Didn't he " He stopped hopelessly. 
 
 "Yes; oh, he wasn't a bit like you," said the man 
 musingly. "Ye see, that's the h 11 of it! You're alto 
 gether too many and too various fur this camp." 
 
 "I don't know who's been here before, or what they 
 have said," said Clarence desperately, yet even in that 
 desperation retaining the dogged loyalty to his old play 
 mate, which was part of his nature. "I don't know, and 
 I don't care there ! I'm Clarence Brant of Kentucky ; 
 I started in Silsbee's train from St. Jo, and I'm going 
 to the mines, and you can't stop me !" 
 
 The man who had first spoken started, looked keenly at 
 Clarence, and then turned to the others. The gentleman 
 known as the living skeleton had obtruded his huge 
 bulk in front of the boy, and, gazing at him, said reflec 
 tively, "Darned if it don't look like one of Brant's pups 
 sure !" 
 
 "Air ye any relation to Kernel Hamilton Brant of 
 Looeyville ?" asked the first speaker. 
 
 Again that old question! Poor Clarence hesitated, 
 despairingly. Was he to go through the same cross- 
 examination he had undergone with the Peytons ? "Yes," 
 he said doggedly, "I am but he's dead, and you know it." 
 
 "Dead of course." "Sartin." "He's dead." "The 
 Kernel's planted," said the men in chorus. 
 
 "Well, yes," reflected the Living Skeleton ostenta 
 tiously, as one who spoke from experience. "Ham Brant's 
 about as bony now as they make 'em." 
 
 "You bet ! About the dustiest, deadest corpse you kin 
 turn out," corroborated Slumgullion Dick, nodding his
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 233 
 
 head gloomily to the others ; "in point o' fack, es a corpse, 
 about the last one I should keer to go huntin' fur." 
 
 "The Kernel's tech 'ud be cold and clammy," concluded 
 the Duke of Chatham Street, who had not yet spoken, 
 "sure. But what did yer mammy say about it? Is she 
 gettin' married agin? Did she send ye here?" 
 
 It seemed to Clarence that the Duke of Chatham Street 
 here received a kick from his companions; but the boy 
 repeated doggedly , 
 
 "I came to Sacramento to find my cousin, Jackson 
 Brant; but he wasn't there." 
 
 "Jackson Brant!" echoed the first speaker, glancing 
 at the others. "Did your mother say he was your 
 cousin ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence wearily. "Good-by." 
 
 "Hullo, sonny, where are you going?" 
 
 "To dig gold," said the boy. "And you know you 
 can't prevent me, if it isn't on your claim. I know the 
 law." He had heard Mr. Peyton discuss it at Stockton, 
 and he fancied that the men, who were whispering among 
 themselves, looked kinder than before, and as if they were 
 no longer "acting" to him. The first speaker laid his hand 
 on his shoulder, and said, "All right, come with me, and 
 I'll show you where to dig." 
 
 "Who are you?" said Clarence. "You called yourself 
 only 'me.' " 
 
 "Well, you can call me Flynn Tom Flynn." 
 
 "And you'll show me where I can dig myself?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "Do you know," said Clarence timidly, yet with a half- 
 conscious smile, "that I I kinder bring luck?" 
 
 The man looked down upon him, and said gravely, 
 but, as it struck Clarence, with a new kind of gravity, 
 "I believe you." 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence eagerly, as they walked along 
 together, "I brought luck to a man in Sacramento the 
 other day." And he related with great earnestness his 
 experience in the gambling saloon. Not content with 
 that the sealed fountains of his childish deep being 
 broken up by some mysterious sympathy he spoke of his
 
 234 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 hospitable exploit with the passengers at the wayside bar, 
 of the finding of his Fortunatus purse and his deposit at 
 the bank. Whether that characteristic old-fashioned reti 
 cence which had been such an important factor for good 
 or ill in his future had suddenly deserted him, or whether 
 some extraordinary prepossession in his companion had 
 affected him, he did not know; but by the time the pair 
 had reached the hillside Flynn was in possession of all 
 the boy's history. On one point only was his reserve 
 unshaken. Conscious although he was of Jim Hooker's 
 duplicity, he affected to treat it as a comrade's joke. 
 
 They halted at last in the middle of an apparently fer 
 tile hillside. Clarence shifted his shovel from his shoul 
 ders, unslung his pan, and looked at Flynn. "Dig any 
 where here, where you like," said his companion carelessly, 
 "and you'll be sure to find the color. Fill your pan with 
 the dirt, go to that sluice, and let the water run in on 
 the top of the pan workin' it round so," he added, illus 
 trating a rotary motion with the vessel. "Keep doing 
 that until all the soil is washed out of it, and you have 
 only the black sand at the bottom. Then work that the 
 same way until you see the color. Don't be afraid of 
 washing the gold out of the pan you couldn't do it if 
 you tried. There, I'll leave you here, and you wait till I 
 come back." With another grave nod and something like 
 a smile in the only visible part of his bearded face his 
 eyes he strode rapidly away. 
 
 Clarence did not lose time. Selecting a spot where 
 the grass was less thick, he broke through the soil and 
 turned up two or three spadefuls of red soil. When he 
 had filled the pan and raised it to his shoulder, he was 
 astounded at its weight. He did not know that it was 
 due to the red precipitate of iron that gave it its color. 
 Staggering along with his burden to the running sluice, 
 which looked like an open wooden gutter, at the foot 
 of the hill, he began to carefully carry out Flynn's direc 
 tion. The first dip of the pan in the running water car 
 ried off half the contents of the pan in liquid paint-iike 
 ooze. For a moment he gave way to boyish satisfaction 
 in the sight and touch of this unctuous solution, and
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 235 
 
 dabbled his fingers in it. A few moments more of rinsing 
 and he came to the sediment of fine black sand that was 
 beneath it. Another plunge and swilling of water in the 
 pan, and could he believe his eyes ! a few yellow tiny 
 scales, scarcely larger than pins' heads, glittered among 
 the sand. He poured it off. But his companion was 
 right; the lighter sand shifted from side to side with the 
 water, but the glittering points remained adhering by 
 their own tiny specific gravity to the smooth surface of 
 the bottom. It was "the color" gold! 
 
 Clarence's heart seemed to give a great leap within 
 him. A vision of wealth, of independence, of power, 
 sprang before his dazzled eyes, and a hand lightly 
 touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 He started. In his complete preoccupation and excite 
 ment, he had not heard the clatter of horse-hoofs, and to 
 his amazement Flynn was already beside him, mounted, 
 and leading a second horse. 
 
 "You kin ride?" he said shortly. 
 
 "Yes," stammered Clarence; "but " 
 
 "But we've only got two hours to reach Buckeye 
 Mills in time to catch the down stage. Drop all that, 
 jump up, and come with me !" 
 
 "But I've just found gold," said the boy excitedly. 
 
 "And I've just found your cousin. Come!" 
 
 He spurred his horse across Clarence's scattered imple 
 ments, half helped, half lifted, the boy into the saddle of 
 the second horse, and, with a cut of his riata over the 
 animal's haunches, the next moment they were both gal 
 loping furiously away. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TORN suddenly from his prospective future, but too 
 much dominated by the man beside him to protest, Clar 
 ence was silent until a rise in the road, a few minutes 
 later, partly abated their headlong speed, and gave him 
 chance to recover his breath and courage. 
 
 "Where is my cousin?" he asked.
 
 236 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 "In the Southern county, two hundred miles from 
 here." 
 
 "Are we going to him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They rode furiously forward again. It was nearly half 
 an hour before they came to a longer ascent. Clarence 
 could see that Flynn was from time to time examining 
 him curiously under his slouched hat. This somewhat 
 embarrassed him, but in his singular confidence in the 
 man no distrust mingled with it. 
 
 "Ye never saw your cousin?" he asked. 
 
 "No," said Clarence; "nor he me. I don't think he 
 knew me much, any way." 
 
 "How old mout ye be, Clarence?" 
 
 "Eleven." 
 
 "Well, as you're suthin of a pup" Clarence started, 
 and recalled Peyton's first criticism of him "I reckon to 
 tell ye suthin. Ye ain't goin' to be skeert, or afeard, or 
 lose yer sand, I kalkilate, for skunkin' ain't in your breed. 
 Well, wot ef I told ye that thish yer thish yer cousin o' 
 yours was the biggest devil onhung; that he'd just killed 
 a man, and had to lite out elsewhere, and thet's why he 
 didn't show up in Sacramento what if I told you that?" 
 
 Clarence felt that this was somehow a little too much. 
 He was perfectly truthful, and lifting his frank eyes to 
 Flynn, he said, 
 
 "I should think you were talking a good deal like Jim 
 Hooker !" 
 
 His companion stared, and suddenly reined up his 
 horse; then, bursting into a shout of laughter, he gal 
 loped ahead, from time to time shaking his head, slapping 
 his legs, and making the dim woods ring with his boister 
 ous mirth. Then as suddenly becoming thoughtful again, 
 he rode on rapidly for half an hour, only speaking to 
 Clarence to urge him forward, and assisting his progress 
 by lashing the haunches of his horse. Luckily, the boy 
 was a good rider a fact which Flynn seemed to thor 
 oughly appreciate or he would have been unseated a 
 dozen times. 
 
 At last the straggling sheds of Buckeye Mills came into
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 237 
 
 softer purple view on the opposite mountain. Then lay 
 ing his hand on Clarence's shoulder as he reined in at 
 his side, Flynn broke the silence. 
 
 "There, boy," he said, wiping the mirthful tears from 
 his eyes. "I was only f oolin' only tryin' yer grit ! This 
 yer cousin I'm taking you to be as quiet and soft-spoken 
 and as old-fashioned ez you be. Why, he's that wrapped 
 up in books and study that he lives alone in a big adobe 
 ranchcrie among a lot o' Spanish, and he don't keer to see 
 his own countrymen ! Why, he's even changed his name, 
 and calles himself Don Juan Robinson ! But he's very 
 rich; he owns three leagues of land and heaps of cattle 
 and horses, and," glancing approvingly at Clarence's seat 
 in the saddle, "I reckon you'll hev plenty of fun thar." 
 
 "But," hesitated Clarence, to whom this proposal 
 seemed only a repetition of Peyton's charitable offer, "I 
 think I'd better stay here and dig gold with you." 
 
 "And I think you'd better not," said the man, with a 
 gravity that was very like a settled determination. 
 
 "But my cousin never came for me to Sacramento 
 nor sent, nor even wrote," persisted Clarence indig 
 nantly. 
 
 "Not to you, boy; but he wrote to the man whom he 
 reckoned would bring you there Jack Silsbee and left 
 it in the care of the bank. And Silsbee, being dead, didn't 
 come for the letter ; and as you didn't ask for it when you 
 came, and didn't even mention Silsbee's name, that same 
 letter was sent back to your cousin through me, because 
 the bank thought we knew his whereabouts. It came to 
 the gulch by an express rider, whilst you were prospectin' 
 on the hillside. Rememberin' your story, I took the lib 
 erty of opening it, and found out that your cousin had 
 told Silsbee to bring you straight to him. So I'm only 
 doin' now what Silsbee would have done." 
 
 Any momentary doubt or suspicion that might have 
 risen in Clarence's mind vanished as he met his com 
 panion's steady and masterful eye. Even his disappoint 
 ment was forgotten in the charm of this new-found 
 friendship and protection. And as its outset had been 
 marked by an unusual burst of confidence on Clarence's
 
 238 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 part, the boy, in his gratitude, now felt something of the 
 timid shyness of a deeper feeling, and once more became 
 reticent. 
 
 They were in time to snatch a hasty meal at Buckeye 
 Mills before the stage arrived, and Clarence noticed that 
 his friend, despite his rough dress and lawless aspect, 
 provoked a marked degree of respect from those he met 
 in which, perhaps, a wholesome fear was mingled. It is 
 certain that the two best places in the stage were given 
 up to them without protest, and that a careless, almost 
 supercilious invitation to drink from Flynn was re 
 sponded to with singular alacrity by all, including even 
 two fastidiously dressed and previously reserved passen 
 gers. I am afraid that Clarence enjoyed this proof of 
 his friend's singular dominance with a boyish pride, and, 
 conscious of the curious eyes of the passengers, directed 
 occasionally to himself, was somewhat ostentatious in his 
 familiarity with this bearded autocrat. 
 
 At noon the next day they left the stage at a wayside 
 road station, and Flynn briefly informed Clarence that 
 they must again take horses. This at first seemed dificult 
 in that out-of-the-way settlement, where they alone had 
 stopped, but a whisper from the driver in the ear of the 
 station-master produced a couple of fiery mustangs, with 
 the same accompaniment of cautious awe and mystery. 
 For the next two days they traveled on horseback, resting 
 by night at the lodgings of one or other of Flynn's friends 
 in the outskirts of a large town, where they arrived in 
 the darkness, and left before day. To any one more ex 
 perienced than the simple-minded boy it would have been 
 evident that Flynn was purposely avoiding the more trav 
 eled roads and conveyances; and when they changed 
 horses again the next day's ride was through an appar 
 ently unbroken wilderness of scattered wood and rolling 
 plain. Yet to Clarence, with his pantheistic reliance and 
 joyous sympathy with nature, the change was filled with 
 exhilarating pleasure. The vast seas of tossing wild oats, 
 the hillside still variegated with strange flowers, the 
 virgin freshness of untrodden woods and leafy aisles, 
 whose floors of moss or bark were undisturbed by human
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 239 
 
 footprint, were a keen delight and novelty. More than 
 this, his quick eye, trained perceptions, and frontier 
 knowledge now stood him in good stead. His intuitive 
 sense of distance, instincts of woodcraft, and his un 
 erring detection of those signs, landmarks, and guide- 
 posts of nature, undistinguishable to aught but birds and 
 beasts and some children, were now of the greatest service 
 to his less favored companion. In this part of their 
 strange pilgrimage it was the boy who took the lead. 
 Flynn, who during the past two days seemed to have 
 fallen into a mood of watchful reserve, nodded his ap 
 probation. "This sort of thing's yer best holt, boy," he 
 said. "Men and cities ain't your little game." 
 
 At the next stopping-place Clarence had a surprise. 
 They had again entered a town at nightfall, and lodged 
 with another friend of Flynn's in rooms which from 
 vague sounds appeared to be over a gambling saloon. 
 Clarence woke late in the morning, and, descending into 
 the street to mount for the day's journey, was startled 
 to find that Flynn was not on the other horse, but that a 
 well-dressed and handsome stranger had taken his place. 
 But a laugh, and the familiar command, "Jump up, boy," 
 made him look again. It was Flynn, but completely 
 shaven of beard and mustache, closely clipped of hair, and 
 in a fastidiously cut suit of black ! 
 
 "Then you didn't know me?" said Flynn. 
 "Not till you spoke," replied Clarence. 
 "So much the better," said his friend sententiously, as 
 he put spurs to his horse. But as they cantered through 
 the street, Clarence, who had already become accustomed 
 to the stranger's hirsute adornment, felt a little more awe 
 of him. The profile of the mouth and chin now exposed 
 to his sidelong glance was hard and stern, and slightly 
 saturnine. Although unable at the time to identify it 
 with anybody he had ever known, it seemed to the im 
 aginative boy to be vaguely connected with some sad ex 
 perience. But the eyes were thoughtful and kindly, and 
 the boy later believed that if he had been more familiar 
 with the face he would have loved it better. For it was 
 the last and only day he was to see it, as, late that after-
 
 240 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 noon, after a dusty ride along more traveled highways, 
 they reached their journey's end. 
 
 It was a low-walled house, with red-tiled roofs showing 
 against the dark green of venerable pear and fig trees, 
 and a square court-yard in the centre, where they had 
 dismounted. A few words in Spanish from Flynn to one 
 of the lounging peons admitted them to a wooden corridor, 
 and thence to a long, low room, which to Clarence's eyes 
 seemed literally piled with books and engravings. Here 
 Flynn hurriedly bade him stay while he sought the host in 
 another part of the building. But Clarence did not miss 
 him; indeed, it may be feared, he forgot even the object 
 of their journey in the new sensations that suddenly 
 thronged upon him, and the boyish vista of the future that 
 they seemed to open. He was dazed and intoxicated. He 
 had never seen so many books before ; he had never con 
 ceived of such lovely pictures. And yet in some vague 
 way he thought he must have dreamt of them at some time. 
 He had mounted a chair, and was gazing spellbound at 
 an engraving of a sea-fight when he heard Flynn's voice. 
 
 His friend had quietly reentered the room, in company 
 with an oldish, half-foreign-looking man, evidently his 
 relation. With no helping recollection, with no means of 
 comparison beyond a vague idea that his cousin might 
 look like himself, Clarence stood hopelessly before him. 
 He had already made up his mind that he would have to 
 go through the usual cross-questioning in regard to his 
 father and family; he had even forlornly thought of in 
 venting some innocent details to fill out his imperfect and 
 unsatisfactory recollection. But, glancing up, he was sur 
 prised to find that his elderly cousin was as embarrassed 
 as he was, Flynn, as usual, masterfully interposed. 
 
 "Of course ye don't remember each other, and thar 
 ain't much that either of you knows about family matters, 
 I reckon," he said grimly; "and as your cousin calls him 
 self Don Juan Robinson," he added to Clarence, "it's just 
 as well that you let 'Jackson Brant' slide. I know him 
 better than you, but you'll get used to him, and he to 
 you, soon enough. At least, you'd better," he concluded, 
 with his singular gravity.
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 241 
 
 As he turned as if to leave the room with Clarence's 
 embarrassed relative much to that gentleman's apparent 
 relief the boy looked up at the latter and said timidly 
 
 "May I look at those books ?" 
 
 His cousin stopped, and glanced at him with the first 
 expression of interest he had shown. 
 
 "Ah, you read ; you like books ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence. As his cousin remained still 
 looking at him thoughtfully, he added, "My hands are 
 pretty clean, but I can wash them first, if you like." 
 
 "You may look at them," said Don Juan smilingly; 
 "and as they are old books you can wash your hands after 
 wards." And, turning to Flynn suddenly, with an air of 
 relief, "I tell you what I'll do I'll teach him Spanish !" 
 
 They left the room together, and Clarence turned eag 
 erly to the shelves. They were old books, some indeed 
 very old, queerly bound, and worm-eaten. Some were in 
 foreign languages, but others in clear, bold English type, 
 with quaint wood-cuts and illustrations. One seemed to 
 be a chronicle of battles and sieges, with pictured rep 
 resentations of combatants spitted with arrows, cleanly 
 lopped off in limb, or toppled over distinctly by visible 
 cannon-shot. He was deep in its perusal when he heard 
 the clatter of a horse's hoofs in the court-yard and the 
 voice of Flynn. He ran to the window, and was aston 
 ished to see his friend already on horseback, taking leave 
 of his host. 
 
 For one instant Clarence felt one of those sudden re 
 vulsions of feeling common to his age, but which he had 
 always timidly hidden under dogged demeanor. Flynn, 
 his only friend ! Flynn, his only boyish confidant ! 
 Flynn, his latest hero, was going away and forsaking him 
 without a word of parting ! It was true that he had only 
 agreed to take him to his guardian, but still Flynn need 
 not have left him without a word of hope or encourage 
 ment ! With any one else Clarence would probably have 
 taken refuge in his usual Indian stoicism, but the same 
 feeling that had impelled him to offer Flynn his boyish 
 confidences on their first meeting now overpowered him. 
 lie dropped his book, ran out into the corridor, and made
 
 242 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 his way to the court-yard, just as Flynn galloped out 
 from the arch. 
 
 But the boy uttered a despairing shout that reached the 
 rider. He drew rein, wheeled, halted, and sat facing 
 Clarence impatiently. To add to Clarence's embarrass 
 ment his cousin had lingered in the corridor, attracted by 
 the interruption, and a peon, lounging in the archway, 
 obsequiously approached Flynn's bridle-rein. But the 
 rider waved him off, and, turning sternly to Clarence, 
 said : 
 
 "What's the matter now?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Clarence, striving to keep back the hot 
 tears that rose in his eyes. "But you were going away 
 without saying 'good-by.' You've been very kind to me, 
 and and I want to thank you !" 
 
 A deep flush crossed Flynn's face. Then glancing sus 
 piciously towards the corridor, he said hurriedly, 
 
 "Did he send you?" 
 
 "No, I came myself. I heard you going." 
 
 "All right. Good-by." He leaned forward as if about 
 to take Clarence's outstretched hand, checked himself 
 suddenly with a grim smile, and taking from his pocket 
 a gold coin handed it to the boy. 
 
 Clarence took it, tossed it with a proud gesture to the 
 waiting peon, who caught it thankfully, drew back a step 
 from Flynn, and saying, with white cheeks, "I only 
 wanted to say good-by," dropped his hot eyes to the 
 ground. But it did not seem to be his own voice that 
 had spoken, nor his own self that had prompted the act. 
 
 There was a quick interchange of glances between the 
 departing guest and his late host, in which Flynn's eyes 
 flashed with an odd, admiring fire, but when Clarence 
 raised his head again he was gone. And as the boy 
 turned back with a broken heart towards the corridor, his 
 cousin laid his hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Muy hidalgamente, Clarence," he said pleasantly. 
 "Yes, we shall make something of you !"
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 243 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THEN followed to Clarence three uneventful years. 
 During that interval he learnt that Jackson Brant, or 
 Don Juan Robinson for the tie of kinship was the least 
 factor in their relations to each other, and after the de 
 parture of Flynn was tacitly ignored by both was more 
 Spanish than American. An early residence in Lower 
 California, marriage with a rich Mexican widow, whose 
 dying childless left him sole heir, and some strange re 
 straining idiosyncrasy of temperament had quite dena 
 tionalized him. A bookish recluse, somewhat superfas- 
 tidious towards his own countrymen, the more Clarence 
 knew him the more singular appeared his acquaintance 
 with Flynn; but as he did not exhibit more communi 
 cativeness on this point than upon their own kinship, 
 Clarence finally concluded that it was due to the dominant 
 character of his former friend, and thought no more about 
 it. He entered upon the new life at El Refugio with no 
 disturbing past. Quickly adapting himself to the lazy 
 freedom of this hacienda existence, he spent the mornings 
 on horseback ranging the hills among his cousin's cattle, 
 and the afternoons and evenings busied among his cousin's 
 books with equally lawless and undisciplined independence. 
 The easy-going Don Juan, it is true, attempted to make 
 good his rash promise to teach the boy Spanish, and 
 actually set him a few tasks ; but in a few weeks the 
 quick-witted Clarence acquired such a colloquial pro 
 ficiency from his casual acquaintance with vaqueros and 
 small traders that he was glad to leave the matter in his 
 young kinsman's hands. Again, by one of those illogical 
 sequences which make a lifelong reputation depend upon 
 a single trivial act, Clarence's social status was settled 
 forever at El Refugio Rancho by his picturesque diversion 
 of Flynn's parting gift. The grateful peon to whom the 
 boy had scornfully tossed the coin repeated the act, ges 
 ture, and spirit of the scene to his companion, and Don 
 Juan's unknown and youthful relation was at once rec 
 ognized as hijo de la familia, and undeniably a hidalgo
 
 244 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 born and bred. But in the more vivid imagination of 
 feminine El Refugio the incident reached its highest 
 poetic form. "It is true, Mother of God," said Chucha 
 of the Mill; "it was Domingo who himself relates it as 
 it were the Creed. When the American escort had ar 
 rived with the young gentleman, this escort, look you, 
 being not of the same quality, he is departing again with 
 out a word of permission. Comes to him at this moment 
 my little hidalgo. 'You have yourself forgotten to take 
 from me your demission,' he said. This escort, thinking 
 to make his peace with a mere muchacho, gives to him 
 a gold piece of twenty pesos. The little hidalgo has 
 taken it so, and with the words, 'Ah ! you would make of 
 me your almoner to my cousin's people,' has given it at 
 the moment to Domingo, and with a grace and fire ad 
 mirable." But it is certain that Clarence's singular sim 
 plicity and truthfulness, a faculty of being picturesquely 
 indolent in a way that suggested a dreamy abstraction of 
 mind rather than any vulgar tendency to bodily ease and 
 comfort, and possibly the fact that he was a good horse 
 man, made him a popular hero at El Refugio. At the end 
 of three years Don Juan found that this inexperienced 
 and apparently idle boy of fourteen knew more of the 
 practical ruling of the rancho than he did himself; also 
 that this unlettered young rustic had devoured nearly all 
 the books in his library with boyish recklessness of di 
 gestion. He found, too, that in spite of his singular in 
 dependence of action, Clarence was possessed of an 
 invincible loyalty of principle, and that, asking no senti 
 mental affection, and indeed yielding none, he was, with 
 out presuming on his relationship, devoted to his cousin's 
 interest. It seemed that from being a glancing ray of 
 sunshine in the house, evasive but never obtrusive, he 
 had become a daily necessity of comfort and security to 
 his benefactor. 
 
 Clarence was, however, astonished, when, one morn 
 ing, Don Juan, with the same embarrassed manner he had 
 shown at their first meeting, suddenly asked him, "what 
 business he expected to follow." It seemed the more 
 singular, as the speaker 4 like most abstracted men, had
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 245 
 
 hitherto always studiously ignored the future, in their 
 daily intercourse. Yet this might have been either the 
 habit of security or the caution of doubt. Whatever it 
 was, it was some sudden disturbance of Don Juan's 
 equanimity, as disconcerting to himself as it was to Clar 
 ence. So conscious was the boy of this that, without 
 replying to his cousin's question, but striving in vain to 
 recall some delinquency of his own, he asked, with his 
 usual boyish directness 
 
 "Has anything happened? Have I done anything 
 wrong?" 
 
 "No, no," returned Don Juan hurriedly. "But, you 
 see, it's time that you should think of your future or at 
 least prepare for it. I mean you ought to have some 
 more regular education. You will have to go to school. 
 It's too bad," he added fretfully, with a certain impatient 
 forgetfulness of Clarence's presence, and as if following 
 his own thought. "Just as you are becoming of service 
 to me, and justifying your ridiculous position here and 
 all this d d nonsense that's gone before I mean, of 
 course, Clarence," he interrupted himself, catching sight 
 of the boy's whitening cheek and darkening eye, "I mean, 
 you know this ridiculousness of my keeping you from 
 school at your age, and trying to teach you myself don't 
 you see." 
 
 "You think it is ridiculous," repeated Clarence, with 
 dogged persistency. 
 
 "I mean / am ridiculous," said Don Juan hastily. 
 "There ! there ! let's say no more about it. To-morrow 
 we'll ride over to San Jose and see the Father Secretary 
 at the Jesuits' College about your entering at once. It's 
 a good school, and you'll always be near the rancho !" 
 And so the interview ended. 
 
 I am afraid that Clarence's first idea was to run away. 
 There are few experiences more crushing to an ingenuous 
 nature than the sudden revelation of the aspect in which 
 it is regarded by others. The unfortunate Clarence, 
 conscious only of his loyalty to his cousin's interest and 
 what he believed were the duties of his position, awoke 
 to find that position "ridiculous." In an afternoon's
 
 246 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 gloomy ride through the lonely hills, and later in the 
 sleepless solitude of his room at night, he concluded that 
 his cousin was right. He would go to school ; he would 
 study hard so hard that in a little, a very little while, 
 he could make a living for himself. He awoke contented. 
 It was the blessing of youth that this resolve and execu 
 tion seemed as one and the same thing. 
 
 The next day found him installed as a pupil and boarder 
 in the college. Don Juan's position and Spanish predilec 
 tions naturally made his relation acceptable to the faculty ; 
 bnt Clarence could not help perceiving that Father So- 
 briente, the Principal, regarded him at times with a 
 thoughtful curiosity that made him suspect that his cousin 
 had especially bespoken that attention, and that he occa 
 sionally questioned him on his antecedents in a way that 
 made him dread a renewal of the old questioning about 
 his progenitor. For the rest, he was a polished, cultivated 
 man; yet, in the characteristic, material criticism of 
 youth, I am afraid that Clarence chiefly identified him 
 as a priest with large hands, whose soft palms seemed to 
 be cushioned with kindness, and whose equally large feet, 
 encased in extraordinary shapeless shoes of undyed 
 leather, seemed to tread down noiselessly rather than to 
 ostentatiously crush the obstacles that beset the path of 
 the young student. In the cloistered galleries of the 
 court-yard Clarence sometimes felt himself borne down by 
 the protecting weight of this paternal hand ; in the mid 
 night silence of the dormitory he fancied he was often 
 conscious of the soft browsing tread and snuffly muffled 
 breathing of his elephantine-footed mentor. 
 
 His relations with his school-fellows were at first far 
 from pleasant. Whether they suspected favoritism; 
 whether they resented that old and unsympathetic manner 
 which sprang from his habits of association with' his 
 elders; or whether they rested their objections on the 
 broader grounds of his being a stranger, I do not know, 
 but they presently passed from cruel sneers to physical 
 opposition. It was then found that this gentle and re 
 served youth had retained certain objectionable, rude, 
 direct, rustic qualities of fist and foot, and that, violating
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 247 
 
 all rules and disdaining the pomp and circumstance of 
 school-boy warfare, of which he knew nothing, he simply 
 thrashed a few of his equals out of hand, with or without 
 ceremony, as the occasion or the insult happened. In 
 this emergency one of the seniors was selected to teach 
 this youthful savage his proper position. A challenge 
 was given, and accepted by Clarence with a feverish 
 alacrity that surprised himself as much as his adversary. 
 This was a youth of eighteen, his superior in size and 
 skill. 
 
 The first blow bathed Clarence's face in his own 
 blood. But the sanguinary chrism, to the alarm of the 
 spectators, effected an instantaneous and unhallowed 
 change in the boy. Instantly closing with his adversary, 
 he sprang at his throat like an animal, and locking his 
 arm around his neck began to strangle him. Blind to the 
 blows that rained upon him, he eventually bore his stag 
 gering enemy by sheer onset and surprise to the earth. 
 Amidst the general alarm, the strength of half a dozen 
 hastily summoned teachers was necessary to unlock his 
 hold. Even then he struggled to renew the conflict. But 
 his adversary had disappeared, and from that day forward 
 Clarence was never again molested. 
 
 Seated before Father Sobriente in the infirmary, with 
 swollen and bandaged face, and eyes that still seemed to 
 see everything in the murky light of his own blood, 
 Clarence felt the soft weight of the father's hand upon 
 his knee. 
 
 "My son," said the priest gently, "you are not of our 
 religion, or I should claim as a right to ask a question 
 of your own heart at this moment. But as to a good 
 friend, Claro, a good friend," he continued, patting the 
 boy's knee, "you will tell me, old Father Sobriente, frankly 
 and truthfully, as is your habit, one little thing. Were 
 you not afraid?" 
 
 "No," said Clarence doggedly. "I'll lick him again 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Softly, my son! It was not of him I speak, but of 
 something more terrible and awful. Were you not afraid 
 of of " he paused, and suddenly darting his clear eyes
 
 248 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 into the very depths of Clarence's soul, added "of 
 yourself?" 
 
 The boy started, shuddered, and burst into tears. 
 
 "So, so," said the priest gently, "we have found our 
 real enemy. Good ! Now, by the grace of God, my little 
 warrior, we shall fight him and conquer." 
 
 Whether Clarence profited by this lesson, or whether 
 this brief exhibition of his quality prevented any repetition 
 of the cause, the episode was soon forgotten. As his 
 school-fellows had never been his associates or confidants, 
 it mattered little to him whether they feared or respected 
 him, or were hypocritically obsequious, after the fashion 
 of the weaker. His studies, at all events, profited by this 
 lack of distraction. Already his two years of desultory 
 and omnivorous reading had given him a facile familiarity 
 with many things, which left him utterly free of the 
 timidity, awkwardness, or non-interest of a beginner. 
 His usually reserved manner, which had been lack of 
 expression rather than of conviction, had deceived his 
 tutors. The audacity of a mind that had never been 
 dominated by others, and owed no allegiance to precedent, 
 made his merely superficial progress something marvelous. 
 
 At the end of the first year he was a phenomenal scholar, 
 who seemed capable of anything. Nevertheless, Father 
 Sobriente had an interview with Don Juan, and as a 
 result Clarence was slightly kept back in his studies, a 
 little more freedom from the rules was conceded to him, 
 and he was even encouraged to take some diversion. Of 
 such was the privilege to visit the neighboring town of 
 Santa Clara unrestricted and unattended. He had always 
 been liberally furnished with pocket-money, for which, in 
 his companionless state and Spartan habits, he had a 
 singular and unboyish contempt. Nevertheless, he always 
 appeared dressed with scrupulous neatness, and was rather 
 distinguished-looking in his older reserve and melancholy 
 self-reliance. 
 
 Lounging one afternoon along the Alameda, a leafy 
 avenue set out by the early Mission Fathers between the 
 village of San Jose and the convent of Santa Clara, he 
 saw a double file of young girls from the convent ap-
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 249 
 
 preaching, on their usual promenade. A view of this pro 
 cession being the fondest ambition of the San Jose 
 collegian, and especially interdicted and circumvented by 
 the good Fathers attending the college excursions, Clar 
 ence felt for it the profound indifference of a boy who, 
 in the intermediate temperate zone of fifteen years, thinks 
 that he is no longer young and romantic ! He was 
 passing them with a careless glance, when a pair of 
 deep violet eyes caught his own under the broad shade 
 of a coquettishly beribboned hat, even as it had once 
 looked at him from the depths of a calico sunbonnet. 
 Susy ! He started, and would have spoken ; but with 
 a quick little gesture of caution and a meaning glance 
 at the two nuns who walked at the head and foot of the 
 file, she indicated him to follow. He did so at a re 
 spectful distance, albeit wondering. A little further on 
 Susy dropped her handkerchief, and was obliged to dart 
 out and run back to the end of the file to recover it. 
 But she gave another swift glance of her blue eyes as she 
 snatched it up and demurely ran back to her place. The 
 procession passed on, but when Clarence reached the spot 
 where she had paused he saw a three-cornered bit of paper 
 lying in the grass. He was too discreet to pick it up 
 while the girls were still in sight, but continued on, re 
 turning to it later. It contained a few words in a school 
 girl's hand, hastily scrawled in pencil : "Come to the 
 south wall near the big pear-tree at six." 
 
 Delighted as Clarence felt, he was at the same time 
 embarrassed. He could not understand the necessity of 
 this mysterious rendezvous. He knew that if she was a 
 scholar she was under certain conventual restraints; but 
 with the privileges of his position and friendship with his 
 teachers, he believed that Father Sobriente would easily 
 procure him an interview with this old play-fellow, of 
 whom he had often spoken, and who was, with himself, 
 the sole survivor of his tragical past. And trusted as he 
 was by Sobriente, there was something in this clandestine 
 though innocent rendezvous that went against his loyalty. 
 Nevertheless, he kept the appointment, and at the stated 
 time was at the south wall of the convent, over which the
 
 250 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 gnarled boughs of the distinguishing pear-tree hung. 
 Hard by in the wall was a grated wicket door that seemed 
 unused. 
 
 Would she appear among the boughs or on the edge 
 of the wall? Either would be like the old Susy. But to 
 his surprise he heard the sound of the key turning in the 
 lock. The grated door suddenly swung on its hinges, and 
 Susy slipped out. Grasping his hand, she said, "Let's 
 run, Clarence," and before he could reply she started off 
 with him at a rapid pace. Down the lane they flew 
 very much, as it seemed to Clarence's fancy, as they had 
 flown from the old emigrant wagon on the prairie, four 
 years before. He glanced at the fluttering, fairy-like 
 figure beside him. She had grown taller and more grace 
 ful; she was dressed in exquisite taste, with a minuteness 
 of luxurious detail that bespoke the spoilt child ; but there 
 was the same prodigal outburst of rippling, golden hair 
 down her back and shoulders, violet eyes, capricious little 
 mouth, and the same delicate hands and feet he had 
 remembered. He would have preferred a more deliberate 
 survey, but with a shake of her head and an hysteric little 
 laugh she only said, "Run, Clarence, run," and again 
 darted forward. Arriving at the cross-street, they turned 
 the corner, and halted breathlessly. 
 
 "But you're not running away from school, Susy, are 
 you?" said Clarence anxiously. 
 
 "Only a little bit. Just enough to get ahead of the 
 other girls," she said, rearranging her brown curls and 
 tilted hat. "You see, Clarence," she condescended to ex 
 plain, with a sudden assumption of older superiority, 
 "mother's here at the hotel all this week, and I'm allowed 
 to go home every night, like a day scholar. Only there's 
 three or four other girls that go out at the same time 
 with me, and one of the Sisters, and to-day I got ahead 
 of 'em just to see you." 
 
 "But" began Clarence. 
 
 "Oh, it's all right; the other girls knew it, and helped 
 me. They don't start out for half an hour yet, and they'll 
 say I've just run ahead, and when they and the Sister get 
 to the hotel I'll be there already don't you see?"
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 251 
 
 "Yes," said Clarence dubiously. 
 
 "And we'll go to an ice-cream saloon now, shan't we? 
 There's a nice one near the hotel. I've got some money," 
 she added quickly, as Clarence looked embarrassed. 
 
 "So have I," said Clarence, with a faint accession of 
 color. "Let's go!" She had relinquished his hand to 
 smooth out her frock, and they were walking side by side 
 at a more moderate pace. "But," he continued, clinging 
 to his first idea with masculine persistence, and anxious 
 to assure his companion of his power, of his position, 
 "I'm in the college, and Father Sobriente, who knows 
 your lady superior, is a good friend of mine and gives me 
 privileges ; and and when he knows that you and I used 
 to play together why, he'll fix it that we may see each 
 other whenever we want." 
 
 "Oh, you silly!" said Susy. "What! when you're " 
 
 "When I'm what?" 
 
 The young girl shot a violet blue ray from under her 
 broad hat. "Why when we're grown up now?" Then 
 with a certain precision, "Why, they're very particular 
 about young gentlemen ! Why, Clarence, if they sus 
 pected that you and I were " Another violet ray from 
 under the hat completed this unfinished sentence. 
 
 Pleased and yet confused, Clarence looked straight 
 ahead with deepening color. "Why," continued Susy, 
 "Mary Rogers, that was walking with me, thought you 
 were ever so old and a distinguished Spaniard ! And I," 
 she said abruptly "haven't I grown? Tell me, Clar 
 ence," with her old appealing impatience, "haven't I 
 grown? Do tell me!" 
 
 "Very much," said Clarence. 
 
 "And isn't this frock pretty it's only my second best 
 but I've a prettier one with lace all down in front; but 
 isn't this one pretty, Clarence, tell me?" 
 
 Clarence thought the frock and its fair owner perfec 
 tion, and said so. Whereat Susy, as if suddenly aware of 
 the presence of passers-by, assumed an air of severe pro 
 priety, dropped her hands by her side, and with an af 
 fected conscientiousness walked on, a little further from 
 Clarence's side, until they reached the ice-cream saloon.
 
 252 A WAIF OP THE PLAINS 
 
 "Get a table near the back, Clarence," she said, in 
 confidential whisper, "where they can't see us and straw 
 berry, you know, for the lemon and vanilla here are just 
 horrid !" 
 
 They took their seats in a kind of rustic arbor in the 
 rear of the shop, which gave them the appearance of two 
 youthful but somewhat over-dressed and over-conscious 
 shepherds. There was an interval of slight awkwardness, 
 which Susy endeavored to displace. "There has been," 
 she remarked, with easy conversational lightness, "quite 
 an excitement about our French teacher being changed. 
 The girls in our class think it most disgraceful." 
 
 And this was all she could say after a separation of 
 four years ! Clarence was desperate, but as yet idealess 
 and voiceless. At last, with an effort over his spoon, he 
 gasped a floating recollection: "Do you still like flap 
 jacks, Susy?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," with a laugh, "but we don't have them 
 now." 
 
 "And Mose" (a black pointer, who used to yelp when 
 Susy sang), "does he still sing with you?" 
 
 "Oh, he's been lost ever so long," said Susy com 
 posedly ; "but I've got a Newfoundland and a spaniel and 
 a black pony ;" and here, with a rapid inventory of her 
 other personal effects, she drifted into some desultory de 
 tails of the devotion of her adopted parents, whom she 
 now readily spoke of as "papa" and "mamma," with evi 
 dently no disturbing recollection of the dead. From 
 which it appeared that the Peytons were very rich, and, 
 in addition to their possessions in the lower country, 
 owned a rancho in Santa Clara and a house in San Fran 
 cisco. Like all children, her strongest impressions were 
 the most recent. In the vain hope to lead her back to 
 this material yesterday, he said 
 
 "You remember Jim Hooker?" 
 
 "Oh, he ran away, when you left. But just think of it ! 
 The other day, when papa and I went into a big restaurant 
 in San Francisco, who should be there waiting on the 
 table yes, Clarence, a real waiter but Jim Hooker ! 
 Papa spoke to him; but of course," with a slight eleva-
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 253 
 
 tion of her pretty chin, "/ couldn't, you know; fancy a 
 waiter !" 
 
 The story of how Jim Hooker had personated him 
 stopped short upon Clarence's lips. He could not bring 
 himself now to add that revelation to the contempt of his 
 small companion, which, in spite of its naivete, somewhat 
 grated on his sensibilities. 
 
 "Clarence," she said, suddenly turning towards him 
 mysteriously, and indicating the shopman and his as 
 sistants, "I really believe these people suspect us." 
 
 "Of what?" said the practical Clarence. 
 
 "Don't be silly! Don't you see how they are staring?" 
 
 Clarence was really unable to detect the least curiosity 
 on the part of the shopman, or that any one exhibited the 
 slightest concern in him or his companion. But he felt a 
 return of the embarrassed pleasure he was conscious of a 
 moment before. 
 
 "Then you're living with your father?" said Susy, 
 changing the subject. 
 
 "You mean my cousin" said Clarence, smiling. "You 
 know my father died long before I ever knew you." 
 
 "Yes ; that's what you used to say, Clarence, but papa 
 says it isn't so." But seeing the boy's wondering eyes 
 fixed on her with a troubled expression, she added quickly, 
 "Oh, then, he is your cousin !" 
 
 "Well, I think I ought to know," said Clarence, with a 
 smile, that was, however, far from comfortable, and a 
 quick return of his old unpleasant recollections of the 
 Peytons. "Why, I was brought to him by one of his 
 friends." And Clarence gave a rapid boyish summary of 
 his journey from Sacramento, and Flynn's discovery of 
 the letter addressed to Silsbee. But before he had con 
 cluded he was conscious that Susy was by no means 
 interested in these details, nor in the least affected by the 
 passing allusion to her dead father and his relation to 
 Clarence's misadventures. With her rounded chin in her 
 hand, she was slowly examining his face, with a certain 
 mischievous yet demure abstraction. "I tell you what, 
 Clarence," she said, when he had finished, "you ought to 
 make your cousin get you one of those sombreros, and a
 
 254 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 nice gold-braided scrape. They'd just suit you. And then 
 then you could ride up and down the Alameda when we 
 are going by." 
 
 "But I'm coming to see you at at your house, and at 
 the convent," he said eagerly. "Father Sobriente and my 
 cousin will fix it all right." 
 
 But Susy shook her head, with superior wisdom. "No ; 
 they must never know our secret! neither papa nor 
 mamma, especially mamma. And they mustn't know that 
 we've met again after these years!" It is impossible to 
 describe the deep significance which Susy's blue eyes gave 
 to this expression. After a pause she went on 
 
 "No ! We must never meet again, Clarence, unless 
 Mary Rogers helps. She is my best, my onliest friend, 
 and older than I; having had trouble herself, and being 
 expressly forbidden to see him again. You can speak to 
 her about Suzette that's my name now ; I was re- 
 christened Suzette Alexandra Peyton by mamma. And 
 now, Clarence," dropping her voice and glancing shyly 
 around the saloon, "you may kiss me just once under my 
 hat, for good-by." She adroitly slanted her broad- 
 brimmed hat towards the front of the shop, and in its 
 shadow advanced her fresh young cheek to Clarence. 
 
 Coloring and laughing, the boy pressed his lips to it 
 twice. Then Susy arose, with the faintest affectation of 
 a sigh, shook out her skirt, drew on her gloves with the 
 greatest gravity, and saying, "Don't follow me further 
 than the door they're coming now," walked with super 
 cilious dignity past the preoccupied proprietor and waiters 
 to the entrance. Here she said, with marked civility, 
 "Good-afternoon, Mr. Brant," and tripped away towards 
 the hotel. Clarence lingered for a moment to look after 
 the lithe and elegant little figure, with its shining un 
 dulations of hair that fell over the back and shoulders 
 of her white frock like a golden mantle, and then turned 
 away in the opposite direction. 
 
 He walked home in a state, as it seemed to him, of ab 
 surd perplexity. There were many reasons why his en 
 counter with Susy should have been of unmixed pleasure. 
 She had remembered him of her own free will, and, in
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 255 
 
 spite of the change in her fortune, had made the first 
 advances. Her doubts about her future interviews had 
 affected him but little; still less, I fear, did he think of 
 the other changes in her character and disposition, for 
 he was of that age when they added only a piquancy and 
 fascination to her as of one who, in spite of her weak 
 ness of nature, was still devoted to him ! But he was 
 painfully conscious that this meeting had revived in him 
 all the fears, vague uneasiness, and sense of wrong that 
 had haunted his first boyhood, and which he thought he 
 had buried at El Refugio four years ago. Susy's allusion 
 to his father and the reiteration of Peyton's skepticism 
 awoke in his older intellect the first feeling of suspicion 
 that was compatible with his open nature. Was this re 
 curring reticence and mystery due to any act of his 
 father's ? But, looking back upon it in after-years, he con 
 cluded that the incident of that day was a premonition 
 rather than a recollection. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 WHEN he reached the college the Angelus had long 
 since rung. In the corridor he met one of the Fathers, 
 who, instead of questioning him, returned his salutation 
 with a grave gentleness that struck him. He had turned 
 into Father Sobriente's quiet study with the intention of 
 reporting himself, when he was disturbed to find him in 
 consultation with three or four of the faculty, who seemed 
 to be thrown into some slight confusion by his entrance. 
 Clarence was about to retire hurriedly when Father 
 Sobriente, breaking up the council with a significant 
 glance at the others, called him back. Confused and em 
 barrassed, with a dread of something impending, the boy 
 tried to avert it by a hurried account of his meeting with 
 Susy, and his hopes of Father Sobriente's counsel and 
 assistance. Taking upon himself the idea of suggesting 
 Susy's escapade, he confessed the fault. The old man 
 gazed into his frank eyes with a thoughtful, half-com 
 passionate smile. "I was just thinking of giving you a
 
 256 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 holiday with with Don Juan Robinson." The unusual 
 substitution of this final title for the habitual "your 
 cousin" struck Clarence uneasily. "But we will speak of 
 that later. Sit down, my son; I am not busy. We shall 
 talk a little. Father Pedro says you are getting on 
 fluently with your translations. That is excellent, my 
 son, excellent." 
 
 Clarence's face beamed with relief and pleasure. His 
 vague fears began to dissipate. 
 
 "And you translate even from dictation ! Good ! We 
 have an hour to spare, and you shall give to me a speci 
 men of your skill. Eh ? Good ! I will walk here and 
 dictate to you in my poor English, and you shall sit there 
 and render it to me in your good Spanish. Eh? So we 
 shall amuse and instruct ourselves." 
 
 Clarence smiled. These sporadic moments of instruc 
 tion and admonition were not unusual to the good Father. 
 He cheerfully seated himself at the Padre's table before a 
 blank sheet of paper, with a pen in his hand. Father 
 Sobriente paced the apartment, with his usual heavy but 
 noiseless tread. To his surprise, the good priest, after an 
 exhaustive pinch of snuff, blew his nose, and began, in 
 his most lugubrious style of pulpit exhortation: 
 
 "It has been written that the sins of the father shall 
 be visited upon the children, and the unthinking and 
 worldly have sought refuge from this law by declaring it 
 harsh and cruel. Miserable and blind ! For do we not 
 see that the wicked man, who in the pride of his power 
 and vainglory is willing to risk punishment to himself 
 and believes it to be courage must pause before the 
 awful mandate that condemns an equal suffering to those 
 he loves, which he cannot withhold or suffer for? In 
 the spectacle of these innocents struggling against dis 
 grace, perhaps disease, poverty, or desertion, what avails 
 his haughty, all-defying spirit? Let us imagine, Clar 
 ence." 
 
 "Sir?" said the literal Clarence, pausing in his exercise. 
 
 "I mean," continued the priest, with a slight cough, 
 "let the thoughtful man picture a father: a desperate, 
 self-willed man, who scorned the laws of God and society
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 257 
 
 keeping only faith with a miserable subterfuge he called 
 'honor/ and relying only on his own courage and his 
 knowledge of human weakness. Imagine him cruel and 
 bloody a gambler by profession, an outlaw among men, 
 an outcast from the Church ; voluntarily abandoning 
 friends and family, the wife he should have cherished, 
 the son he should have reared and educated for the 
 gratification of his deadly passions. Yet imagine that 
 man suddenly confronted with the thought of that heri 
 tage of shame and disgust which he had brought upon his 
 innocent offspring to whom he cannot give even his 
 own desperate recklessness to sustain its vicarious suf 
 fering. What must be the feelings of a parent " 
 
 "Father Sobriente," said Clarence softly. 
 
 To the boy's surprise, scarcely had he spoken when the 
 soft protecting palm of the priest was already upon his 
 shoulder, and the snuffy but kindly upper lip, trembling 
 with some strange emotion, close beside his cheek. 
 
 "What is it, Clarence?" he said hurriedly. "Speak, my 
 son, without fear ! You would ask " 
 
 "I only wanted to know if 'padre' takes a masculine 
 verb here," replied Clarence naively. 
 
 Father Sobriente blew his nose violently. "Truly 
 though used for either gender, by the context masculine," 
 he responded gravely. "Ah," he added, leaning over Clar 
 ence, and scanning his work hastily, "Good, very good ! 
 And now, possibly," he continued, passing his hand like 
 a damp sponge over his heated brow, "we shall reverse 
 our exercise. I shall deliver to you in Spanish what you 
 shall render back in English, eh ? And let us consider 
 we shall make something more familiar and narra 
 tive, eh?" 
 
 To this Clarence, somewhat bored by these present sol 
 emn abstractions, assented gladly, and took up his pen. 
 Father Sobriente, resuming his noiseless pacing, began : 
 
 "On the fertile plains of Guadalajara lived a certain 
 caballero, possessed of flocks and lands, and a wife and 
 son. But, being also possessed of a fiery and roving 
 nature, he did not value them as he did perilous ad 
 venture, feats of arms, and sanguinary encounters. To 
 
 9 v. 2
 
 258 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 this may be added riotous excesses, gambling and drunk 
 enness, which in time decreased his patrimony, even as his 
 rebellious and quarrelsome spirit had alienated his family 
 and neighbors. His wife, borne down by shame and sor 
 row, died while her son was still an infant. In a fit of 
 equal remorse and recklessness the caballero married 
 again within the year. But the new wife was of a temper 
 and bearing as bitter as her consort. Violent quarrels 
 ensued between them, ending in the husband abandoning 
 his wife and son, and leaving St. Louis I should say 
 Guadalajara for ever. Joining some adventurers in a 
 foreign land, under an assumed name, he pursued his 
 reckless course, until, by one or two acts of outlawry, he 
 made his return to civilization impossible. The deserted 
 wife and step-mother of his child coldly accepted the situ 
 ation, forbidding his name to be spoken again in her 
 presence, announced that he was dead, and kept the 
 knowledge of his existence from his own son, whom she 
 placed under the charge of her sister. But the sister 
 managed to secretly communicate with the outlawed 
 father, and, under a pretext, arranged between them, of 
 sending the boy to another relation, actually dispatched 
 the innocent child to his unworthy parent. Perhaps 
 stirred by remorse, the infamous man " 
 
 "Stop !" said Clarence suddenly. 
 
 He had thrown down his pen, and was standing erect 
 and rigid before the Father. 
 
 "You are trying to tell me something, Father Sobri- 
 ente," he said, with an effort. "Speak out, I implore you. 
 I can stand anything but this mystery. I am no longer a 
 child. I have a right to know all. This that you are 
 telling me is no fable I see it in your face, Father 
 Sobriente; it is the story of of " 
 
 "Your father, Clarence !" said the priest, in a trembling 
 voice. 
 
 The boy drew back, with a white face. "My father !" 
 he repeated. "Living, or dead?" 
 
 "Living, when you first left your home," said the old 
 man hurriedly, seizing Clarence's hand, "for it was he 
 who in the name of your cousin sent for you. Living
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 259 
 
 yes, while you were here, for it was he who for the past 
 three years stood in the shadow of this assumed cousin, 
 Don Juan, and at last sent you to this school. Living, 
 Clarence, yes ; but living under a name and reputation 
 that would have blasted you ! And now dead dead in 
 Mexico, shot as an insurgent and in a still desperate 
 career ! May God have mercy on his soul !" 
 
 "Dead !" repeated Clarence, trembling, "only now ?" 
 
 "The news of the insurrection and his fate came only 
 an hour since," continued the Padre quickly ; "his com 
 plicity with it and his identity were known only to Don 
 Juan. He would have spared you any knowledge of the 
 truth, even as this dead man would ; but I and my brothers 
 thought otherwise. I have broken it to you badly, my 
 son, but forgive me ?" 
 
 An hysterical laugh broke from Clarence and the priest 
 recoiled before him. "Forgive you! What was this man 
 to me ?" he said, with boyish vehemence. "He never 
 loved me! He deserted me; he made my life a lie. He 
 never sought me, came near me, or stretched a hand to 
 me that I could take?" 
 
 "Hush ! hush !" said the priest, with a horrified look, 
 laying his huge hand upon the boy's shoulder and bearing 
 him down to his seat. "You know not what you say. 
 Think think, Clarence ! Was there none of all those 
 who have befriended you who were kind to you in your 
 wanderings to whom your heart turned unconsciously? 
 Think, Clarence ! You yourself have spoken to me of 
 such a one. Let your heart speak again, for his sake for 
 the sake of the dead." 
 
 A gentler light suffused the boy's eyes, and he started. 
 Catching convulsively at his companion's sleeve, he said 
 in an eager, boyish whisper, "There was one, a wicked, 
 desperate man, whom they all feared Flynn, who brought 
 me from the mines. Yes, I thought that he was my 
 cousin's loyal friend more than all the rest; and I told 
 him everything all, that I never told the man I thought 
 my cousin, or anyone, or even you ; and I think, I think, 
 Father, I liked him best of all. I thought since it was 
 wrong," he continued, with a trembling smile, "for I was
 
 260 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 
 
 foolishly fond even of the way the others feared him, 
 he that I feared not, and who was so kind to me. Yet he, 
 too, left me without a word, and when I would have 
 followed him " But the boy broke down, and buried his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 "No, no," said Father Sobriente, with eager persistence, 
 "that was his foolish pride to spare you the knowledge of 
 your kinship with one so feared, and part of the blind 
 and mistaken penance he had laid upon himself. For 
 even at that moment of your boyish indignation, he never 
 was so fond of you as then. Yes, my poor boy, this man, 
 to whom God led your wandering feet at Deadman's 
 Gulch; the man who brought you here, and by some 
 secret hold I know not what on Don Juan's past, per 
 suaded him to assume to be your relation ; this man Flynn, 
 this Jackson Brant the gambler, this Hamilton Brant the 
 outlaw was your father! Ah, yes! Weep on, my son; 
 each tear of love and forgiveness from thee hath vicarious 
 power to wash away his sin." 
 
 With a single sweep of his protecting hand he drew 
 Clarence towards his breast, until the boy slowly sank 
 upon his knees at his feet. Then, lifting his eyes towards 
 the ceiling, he said softly in an older tongue, "And thou, 
 too, unhappy and perturbed spirit, rest !" 
 
 It was nearly dawn when the good Padre wiped the last 
 tears from Clarence's clearer eyes. "And now, my son," 
 he said, with a gentle smile, as he rose to his feet, "let us 
 not forget the living. Although your step-mother has, 
 through her own act, no legal claim upon you, far be it 
 from me to indicate your attitude towards her. Enough 
 that you are independent." He turned, and, opening a 
 drawer in his secretaire, took out a bank-book, and placed 
 it in the hands of the wondering boy. 
 
 "It was his wish, Clarence, that even after his death 
 you should never have to prove your kinship to claim your 
 rights. Taking adantage of the boyish deposit you had 
 left with Mr. Garden at the bank, with his connivance and 
 in your name he added to it, month by month and year 
 by year; Mr. Garden cheerfully accepting the trust and
 
 A WAIF OF THE PLAINS 261 
 
 management of the fund. The seed thus sown has pro 
 duced a thousandfold, Clarence, beyond all expectations. 
 You are not only free, my son, but of yourself and in 
 whatever name you choose your own master." 
 
 "I shall keep my father's name," said the boy simply. 
 
 "Amen !" said Father Sobriente. 
 
 Here closes the chronicle of Clarence Brant's boyhood. 
 How he sustained his name and independence in after 
 years, and who, of those already mentioned in these pages, 
 helped him to make or mar it, may be a matter for future 
 record.
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE sun was going down on the Carquinez Woods. 
 The few shafts of sunlight that had pierced their pillared 
 gloom were lost in unfathomable depths, or splintered 
 their ineffectual lances on the enormous trunks of the 
 redwoods. For a time the dull red of their vast col 
 umns, and the dull red of their cast-off bark which 
 matted the echoless aisles, still seemed to hold a faint 
 glow of the dying day. But even this soon passed. 
 Light and color fled upwards. The dark interlaced tree- 
 tops, that had all day made an impenetrable shade, broke 
 into fire here and there; their lost spires glittered, faded, 
 and went utterly out. A weird twilight that did not come 
 from the outer world, but seemed born of the wood itself, 
 slowly filled and possessed the aisles. The straight, tall, 
 colossal trunks rose dimly like columns of upward smoke. 
 The few fallen trees stretched their huge length into ob 
 scurity, and seemed to lie on shadowy trestles. The 
 strange breath that filled these mysterious vaults had 
 neither coldness nor moisture; a dry, fragrant dust arose 
 from the noiseless foot that trod their bark-strewn floor; 
 the aisles might have been tombs, the fallen trees 
 enormous mummies ; the silence the solitude of a forgotten 
 past. 
 
 And yet this silence was presently broken by a recurring 
 sound like breathing, interrupted occasionally by inartic 
 ulate and stertorous gasps. It was not the quick, panting, 
 listening breath of some stealthy feline or canine animal, 
 but indicated a larger, slower, and more powerful organ 
 ization, whose progress was less watchful and guarded, 
 
 265
 
 266 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 or as if a fragment of one of the fallen monsters had 
 become animate. At times this life seemed to take visible 
 form, but as vaguely, as misshapenly, as the phantom of 
 a nightmare. Now it was a square object moving side 
 ways, endways, with neither head nor tail and scarcely 
 visible feet; then an arched bulk rolling against the 
 trunks of the trees and recoiling again, or an upright 
 cylindrical mass, but always oscillating and unsteady, 
 and striking the trees on either hand. The frequent 
 occurrence of the movement suggested' the figures of 
 some weird rhythmic dance to music heard by the shape 
 alone. Suddenly it either became motionless or faded 
 away. 
 
 There was the frightened neighing of a horse, the sud 
 den jingling of spurs, a shout and outcry, and the swift 
 apparition of three dancing torches in one of the dark 
 aisles ; but so intense was the obscurity that they shed no 
 light on surrounding objects, and seemed to advance of 
 their own volition without human guidance, until they 
 disappeared suddenly behind the interposing bulk of one 
 of the largest trees. Beyond its eighty feet of circum 
 ference the light could not reach, and the gloom remained 
 inscrutable. But the voices and jingling spurs were heard 
 distinctly. 
 
 "Blast the mare! She's shied off that cursed trail 
 again." 
 
 "Ye ain't lost it again, hev ye?" growled a second 
 voice. 
 
 "That's jist what I hev. And these blasted pine-knots 
 
 don't give light an inch beyond 'em. D d if I don't 
 
 think they make this cursed hole blacker." 
 
 There was a laugh a woman's laugh hysterical, 
 bitter, sarcastic, exasperating. The second speaker, with 
 out heeding it, went on : 
 
 "What in thunder skeert the hosses? Did you see or 
 hear anything?" 
 
 "Nothin'. The wood is like a graveyard." 
 
 The woman's voice again broke into a hoarse, con 
 temptuous laugh. The man resumed angrily: 
 
 "If you know anything, why in h 11 don't you say so,
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 267 
 
 instead of cackling like a d d squaw there? P'raps 
 
 you reckon you ken find the trail too." 
 
 "Take this rope off my wrist," said the woman's voice, 
 "untie my hands, let me down, and I'll find it." She 
 spoke quickly and with a Spanish accent. 
 
 It was the men's turn to laugh. "And give you a show 
 to snatch that six-shooter and blow a hole through me, as 
 you did to the Sheriff of Calaveras, eh ? Not if this court 
 understands itself," said the first speaker dryly. 
 
 "Go to the devil, then," she said curtly. 
 
 "Not before a lady," responded the other. There was 
 another laugh from the men, the spurs jingled again, the 
 three torches reappeared from behind the tree, and then 
 passed away in the darkness. 
 
 For a time silence and immutability possessed the 
 woods; the great trunks loomed upwards, their fallen 
 brothers stretched their slow length into obscurity. The 
 sound of breathing again became audible; the shape re 
 appeared in the aisle, and recommenced its mystic dance. 
 Presently it was lost in the shadow of the largest tree, 
 and to the sound of breathing succeeded a grating and 
 scratching of bark. Suddenly, as if riven by lightning, a 
 flash broke from the center of the tree-trunk, lit up the 
 woods, and a sharp report rang through it. After a 
 pause the jingling of spurs and the dancing of torches 
 were revived from the distance. 
 
 "Hallo?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Who fired that shot?" 
 
 But there was no reply. A slight veil of smoke passed 
 away to the right, there was the spice of gunpowder in 
 the air, but nothing more. 
 
 The torches came forward again, but this time it could 
 be seen they were held in the hands of two men and a 
 woman. The woman's hands were tied at the wrist to 
 the horse-hair reins of her mule, while a riata, passed 
 around her waist and under the mule's girth, was held by 
 one of the men, who were both armed with rifles and 
 revolvers. Their frightened horses curveted, and it was 
 with difficulty they could be made to advance.
 
 268 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "Ho ! stranger, what are you shooting at ?" 
 
 The woman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Look yonder at the roots of the tree. You're a d d 
 
 smart man for a sheriff, ain't you?" 
 
 The man uttered an exclamation and spurred his horse 
 forward, but the animal reared in terror. He then sprang 
 to the ground and approached the tree. The shape lay 
 there, a scarcely distinguishable bulk. 
 
 "A grizzly, by the living Jingo! Shot through the 
 heart." 
 
 It was true. The strange shape lit up by the flaring 
 torches seemed more vague, unearthly, and awkward in 
 its dying throes, yet the small shut eyes, the feeble nose, 
 the ponderous shoulders, and half-human foot armed with 
 powerful claws were unmistakable. The men turned by 
 a common impulse and peered into the remote recesses of 
 the wood again. 
 
 "Hi, Mister ! come and pick up your game. Hallo 
 there !" 
 
 The challenge fell unheeded on the empty woods. 
 
 "And yet," said he whom the woman had called the 
 sheriff, "he can't be far off. It was a close shot, and the 
 bear hez dropped in his tracks. Why, wot's this sticking 
 in his claws?" 
 
 The two men bent over the animal. "Why, it's sugar, 
 brown sugar look !" There was no mistake. The huge 
 beast's fore paws and muzzle were streaked with the un- 
 romantic household provision, and heightened the absurd 
 contrast of its incongruous members. The woman, ap 
 parently indifferent, had taken that opportunity to partly 
 free one of her wrists. 
 
 "If we hadn't been cavorting round this yer spot for 
 the last half hour, I'd swear there was a shanty not a 
 hundred yards away," said the sheriff. 
 
 The other man, without replying, remounted his horse 
 instantly. 
 
 "If there is, and it's inhabited by a gentleman that kin 
 make centre shots like that in the dark, and don't care to 
 explain how, I reckon I won't disturb him." 
 
 The sheriff was apparently of the same opinion, for he
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 269 
 
 followed his companion's example, and once more led the 
 way. The spurs tinkled, the torches danced, and the 
 cavalcade slowly reentered the gloom. In another mo 
 ment it had disappeared. 
 
 The wood sank again into repose, this time disturbed by 
 neither shape nor sound. What lower forms of life 
 might have crept close to its roots were hidden in the 
 ferns, or passed with deadened tread over the bark-strewn 
 floor. Towards morning a coolness like dew fell from 
 above, with here and there a dropping twig or nut, or the 
 crepitant awakening and stretching-out of cramped and 
 weary branches. Later a dull, lurid dawn, not unlike the 
 last evening's sunset, filled the aisles. This faded again, 
 and a clear gray light, in which every object stood out in 
 sharp distinctness, took its place. Morning was waiting 
 outside in all its brilliant, youthful coloring, but only 
 entered as the matured and sobered day. 
 
 Seen in that stronger light, the monstrous tree near 
 which the dead bear lay revealed its age in its denuded 
 and scarred trunk, and showed in its base a deep cavity, 
 a foot or two from the ground, partly hidden by hanging 
 strips of bark which had fallen across it. Suddenly one 
 of these strips was pushed aside, and a young man leaped 
 lightly down. 
 
 But for the rifle he carried and some modern peculiari 
 ties of dress, he was of a grace so unusual and uncon 
 ventional that he might have passed for a faun who was 
 quitting his ancestral home. He stepped to the side of 
 the bear with a light elastic movement that was as unlike 
 customary progression as his face and figure were unlike 
 the ordinary types of humanity. Even as he leaned upon 
 his rifle, looking down at the prostrate animal, he un 
 consciously fell into an attitude that in any other mortal 
 would have been a pose, but with him was the picturesque 
 and unstudied relaxation of perfect symmetry. 
 
 "Hallo, Mister !" 
 
 He raised his head so carelessly and listlessly that he 
 did not otherwise change his attitude. Stepping from 
 behind the tree, the woman of the preceding night stood 
 before him. Her hands were free except for a thong of
 
 270 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 the riata, which was still knotted around one wrist, the 
 end of the thong having been torn or burnt away. Her 
 eyes were bloodshot, and her hair hung over her 
 shoulders in one long black braid. 
 
 . "I reckoned all along it was you who shot the bear," 
 she said ; "at least some one hiding yer," and she indi 
 cated the hollow tree with her hand. "It wasn't no chance 
 shot." Observing that the young man, either from mis 
 conception or indifference, did not seem to comprehend 
 her, she added, "We came by here, last night, a minute 
 after you fired." 
 
 "Oh, that was you kicked up such a row, was it?" said 
 the young man, with a shade of interest. 
 
 "I reckon," said the woman, nodding her head, "and 
 them that was with me." 
 
 "And who are they?" 
 
 "Sheriff Dunn, of Yolo, and his deputy." 
 
 "And where are they now?" 
 
 "The deputy in h 11, I reckon; I don't know about 
 the sheriff." 
 
 "I see," said the young man quietly; "and you?" 
 
 "I got away," she said savagely. But she was taken 
 with a sudden nervous shiver, which she at once repressed 
 by tightly dragging her shawl over her shoulders and 
 elbows, and folding her arms defiantly. 
 
 "And you're going?" 
 
 "To follow the deputy, may be," she said gloomily. 
 "But come, I say, ain't you going to treat? It's cursed 
 cold here." 
 
 "Wait a moment." The young man was looking at her, 
 with his arched brows slightly knit and a half smile of 
 curiosity. "Ain't you Teresa ?" 
 
 She was prepared for the question, but evidently was 
 not certain whether she would reply defiantly or confi 
 dently. After an exhaustive scrutiny of his face she 
 chose the latter, and said, "You can bet your life on it, 
 Johnny." 
 
 "I don't bet, and my name isn't Johnny. Then you're 
 the woman who stabbed Dick Curson over at La- 
 grange's ?"
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 271 
 
 She became defiant again. 
 
 "That's me, all the time. What are you going to do 
 abou: it?" 
 
 "Nothing. And you used to dance at the Alhambra?" 
 
 She whisked the shawl from her shoulders, held it up 
 like a scarf, and made one or two steps of the sembi- 
 cuacia. There was not the least gayety, recklessness, or 
 spontaneity in the action; it was simply mechanical 
 bravado. It was so ineffective, even upon her own feel 
 ings, that her arms presently dropped to her side, and 
 she coughed embarrassedly. "Where's that whiskey, 
 pardner?" she asked. 
 
 The young man turned toward the tree he had just 
 quitted, and without further words assisted her to mount 
 to the cavity. It was an irregular-shaped vaulted cham 
 ber, pierced fifty feet above by a shaft or cylindrical open 
 ing in the decayed trunk, which was blackened by smoke, 
 as if it had served the purpose of a chimney. In one 
 corner lay a bearskin and blanket; at the side were two 
 alcoves or indentations, one of which was evidently used 
 as a table, and the other as a cupboard. In another hol 
 low, near the entrance, lay a few small sacks of flour, 
 coffee, and sugar, the sticky contents of the latter still 
 strewing the floor. From this storehouse the young man 
 drew a wicker flask of whiskey, and handed it, with a tin 
 cup of water, to the woman. She waved the cup aside, 
 placed the flask to her lips, and drank the undiluted spirit. 
 Yet even this was evidently bravado, for the water started 
 to her eyes, and she could not restrain the paroxysm of 
 coughing that followed. 
 
 "I reckon that's the kind that kills at forty rods," she 
 said, with a hysterical laugh. "But I say, pardner, you 
 look as if you were fixed here to stay," and she stared 
 ostentatiously around the chamber. But she had already 
 taken in its minutest details, even to observing that the 
 hanging strips of bark could be disposed so as to com 
 pletely hide the entrance. 
 
 "Well, yes," he replied; "it wouldn't be very easy to 
 pull up the stakes and move the shanty further on." 
 
 Seeing that either from indifference or caution he had
 
 272 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 not accepted her meaning, she looked at him fixedly, and 
 said, 
 
 "What is your little game ?" 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "What are you hiding for here, in this tree?" 
 
 "But I'm not hiding." 
 
 "Then why didn't you come out when they hailed you 
 last night?" 
 
 "Because I didn't care to." 
 
 Teresa whistled incredulously. "All right then i 
 you're not hiding, I'm going to." As he did not reply, 
 she went on: "If I can keep out of sight for a couple of 
 weeks, this thing will blow over here, and I car. get 
 across into Yolo. I could get a fair show there, where 
 the boys know me. Just now the trails are all watched, 
 but no one would think of lookin' here." 
 
 "Then how did you come to think of it?" he asked 
 carelessly. 
 
 "Because I knew that bear hadn't gone far for that 
 sugar; because I knew he hadn't stole it from a cache 
 it was too fresh, and we'd have seen the torn-up earth ; 
 because we had passed no camp ; and because I knew 
 there was no shanty here. And, besides," she added in a 
 low voice, "maybe I was huntin' a hole myself to die in 
 and spotted it by instinct." 
 
 There was something in this suggestion of a hunted 
 animal that, unlike anything she had previously said or 
 suggested, was not exaggerated, and caused the young 
 man to look at her again. She was standing under the 
 chimney-like opening, and the light from above illumin 
 ated her head and shoulders. The pupils of her eyes had 
 lost their feverish prominence, and were slightly suffused 
 and softened as she gazed abstractedly before her. The 
 only vestige of her previous excitement was in her left- 
 hand fingers, which were incessantly twisting and turning 
 a diamond ring upon her right hand, but without impart 
 ing the least animation to her rigid attitude. Suddenly, 
 as if conscious of his scrutiny, she stepped aside out of 
 the revealing light and by a swift feminine instinct 
 raised her hand to her head as if to adjust her straggling
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 273 
 
 hair. It was only for a moment, however, for, as if aware 
 of the weakness, she struggled to resume her aggressive 
 pose. 
 
 "Well," she said. "Speak up. Am I goin' to stop here, 
 or have I got to get up and get ?" 
 
 "You can stay," said the young man quietly; "but as 
 I've got my provisions and ammunition here, and haven't 
 any other place to go to just now, I suppose we'll have to 
 share it together." 
 
 She glanced at him under her eyelids, and a half-bit 
 ter, half-contemptuous smile passed across her face. "All 
 right, old man," she said, holding out her hand, "it's a 
 go. We'll start in housekeeping at once, if you like." 
 
 "I'll have to come here once or twice a day," he said, 
 quite composedly, "to look after my things, and get some 
 thing to eat; but I'll be away most of the time, and what 
 with camping out under the trees every night I reckon my 
 share won't incommode you." 
 
 She opened her black eyes upon him, at this original 
 proposition. Then she looked down at her torn dress. "I 
 suppose this style of thing ain't very fancy, is it?" she 
 said, with a forced laugh. 
 
 "I think I know where to beg or borrow a change for 
 you, if you can't get any," he replied simply. 
 
 She stared at him again. "Are you a family man?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 She was silent for a moment. "Well," she said, "you 
 can tell your girl I'm not particular about its being in the 
 latest fashion." 
 
 There was a slight flush on his forehead as he turned 
 toward the little cupboard, but no tremor in his voice as 
 he went on : "You'll find tea and coffee here, and, if you're 
 bored, there's a book or two. You read, don't you I 
 mean English ?" 
 
 She nodded, but cast a look of undisguised contempt 
 upon the two worn, coverless novels he held out to her. 
 "You haven't got last week's 'Sacramento Union,' have 
 you? I hear they have my case all in; only them lying 
 reporters made it out against me all the time." 
 j "I don't see the papers," he replied curtly.
 
 274 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "They say there's a picture of me in the 'Police Ga 
 zette,' taken in the act," and she laughed. 
 
 He looked a little abstracted, and turned as if to go. 
 "I think you'll do well to rest a while just now, and keep 
 as close hid as possible until afternoon. The trail is a 
 mile away at the nearest point, but some one might miss 
 it and stray over here. You're quite safe if you're care 
 ful, and stand by the tree. You can build a fire here," 
 he stepped under the chimney-like opening, "without its 
 being noticed. Even the smoke is lost and cannot be seen 
 so high." 
 
 The light from above was falling on his head and 
 shoulders, as it had on hers. She looked at him intently. 
 
 "You travel a good deal on your figure, pardner, don't 
 you?" she said, with a certain admiration that was quite 
 sexless in its quality; "but I don't see how you pick up a 
 living by. it in the Carquinez Woods. So you're going, 
 are you? You might be more sociable. Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by!" He leaped from the opening. 
 
 "I say pardner 1" 
 
 He turned a little impatiently. She had knelt down at 
 the entrance, so as to be nearer his level, and was holding 
 out her hand. But he did not notice it, and she quietly 
 withdrew it. 
 
 "If anybody dropped in and asked for you, what name 
 will they say?" 
 
 He smiled. "Don't wait to hear." 
 
 "But suppose / wanted to sing out for you, what will I 
 call you?" 
 
 He hesitated. "Call me Lo." 
 
 "Lo, the poor Indian?" 1 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 It suddenly occurred to the woman, Teresa, that in th'e 
 young man's height, supple, yet erect carriage, color, and 
 singular gravity of demeanor there was a refined, aborigi 
 nal suggestion. He did not lock like any Indian she had 
 ever seen, but rather as a youthful chief might have 
 looked. There was a further suggestion in his fringed 
 
 1 The first word of Pope's familiar postrophe is humorously used in the 
 Far West as a distinguishing title for the Indian.
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 275 
 
 buckskin shirt and moccasins; but before she could utter 
 the half-sarcastic comment that rose to her lips he had 
 glided noiselessly away, even as an Indian might have 
 done. 
 
 She readjusted the slips of hanging bark with feminine 
 ingenuity, dispersing them so as to completely hide the 
 entrance. Yet this did not darken the chamber, which 
 seemed to draw a purer and more vigorous light through 
 the soaring shaft that pierced the roof than that which 
 came from the dim woodland aisles below. Nevertheless, 
 she shivered, and drawing her shawl closely around her 
 began to collect some half-burnt fragments of wood in 
 the chimney to make a fire. But the preoccupation of her 
 thoughts rendered this a tedious process, as she would 
 from time to time stop in the middle of an action and fall 
 into an attitude of rapt abstraction, with far-off eyes and 
 rigid mouth. When she had at last succeeded in kindling 
 a fire and raising a film of pale blue smoke, that seemed 
 to fade and dissipate entirely before it reached the top of 
 the chimney shaft, she crouched beside it, fixed her eyes 
 on the darkest corner of the cavern, and became mo 
 tionless. 
 
 What did she see through that shadow? 
 
 Nothing at first but a confused medley of figures and 
 incidents of the preceding night; things to be put away 
 and forgotten; things that would not have happened but 
 for another thing the thing before which everything 
 faded ! A ball-room ; the sounds of music ; the one man 
 she had cared for insulting her with the flaunting ostenta 
 tion of his unfaithfulness; herself despised, put aside, 
 laughed at, or worse, jilted. And then the moment of 
 delirium, when the light danced; the one wild act that 
 lifted her, the despised one, above them all made her the 
 supreme figure, to be glanced at by frightened women, 
 stared at by half-startled, half-admiring men ! "Yes," she 
 laughed ; but struck by the sound of her own voice, moved 
 twice round the cavern nervously, and then dropped again 
 into her old position. 
 
 As they carried him away he had laughed at her like 
 a hound that he was; he who had praised her for her
 
 276 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 spirit, and incited her revenge against others; he who 
 had taught her to strike when she was insulted; and it 
 was only fit he should reap what he had sown. She was 
 what he, what other men, had made her. And what was 
 she now ? What had she been once ? 
 
 She tried to recall her childhood: the man and woman 
 who might have been her father and mother ; who fought 
 and wrangled over her precocious little life; abused or 
 caressed her as she sided with either; and then left her 
 with a circus troupe, where she first tasted the power of 
 her courage, her beauty, and her recklessness. She re 
 membered those flashes of triumph that left a fever in 
 her veins a fever that when it failed must be stimulated 
 by dissipation, by anything, by everything that would 
 keep her name a wonder in men's mouths, an envious fear 
 to women. She recalled her transfer to the strolling 
 players; her cheap pleasures, and cheaper rivalries and 
 hatred but always Teresa ! the daring Teresa ! the reck 
 less Teresa ! audacious as a woman, invincible as a boy ; 
 dancing, flirting, fencing, shooting, swearing, drinking, 
 smoking, fighting Teresa ! "Oh, yes ; she had been loved, 
 perhaps who knows? but always feared. Why should 
 she change now ? Ha, he should see." 
 
 She had lashed herself in a frenzy, as was her wont, 
 with gestures, ejaculations, oaths, adjurations, and pas 
 sionate apostrophes, but with this strange and unexpected 
 result. Heretofore she had always been sustained and 
 kept up by an audience of some kind or quality, if only 
 perhaps a humble companion ; there had always been 
 some one she could fascinate or horrify, and she could 
 read her power mirrored in their eyes. Even the half- 
 abstracted indifference of her strange host had been some 
 thing. But she was alone now. Her words fell on apa 
 thetic solitude ; she was acting to viewless space. She 
 rushed to the opening, dashed the hanging bark aside, 
 and leaped to the ground. 
 
 She ran forward wildly a few steps, and stopped. 
 
 "Hallo !" she cried. "Look, 'tis I, Teresa !" 
 
 The profound silence remained unbroken. Her shrillest 
 tones were lost in an echoless space, even as the smoke
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 277 
 
 of her fire had faded into pure ether. She stretched out 
 her clenched fists as if to defy the pillared austerities of 
 the vaults around her. 
 
 "Come and take me if you dare !" 
 
 The challenge was unheeded. If she had thrown her 
 self violently against the nearest tree-trunk, she could 
 not have been stricken more breathless than she was by 
 the compact, embattled solitude that encompassed her. 
 The hopelessness of impressing these cold and passive 
 vaults with her selfish passion filled her with a vague fear. 
 In her rage of the previous night she had not seen the 
 wood in its profound immobility. Left alone with the 
 majesty of those enormous columns, she trembled and 
 turned faint. The silence of the hollow tree she had just 
 quitted seemed to her less awful than the crushing pres 
 ence of these mute and monstrous witnesses of her weak 
 ness. Like a wounded quail with lowered crest and 
 trailing wing, she crept back to her hiding place. 
 
 Even then the influence of the wood was still upon her. 
 She picked up the novel she had contemptuously thrown 
 aside, only to let it fall again in utter weariness. For a 
 moment her feminine curiosity was excited by the dis 
 covery of an old book, in whose blank leaves were pressed 
 a variety of flowers and woodland grasses. As she could 
 not conceive that these had been kept for any but a 
 sentimental purpose, she was disappointed to find that 
 underneath each was a sentence in an unknown tongue, 
 that even to her untutored eye did not appear to be the 
 language of passion. Finally she rearranged the couch 
 of skins and blankets, and, imparting to it in three 
 clever shakes an entirely different character, lay down to 
 pursue her reveries. But nature asserted herself, and ere 
 she knew it she was asleep. 
 
 So intense and prolonged had been her previous ex 
 citement that, the tension once relieved, she passed into 
 a slumber of exhaustion so deep that she seemed scarce 
 to breathe. High noon succeeded morning, the central 
 shaft received a single ray of upper sunlight, the after 
 noon came and went, the shadows gathered below, the 
 sunset fires began to eat their way through the groined
 
 278 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 roof, and she still slept. She slept even when the bark 
 hangings of the chamber were put aside, and the young 
 man reentered. 
 
 He laid down a bundle he was carrying and softly ap 
 proached the sleeper. For a moment he was startled 
 from his indifference; she lay so still and motionless. 
 But this was not all that struck him ; the face before 
 him was ho longer the passionate, haggard visage that 
 confronted him that morning; the feverish air, the burn 
 ing color, the strained muscles of mouth and brow, and 
 the staring eyes were gone; wiped away, perhaps, by the 
 tears that still left their traces on cheek and dark eyelash. 
 It was the face of a handsome woman of thirty, with even 
 a suggestion of softness in the contour of the cheek and 
 arching of her upper lip, no longer rigidly drawn down in 
 anger, but relaxed by sleep on her white teeth. 
 
 With the lithe, soft tread that was habitual to him, the 
 young man moved about, examining the condition of the 
 little chamber and its stock of provisions and necessaries, 
 and withdrew presently, to reappear as noiselessly with a 
 tin bucket of water. This done, he replenished the little 
 pile of fuel with an armful of bark and pine cones, cast 
 an approving glance about him, which included the 
 sleeper, and silently departed. 
 
 It was night when she awoke. She was surrounded by 
 a profound darkness, except where the shaft-like opening 
 made a nebulous mist in the corner of her wooden cavern. 
 Providentially she struggled back to consciousness slowly, 
 so that the solitude and silence came upon her gradually, 
 with a growing realization of the events of the past 
 twenty-four hours, but without a shock. She was alone 
 here, but safe still, and every hour added to her chances 
 of ultimate escape. She remembered to have seen a 
 candle among the articles on the shelf, and she began to 
 grope her way towards the matches. Suddenly she 
 stopped. What was that panting? 
 
 Was it her own breathing, quickened with a sudden 
 nameless terror? or was there something outside? Her 
 heart seemed to stop beating while she listened. Yes ! it 
 was a panting outside a panting now increased, multi-
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 279 
 
 plied, redoubled, mixed with the sounds of rustling, tear 
 ing, craunching, and occasionally a quick, impatient snarl. 
 She crept on her hands and knees to the opening and 
 looked out. At first the ground seemed to be undulating 
 between her and the opposite tree. But a second glance 
 showed her the black and gray, bristling, tossing backs 
 of tumbling beasts of prey, charging the carcass of the 
 bear that lay at its roots, or contesting for the prize with 
 gluttonous, choked breath, sidelong snarls, arched spines, 
 and recurved tails. One of the boldest had leaped upon 
 a buttressing root of her tree within a foot of the open 
 ing. The excitement, awe, and terror she had undergone 
 culminated in one wild, maddened scream, that seemed to 
 pierce even the cold depths of the forest, as she dropped 
 on her face, with her hands clasped over her eyes in an 
 agony of fear. 
 
 Her scream was answered, after a pause, by a sudden 
 volley of firebrands and sparks into the midst of the 
 panting, crowding pack; a few; smothered howls and 
 snaps, and a sudden dispersion of the concourse. In 
 another moment the young man, with a blazing brand 
 in either hand, leaped upon the body of the bear. 
 
 Teresa raised her head, uttered a hysterical cry, slid 
 down the tree, flew wildly to his side, caught convulsively 
 at his sleeve, and fell on her knees beside him. 
 
 "Save me ! save me !" she gasped, in a voice broken by 
 terror. "Save me from those hideous creatures. No, 
 no !" she implored, as he endeavored to lift her to her 
 feet. "No let me stay here close beside you. So," 
 clutching the fringe of his leather hunting-shirt, and 
 dragging herself on her knees nearer him "so don't 
 leave me, for God's sake !" 
 
 "They are gone," he replied, gazing down curiously at 
 her, as she wound the fringe around her hand to 
 strengthen her hold ; "they're only a lot of cowardly 
 coyotes and wolves, that dare not attack anything that 
 lives and can move." 
 
 The young woman responded with a nervous shudder. 
 "Yes, that's it," she whispered, in a broken voice; "it's 
 only the dead they want. Promise me swear to me, if
 
 280 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 I'm caught, or hung, or shot, you won't let me be left 
 here to be torn and ah ! my God ! what's that ?" 
 
 She had thrown her arms around his knees, completely 
 pinioning him to her frantic breast. Something like a 
 smile of disdain passed across his face as he answered, 
 "It's nothing. They will not return. Get up !" 
 
 Even in her terror she saw the change in his face. 
 "I know, I know !" she cried. "I'm frightened but I 
 cannot bear it any longer. Hear me ! Listen ! Listen 
 but don't move ! I didn't mean to kill Curson no ! I 
 swear to God, no ! I didn't mean to kill the sheriff and 
 I didn't. I was only bragging do you hear ? I lied ! I 
 lied don't move, I swear to God I lied. I've made my 
 self out worse than I was. I have. Only don't leave me 
 now and if I die and it's not far off, may be get me 
 away from here and from them. Swear it!" 
 
 "All right," said the young man, with a scarcely con 
 cealed movement of irritation. "But get up now, and go 
 back to the cabin." 
 
 "No; not there alone." Nevertheless, he quietly but 
 firmly released himself. 
 
 "I will stay here," he replied. "I would have been 
 nearer to you, but I thought it better for your safety that 
 my camp-fire should be further off. But I can build it 
 here, and that will keep the coyotes off." 
 
 "Let me stay with you beside you," she said implor 
 ingly. 
 
 She looked so broken, crushed, and spiritless, so unlike 
 the woman of the morning that, albeit with an ill grace, 
 he tacitly consented, and turned away to bring his 
 blankets. But in the next moment she was at his side, 
 following him like a dog, silent and wistful, and even 
 offering to carry his burden. When he had built the fire, 
 for which she had collected the pine-cones and broken 
 branches near them, he sat down, folded his arms, and 
 leaned back against the tree in reserved and deliberate 
 silence. 
 
 Humble and submissive, she did not attempt to 
 break in upon a reverie she could not help but feel had 
 little kindliness to herself. As the fire snapped and
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 281 
 
 sparkled, she pillowed her head upon a root, and lay still 
 to watch it. 
 
 It rose and fell, and dying away at times to a mere 
 lurid glow, and again, agitated by some breath scarcely 
 perceptible to them, quickening into a roaring flame. 
 When only the embers remained, a dead silence filled the 
 wood. Then the first breath of morning moved the 
 tangled canopy above, and a dozen tiny sprays and needles 
 detached from the interlocked boughs winged their soft 
 way noiselessly to the earth. A few fell upon the pros 
 trate woman like a gentle benediction, and she slept. 
 But even then, the young man, looking down, saw that 
 the slender fingers were still aimlessly but rigidly 
 twisted in the leather fringe of his hunting-shirt. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT was a peculiarity of the Carquinez Wood that it 
 stood apart and distinct in its gigantic individuality. 
 Even where the integrity of its own singular species was 
 not entirely preserved, it admitted no inferior trees. Nor 
 was there any diminishing fringe on its outskirts ; the 
 sentinels that guarded the few gateways of the dim trails 
 were as monstrous as the serried ranks drawn up in the 
 heart of the forest. Consequently, the red highway that 
 skirted the eastern angle was bare and shadeless, until it 
 slipped a league off into a watered valley and refreshed 
 itself under lesser sycamores and willows. It was here 
 the newly born city of Excelsior, still in its cradle, had, 
 like an infant Hercules, strangled the serpentine North 
 Fork of the American river, and turned its life current 
 into the ditches and flumes of the Excelsior mines. 
 
 Newest of the new houses that seemed to have acci 
 dentally formed its single, straggling street was the res 
 idence of the Rev. Winslow Wynn, not unfrequently 
 known as "Father Wynn," pastor of the First Baptist 
 church. The "pastorage," as it was cheerfully called, 
 had the glaring distinction of being built of brick, and 
 was, as had been wickedly pointed out by idle scoffers,
 
 the only "fireproof" structure in town. This sarcasm 
 was not, however, supposed to be particularly distasteful 
 to "Father Wynn," who enjoyed the reputation of being 
 "hail fellow, well met" with the rough mining element, 
 who called them by their Christian names, had been 
 known to drink at the bar of the Polka Saloon while 
 engaged in the conversion of a prominent citizen, and 
 was popularly said to have no "gospel starch" about him. 
 Certain conscious outcasts and transgressors were touched 
 at this apparent unbending of the spiritual authority. 
 The rigid tenets of Father Wynn's faith were lost in the 
 supposed catholicity of his humanity. "A preacher that 
 can jine a man when he's histin' liquor into him, without 
 jawin' about it, ought to be allowed to wrestle with sin 
 ners and splash about in as much cold water as he likes," 
 was the criticism of one of his converts. Nevertheless, it 
 was true that Father Wynn was somewhat loud and in 
 tolerant in his tolerance. It was true that he was a 
 little more rough, a little more frank, a little 
 more hearty, a little more impulsive than his disci 
 ples. It was true that often the proclamation of his 
 extreme liberality and brotherly equality partook some 
 what of an apology. It is true that a few who might have 
 been most benefited by this kind of gospel regarded him 
 with a singular disdain. It is true that his liberality was 
 of an ornamental, insinuating quality, accompanied with 
 but little sacrifice; his acceptance of a collection taken up 
 in a gambling saloon for the rebuilding of his church, 
 destroyed by fire, gave him a popularity large enough, it 
 must be confessed, to cover the sins of the gamblers 
 themselves, but it was not proven that he had ever organ 
 ized any form of relief. But it was true that local his 
 tory somehow accepted him as an exponent of mining 
 Christianity, without the least reference to the opinions 
 of the Christian miners themselves. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Wynn's liberal habits and opinions were 
 not, however, shared by his only daughter, a motherless 
 young lady of eighteen. Nellie Wynn was in the eye of 
 Excelsior an unapproachable divinity, as inaccessible and 
 cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. An atmos-
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 283 
 
 phere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even 
 in the starched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her 
 neatly gloved finger-tips, in her clear amber eyes, in her 
 imperious red lips, in her sensitive nostrils. Need it be 
 said that the youth and middle age of Excelsior were 
 madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her? 
 For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was pro 
 foundly ignorant in two languages, with a trained misun 
 derstanding of music and painting, and a natural and 
 faultless taste in dress. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Wynn was engaged in a characteristic 
 hearty parting with one of his latest converts, upon his 
 own doorstep, with admirable al fresco effect. He had 
 just clapped him on the shoulder. "Good-by, good-by, 
 Charley, my boy, and keep in the right path; not up, or 
 down, or round the gulch, you know ha, ha! but 
 straight across lots to the shining gate." He had raised 
 his voice under the stimulus of a few admiring spectators, 
 and backed his convert playfully against the wall. "You 
 see ! we're goin' in to win, you bet. Good-by ! I'd ask 
 you to step in and have a chat, but I've got my work to 
 do, and so have you. The gospel mustn't keep us from 
 that, must it, Charley? Ha, ha!" 
 
 The convert (who elsewhere was a profane express 
 man, and had become quite imbecile under Mr. Wynn's 
 active heartiness and brotherly horse-play before spec 
 tators) managed, however, to feebly stammer with a blush 
 something about "Miss Nellie." 
 
 "Ah, Nellie. She, too, is at her tasks trimming her 
 lamp you know, the parable of the wise virgins," con 
 tinued Father Wynn hastily, fearing that the convert 
 might take the illustration literally. "There, there 
 good-by. Keep in the right path." And with a parting 
 shove he dismissed Charley and entered his own house. 
 
 That "wise virgin," Nellie, had evidently finished with 
 the lamp, and was now going out to meet the bridegroom, 
 as she was fully dressed and gloved, and had a pink 
 parasol in her hand, as her father entered the sitting- 
 room. His bluff heartiness seemed to fade away as he 
 removed his soft, broad-brimmed hat and glanced across
 
 284 IN THE CAEQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 the too fresh-looking apartment. There was a smell of 
 mortar still in the air, and a faint suggestion that at any 
 moment green grass might appear between the interstices 
 of the red-brick hearth. The room, yielding a little in 
 the point of coldness, seemed to share Miss Nellie's fresh 
 virginity, and, barring the pink parasol, set her off as in a 
 vestal's cell. 
 
 "I supposed you wouldn't care to see Brace, the ex 
 pressman, so I got rid of him at the door," said her father, 
 drawing one of the new chairs towards him slowly, and 
 sitting down carefully, as if it were a hitherto untried 
 experiment. 
 
 Miss Nellie's face took a tint of interest. "Then he 
 doesn't go with the coach to Indian Spring to-day?" 
 
 "No ; why ?" 
 
 "I thought of going over myself to get the Burnham 
 girls to come to choir-meeting," replied Miss Nellie care 
 lessly, "and he might have been company." 
 
 "He'd go now, if he knew you were going," said her 
 father; "but it's just as well he shouldn't be needlessly en 
 couraged. I rather think that Sheriff Dunn is a little 
 jealous of him. By the way, the sheriff is much better. 
 I called to cheer him up to-day" (Mr. Wynn had in fact 
 tumultuously accelerated the sick man's pulse), "and he 
 talked of you, as usual. In fact, he said he had only 
 two things to get well for. One was to catch and hang 
 that woman Teresa, who shot him ; the other can't you 
 guess the other ?" he added archly, with a faint suggestion 
 of his other manner. 
 
 Miss Nellie coldly could not. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Wynn's archness vanished. "Don't be 
 a fool," he said dryly. "He wants to marry you, and you 
 know it." 
 
 "Most of the men here do," responded Miss Nellie, 
 without the least trace of coquetry. "Is the wedding or 
 the hanging to take place first, or together, so he can 
 officiate at both?" 
 
 "His share in the Union Ditch is worth a hundred 
 thousand dollars," continued her father; "and if he isn't 
 nominated for district judge this fall, he's bound to go to
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 285 
 
 the legislature, anyway. I don't think a girl with your 
 advantages and education can afford to throw away the 
 chance of shining in Sacramento, San Francisco, or, in 
 good time, perhaps even \Vashington." 
 
 Miss Nellie's eyes did not reflect entire disapproval of 
 this suggestion, although she replied with something of 
 her father's practical quality. 
 
 "Mr. Dunn is not out of his bed yet, and they say 
 Teresa's got away to Arizona, so there isn't any partic 
 ular hurry." 
 
 "Perhaps not; but see here, Nellie, I've some important 
 news for you. You know your young friend of the 
 Carquinez Woods Dorman, the botanist, eh ? Well, 
 Brace knows all about him. And what do you think 
 he is?" 
 
 Miss Nellie took upon herself a few extra degrees of 
 cold, and didn't know. 
 
 "An Injin! Yes, an out-and-out Cherokee. You see 
 he calls himself Dorman Low Dorman. That's only 
 French for 'Sleeping Water/ his Injin name! 'Low 4 
 Dorman.' " 
 
 "You mean 'L'Eau Dormante,' " said Nellie. 
 
 "That's what I said. The chief called him 'Sleeping 
 Water' when he was a boy, and one of them French 
 Canadian trappers translated it into French when he 
 brought him to California to school. But He's an Injin, 
 sure. No wonder he prefers to live in the woods." 
 
 "Well?" said Nellie. 
 
 "Well," echoed her father impatiently, "he's an Injin, 
 I tell you, and you can't of course have anything to do 
 with him. He mustn't come here again." 
 
 "But you forget," said Nellie imperturbably, "that it 
 was you who invited him here, and were so much exer 
 cised over him. You remember you introduced him to 
 the Bishop and those Eastern clergymen as a magnificent 
 specimen of a young Californian. You forget what an 
 occasion you made of his coming to church on Sunday, 
 and how you made him come in his buckskin shirt and 
 walk down the street with you after service !" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the Rev. Mr. Wynn, hurriedly..
 
 286 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "And," continued Nellie carelessly, "how you made us 
 sing out of the same book 'Children of our Father's Fold,' 
 and how you preached at him until he actually got a 
 color !" 
 
 "Yes," said her father; "but it wasn't known then he 
 was an Injin, and they are frightfully unpopular with 
 those Southwestern men among whom we labor. Indeed, 
 I am quite convinced that when Brace said 'the only good 
 Indian was a dead one' his expression, though extrava 
 gant, perhaps, really voiced the sentiments of the ma 
 jority. It would be only kindness to the unfortunate 
 creature -to warn him from exposing himself to their rude 
 but conscientious antagonism." 
 
 "Perhaps you'd better tell him, then, in your own pop 
 ular way, which they all seem to understand so well," 
 responded the daughter. Mr. Wynn cast a quick glance 
 at her, but there was no trace of irony in her face 
 nothing but a half-bored indifference as she walked 
 toward the window. 
 
 "I will go with you to the coach-office," said her father, 
 who generally gave these simple paternal duties the pro 
 nounced character of a public Christian example. 
 
 "It's hardly worth while," replied Miss Nellie. "I've to 
 stop at the Watsons', at the foot of the hill, and ask after 
 the baby ; so I shall go on to the Crossing and pick up the 
 coach when it passes. Good-by." 
 
 Nevertheless, as soon as Nellie had departed, the Rev. 
 Mr. Wynn proceeded to the coach-office, and publicly 
 grasping the hand of Yuba Bill, the driver, commended his 
 daughter to his care in the name of the universal brother 
 hood of man and the Christian fraternity. Carried away 
 by his heartiness, he forgot his previous caution, and 
 confided to the expressman Miss Nellie's regrets that she 
 was not to have that gentleman's company. The result 
 was that Miss Nellie found the coach with its passengers 
 awaiting her with uplifted hats and wreathed smiles at 
 the Crossing, and the box seat (from which an un 
 fortunate stranger, who had expensively paid for it, had 
 been summarily ejected) at her service beside Yuba Bill, 
 who had thrown away his cigar and donned a new pair
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 287 
 
 of buckskin gloves to do her honor. But a more serious 
 result to the young beauty was the effect of the Rev. 
 Mr. Wynn's confidences upon the impulsive heart of Jack 
 Brace, the expressman. It has been already intimated 
 that it was his "day off." Unable to summarily reassume 
 his usual functions beside the driver without some practi 
 cal reason, and ashamed to go so palpably as a mere 
 passenger, he was forced to let the coach proceed without 
 him. Discomfited for the moment, he was not, however, 
 beaten. He had lost the blissful journey by her side, 
 which would have been his professional right, but she 
 was going to Indian Spring! could he not anticipate her 
 there? Might they not meet in the most accidental man 
 ner? And what might not come from that meeting away 
 from the prying eyes of their own town? Mr. Brace did 
 not hesitate, but saddling his fleet Buckskin, by the time 
 the stage-coach had passed the Crossing in the high-road 
 he had mounted the hill and was dashing along the "cut 
 off" in the same direction, a full mile in advance. Ar 
 riving at Indian Spring, he left his horse at a Mexican 
 posada on the confines of the settlement, and from the 
 piled debris of a tunnel excavation awaited the slow 
 arrival of the coach. On mature reflection he could give 
 no reason why he had not boldly awaited it at the express 
 office, except a certain bashful consciousness of his own 
 folly, and a belief that it might be glaringly apparent to 
 the bystanders. When the coach arrived and he had over 
 come this consciousness, it was too late. Yuba Bill had 
 discharged his passengers for Indian Spring and driven 
 away. Miss Nellie was in the settlement, but where ? As 
 time passed he became more desperate and bolder. He 
 walked recklessly up and down the main street, glancing 
 in at the open doors of shops, and even in the windows 
 of private dwellings. It might have seemed a poor com 
 pliment to Miss Nellie, but it was an evidence of his 
 complete preoccupation, when the sight of a female face 
 at a window, even though it was plain or perhaps painted, 
 caused his heart to bound, or the glancing of a skirt in the 
 distance quickened his feet and his pulses. Had Jack 
 contented himself with remaining at Excelsior he might
 
 288 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 have vaguely regretted, but as soon become as vaguely 
 accustomed to, Miss Nellie's absence. But it was not 
 until his hitherto quiet and passive love took this first step 
 of action that it fully declared itself. When he had made 
 the tour of the town a dozen times unsuccessfully, he had 
 perfectly made up his mind that marriage with Nellie or 
 the speedy death of several people, including possibly him 
 self, was the only alternative. He regretted he had not 
 accompanied her ; he regretted he had not demanded where 
 she was going; he contemplated a course of future action 
 that two hours ago would have filled him with bashful 
 terror. There was clearly but one thing to do to de 
 clare his passion the instant he met her, and return with 
 her to Excelsior an accepted suitor, or not to return at all. 
 
 Suddenly he was vexatiously conscious of hearing his 
 name lazily called, and looking up found that he was on 
 the outskirts of the town, and interrogated by two horse 
 men. 
 
 "Got down to walk, and the coach got away from you, 
 Jack, eh?" 
 
 A little ashamed of his preoccupation, Brace stam 
 mered something about "collections." He did not recog 
 nize the men, but his own face, name, and business were 
 familiar to everybody for fifty miles along the stage-road. 
 
 "Well, you can settle a bet for us, I reckon. Bill 
 Dacre thar bet me five dollars and the drinks that a young 
 gal we met at the edge of the Carquinez Woods, dressed 
 in a long brown duster and half muffled up in a hood, 
 was the daughter of Father Wynn of Excelsior. I did 
 not get a fair look at her, but it stands to reason that a 
 high-toned young lady like Nellie Wynn don't go trap'sing 
 along the wood like a Pike County tramp. I took the bet. 
 May be you know if she's here or in Excelsior?" 
 
 Mr. Brace felt himself turning pale with eagerness and 
 excitement. But the near prospect of seeing her presently 
 gave him back his caution, and he answered truthfully 
 that he had left her in Excelsior, and that in his two 
 hours' sojourn in Indian Spring he had not met her 
 once. "But," he added, with a Californian's reverence 
 for the sanctity of a bet, "I reckon you'd better make it
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 289 
 
 a stand-off for twenty-four hours, and I'll find out and let 
 you know." Which, it is only fair to say, he honestly 
 intended to do. 
 
 With a hurried nod of parting, he continued in the 
 direction of the Woods. When he had satisfied himself 
 that the strangers had entered the settlement, and would 
 not follow him for further explanation, he quickened his 
 pace. In half an hour he passed between two of the 
 gigantic sentinels that guarded the entrance to a trail. 
 Here he paused to collect his thoughts. The Woods were 
 vast in extent, the trail dim and uncertain at times ap 
 parently breaking off, or intersecting another trail as 
 faint as itself. Believing that Miss Nellie had diverged 
 from the highway only as a momentary excursion into 
 the shade, and that she would not dare to penetrate its 
 more sombre and unknown recesses, he kept within sight 
 of the skirting plain. By degrees the sedate influence of 
 the silent vaults seemed to depress him. The ardor of 
 the chase began to flag. Under the calm of their dim 
 roof the fever of his veins began to subside; his pace 
 slackened ; he reasoned more deliberately. It was by no 
 means probable that the young woman in a brown duster 
 was Nellie; it was not her habitual traveling dress; it 
 was not like her to walk unattended in the road; there 
 was nothing in her tastes and habits to take her into this 
 gloomy forest, allowing that she had even entered it; 
 and on this absolute question of her identity the two 
 witnesses were divided. He stopped irresolutely, and 
 cast a last, long, half-despairing look around him. 
 Hitherto he had given that part of the wood nearest the 
 plain his greatest attention. His glance now sought its 
 darker recesses. Suddenly he became breathless. Was 
 it a beam of sunlight that had pierced the groined roof 
 above, and now rested against the trunk of one of the 
 dimmer, more secluded giants? No, it was moving; even 
 as he gazed it slipped away, glanced against another tree, 
 passed across one of the vaulted aisles, and then was lost 
 again. Brief as was the glimpse, he was not mistaken 
 it was the figure of a woman. 
 
 In another moment he was on her track, and soon had 
 10 v. a
 
 290 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 the satisfaction of seeing her reappear at a lesser distance. 
 But the continual intervention of the massive trunks 
 made the chase by no means an easy one, and as he could 
 not keep her always in sight he was unable to follow or 
 understand the one intelligent direction which she seemed 
 to invariably keep. Nevertheless, he gained upon her 
 breathlessly, and, thanks to the bark-strewn floor, noise 
 lessly. He was near enough to distinguish and recognize 
 the dress she wore, a pale yellow, that he had admired 
 when he first saw her. It was Nellie, unmistakably ; if it 
 were she of the brown duster, she had discarded it, per 
 haps for greater freedom. He was near enough to call 
 out now, but a sudden nervous timidity overcame him ; 
 his lips grew dry. What should he say to her? How 
 account for his presence ? "Miss Nellie, one moment !" 
 he gasped. She darted forward and vanished. 
 
 At this moment he was not more than a dozen yards 
 from her. He rushed to where she had been standing, 
 but her disappearance was perfect and complete. He 
 made a circuit of the group of trees within whose radius 
 she had last appeared, but there was neither trace of her, 
 nor a suggestion of her mode of escape. He called aloud 
 to her ; the vacant Woods let his helpless voice die in 
 their unresponsive depths. He gazed into the air and 
 down at the bark-strewn carpet at his feet. Like most 
 of his vocation, he was sparing of speech, and epigram 
 matic after his fashion. Comprehending in one swift but 
 despairing flash of intelligence the existence of some fate 
 ful power beyond his own weak endeavor, he accepted its 
 logical result with characteristic grin-mess, threw his hat 
 upon the ground, put his hands in his pockets, and said 
 
 "Well, I'm d d!" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OUT of compliment to Miss Nellie Wynn, Yuba Bill, 
 on reaching Indian Spring, had made a slight detour to 
 enable him to ostentatiously set down his fair passenger 
 before the door of the Burnhams. When it had closed 
 on the admiring eyes of the passengers and the coach had
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 291 
 
 rattled away, Miss Nellie, without any undue haste or 
 apparent change in her usual quiet demeanor, managed, 
 however, to dispatch her business promptly, and, leaving 
 an impression that she would call again before her return 
 to Excelsior, parted from her friends and slipped away 
 through a side street to the General Furnishing Store 
 of Indian Spring. In passing this emporium, Miss 
 Nellie's quick eye had discovered a cheap brown linen 
 duster hanging in its window. To purchase it, and put 
 it over her delicate cambric dress, albeit with a shivering 
 sense that she looked like a badly folded brown-paper 
 parcel, did not take long. As she left the shop it was 
 with mixed emotions of chagrin and security that she 
 noticed that her passage through the settlement no longer 
 turned the heads of its male inhabitants. She reached 
 the outskirts of Indian Spring and the high-road at about 
 the time Mr. Brace had begun his fruitless patrol of the 
 main street. Far in the distance a faint olive-green table 
 mountain seemed to rise abruptly from the plain. It was 
 the Carquinez Woods. Gathering her spotless skirts 
 beneath her extemporized brown domino, she set out 
 briskly towards them. 
 
 But her progress was scarcely free or exhilarating. 
 She was not accustomed to walking in a country where 
 "buggy-riding" was considered the only genteel young- 
 lady-like mode of progression, and its regular provision 
 the expected courtesy of mankind. Always fastidiously 
 booted, her low-quartered shoes were charming to the eye, 
 but hardly adapted to the dust and inequalities of the high 
 road. It was true that she had thought of buying a 
 coarser pair at Indian Spring, but once face to face with 
 their uncompromising ugliness, she had faltered and fled. 
 The sun was unmistakably hot, but her parasol was too 
 well known and offered too violent a contrast to the 
 duster for practical use. Once she stopped with an ex 
 clamation of annoyance, hesitated, and looked back. In 
 half an hour she had twice lost her shoe and her temper; 
 a pink flush took possession of her cheeks, and her eyes 
 were bright with suppressed rage. Dust began to form 
 grimy circles around their orbits ; with cat-like shivers
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 she even felt it pervade the roots of her blond hair. 
 Gradually her breath grew more rapid and hysterical, her 
 smarting eyes became humid, and at last, encountering 
 two observant horsemen in the road, she turned and fled, 
 until, reaching the wood, she began to cry. 
 
 Nevertheless she waited for the two horsemen to pass, 
 to satisfy herself that she was not followed; then pushed 
 on vaguely, until she reached a fallen tree, where, with 
 a gesture of disgust, she tore off her hapless duster and 
 flung it on the ground. She then sat down sobbing, but 
 after a moment dried her eyes hurriedly and started to 
 her feet. A few paces distant, erect, noiseless, with out 
 stretched hand, the young solitary of the Carquinez 
 Woods advanced towards her. His hand had almost 
 touched hers, when he stopped. 
 
 "What has happened?" he asked gravely. 
 
 "Nothing," she said, turning half away, and searching 
 the ground with her eyes, as if she had lost something. 
 "Only I must be going back now." 
 
 "You shall go back at once, if you wish it," he said, 
 flushing slightly. "But you have been crying; why?" 
 
 Frank as Miss Nellie wished to be, she could not bring 
 herself to say that her feet hurt her, and the dust and heat 
 were ruining her complexion. It was therefore with a 
 half-confident belief that her troubles were really of a 
 moral quality that she answered, "Nothing nothing, but 
 but it's wrong to come here." 
 
 "But you did not think it was wrong when you agreed 
 to come, at our last meeting," said the young man, with 
 that persistent logic which exasperates the inconse 
 quent feminine mind. "It cannot be any more wrong 
 to-day." 
 
 "But it was not so far off," murmured the young girl, 
 without looking up. 
 
 "Oh, the distance makes it more improper, then," he 
 said abstractedly ; but after a moment's contemplation of 
 her half-averted face, he asked gravely, "Has anyone 
 talked to you about me?" 
 
 Ten minutes before, Nellie had been burning to un- 
 burthen herself of her father's warning, but now she felt
 
 IN THE CAftQUINEZ WOODS 293 
 
 she would not. "I wish you wouldn't call yourself Low," 
 she said at last. 
 
 "But it's my name," he replied quietly. 
 
 "Nonsense ! It's only a stupid translation of a stupid 
 nickname. They might as well call you 'Water' at once." 
 
 "But you said you liked it." 
 
 "Well, so I do. But don't you see I oh dear! you 
 don't understand." 
 
 Low did not reply, but turned his head with resigned 
 gravity towards the deeper woods. Grasping the barrel 
 of his rifle with his left hand, he threw his right arm 
 across his left wrist and leaned slightly upon it with the 
 habitual ease of a Western hunter doubly picturesque in 
 his own lithe, youthful symmetry. Miss Nellie looked 
 at him from under her eyelids, and then half defiantly 
 raised her head and her dark lashes. Gradually an almost 
 magical change came over her features ; her eyes grew 
 larger and more and more yearning, until they seemed to 
 draw and absorb in their liquid depths the figure of the 
 young man before her ; her cold face broke into an ecstasy 
 of light and color ; her humid lips parted in a bright, wel 
 coming smile, until, with an irresistible impulse, she arose, 
 and throwing back her head stretched towards him two 
 hands full of vague and trembling passion. 
 
 In another moment he had seized them, kissed them, 
 and, as he drew her closer to his embrace, felt them 
 tighten around his neck. "But what name do you wish to 
 call me?" he asked, looking down into her eyes. 
 
 Miss Nellie murmured something confidentially to the 
 third button of his hunting shirt. "But that," he replied, 
 with a smile, "that wouldn't be any more practical, and 
 you wouldn't want others to call me dar " Her fingers 
 loosened around his neck, she drew her head back, and 
 a singular expression passed over her face, which to any 
 calmer observer than a lover would have seemed, how 
 ever, to indicate more curiosity than jealousy. 
 
 "Who else does call you so?" she added earnestly. 
 "How many, for instance?" 
 
 Low's reply was addressed not to her ear, but her lips. 
 She did not avoid it, but added, "And do you kiss them
 
 294 Itt THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 all like that?" Taking him by the shoulders, she held 
 him a little way from her, and gazed at him from head 
 to foot. Then drawing him again to her embrace, she 
 said, "I don't care, at least no woman has kissed you like 
 that." Happy, dazzled, and embarrassed, he was be 
 ginning to stammer the truthful protestation that rose to 
 his lips, but she stopped him : "No, don't protest ! say 
 nothing ! Let me love you that is all. It is enough." 
 He would have caught her in his arms again, but she 
 drew back. "We are near the road," she said quietly. 
 "Come ! You promised to show me where you camped. 
 Let us make the most of our holiday. In an hour I must 
 leave the woods." 
 
 "But I shall accompany you, dearest." 
 
 "No, I must go as I came alone." 
 
 "But Nellie" 
 
 "I tell you no," she said, with an almost harsh practical 
 decision, incompatible with her previous abandonment. 
 "We might be seen together." 
 
 "Well, suppose we are ; we must be seen together 
 eventually," he remonstrated. 
 
 The young girl made an involuntary gesture of im 
 patient negation, but checked herself. "Don't let us talk 
 of that now. Come, while I am here under your own 
 roof " she pointed to the high interlaced boughs above 
 them "you must be hospitable. Show me your home; 
 tell me, isn't it a little gloomy sometimes?" 
 
 "It never has been; I never thought it would be until 
 the moment you leave it to-day." 
 
 She pressed his hand briefly and in a half-perfunctory 
 way, as if her vanity had accepted and dismissed the 
 compliment. "Take me somewhere," she said inquisi 
 tively, "where you stay most; I do not seem to see you 
 here," she added, looking around her with a slight shiver. 
 "It is so big and so high. Have you no place where you 
 eat and rest and sleep?" 
 
 "Except in the rainy season, I camp all over the place 
 at any spot where I may have been shooting or collecting." 
 
 "Collecting?" queried Nellie. 
 
 "Yes; with the herbarium, you know."
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 296 
 
 "Yes," said Nellie dubiously. "But you told me once 
 the first time we ever talked together," she added, looking 
 in his eyes "something about your keeping your things 
 like a squirrel in a tree. Could we not go there? Is 
 there not room for us to sit and talk without being brow 
 beaten and looked down upon by these supercilious trees ?" 
 
 "It's too far away," said Low truthfully, but with a 
 somewhat pronounced emphasis, "much too far for you 
 just now; and it lies on another trail that enters the 
 wood beyond. But come, I will show you a spring known 
 only to myself, the wood ducks, and the squirrels. I dis 
 covered it the first day I saw you, and gave it your name. 
 But you shall christen it yourself. It will be all yours, 
 and yours alone, for it is so hidden and secluded that I 
 defy any feet but my own or whoso shall keep step with 
 mine to find it. Shall that foot be yours, Nellie?" 
 
 Her face beamed with a bright assent. "It may be 
 difficult to track it from here," he said, "but stand where 
 you are a moment, and don't move, rustle, nor agitate the 
 air in any way. The woods are still now." He turned 
 at right angles with the trail, moved a few paces into 
 the ferns and underbrush, and then stopped with his 
 finger on his lips. For an instant both remained motion 
 less ; then with his intent face bent forward and both arms 
 extended, he began to sink slowly upon one knee and one 
 side, inclining his body with a gentle, perfectly-graduated 
 movement until his ear almost touched the ground. 
 Nellie watched his graceful figure breathlessly, until, like 
 a bow unbent, he stood suddenly erect again, and beck 
 oned to her without changing the direction of his face. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked eagerly. 
 
 "All right; I have found it," he continued, moving for 
 ward without turning his head. 
 
 "But how? What did you kneel for?" He did not 
 reply, but taking her hand in his continued to move 
 slowly on through the underbrush, as if obeying some 
 magnetic attraction. "How did you find it?" again asked 
 the half-awed girl, her voice unconsciously falling to a 
 whisper. Still silent, Low kept his rigid face and for 
 ward tread for twenty yards further; then he stopped
 
 296 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 and released the girl's half-impatient hand. "How did 
 you find it?" she repeated sharply. 
 
 "With my ears and nose," replied Low gravely. 
 
 "With your nose?" 
 
 "Yes; I smelt it." 
 
 Still fresh with the memory of his picturesque attitude, 
 the young man's reply seemed to involve something more 
 irritating to her feelings than even that absurd anti 
 climax. She looked at him coldly and critically, and 
 appeared to hesitate whether to proceed. "Is it far?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Not more than ten minutes now, as I shall go." 
 
 "And you won't have to smell your way again?" 
 
 "No ; it is quite plain now," he answered seriously, the 
 young girl's sarcasm slipping harmlessly from his Indian 
 stolidity. "Don't you smell it yourself?" 
 
 But Miss Nellie's thin, cold nostrils refused to take 
 that vulgar interest. 
 
 "Nor hear it ? Listen !" 
 
 "You forget I suffer the misfortune of having been 
 brought up under a roof," she replied coldly. 
 
 "That's true," repeated Low, in all seriousness; "it's 
 not your fault. But do you know, I sometimes think I 
 am peculiarly sensitive to water ; I feel it miles away. 
 At night, though I may not see it or even know where it 
 is, I am conscious of it. It is company to me when 
 I am alone, and I seem to hear it in my dreams. There 
 is no music as sweet to me as its song. When you sang 
 with me that day in church, I seemed to hear it ripple 
 in your voice. It says to me more than the birds do, 
 more than the rarest plants I find. It seems to live with 
 me and for me. It is my earliest recollection; I know it 
 will be my last, for I shall die in its embrace. Do you 
 think, Nellie," he continued, stopping short and gazing 
 earnestly in her face "do you think that the chiefs knew 
 this when they called me 'Sleeping Water' ?" 
 
 To Miss Nellie's several gifts I fear the gods had not 
 added poetry. A slight knowledge of English verse of a 
 select character, unfortunately, did not assist her in the 
 interpretation of the young man's speech, nor relieve her
 
 IN THE CAEQUINEZ WOODS 297 
 
 from the momentary feeling that he was at times de 
 ficient in intellect. She preferred, however, to take a 
 personal view of the question, and expressed her sar 
 castic regret that she had not known before that she had 
 been indebted to the great flume and ditch at Excelsior 
 for the pleasure of his acquaintance. This pert remark 
 occasioned some explanation, which ended in the girl's 
 accepting a kiss in lieu of more logical argument. Nev 
 ertheless, she was still conscious of an inward irritation 
 always distinct from her singular and perfectly material 
 passion which found vent as the difficulties of their un- 
 deviating progress through the underbrush increased. At 
 last she lost her shoe again, and stopped short. "It's a 
 pity your Indian friends did not christen you 'Wild Mus 
 tard' or 'Clover,' " she said satirically, "that you might 
 have had some sympathies and longings for the open fields 
 instead of these horrid jungles ! I know we will not get 
 back in time." 
 
 Unfortunately, Low accepted this speech literally and 
 with his remorseless gravity. "If my name annoys you, 
 I can get it changed by the legislature, you know, and I 
 can find out what my father's name was, and take that. 
 My mother, who died in giving me birth, was the daugh 
 ter of a chief." 
 
 "Then your mother was really an Indian?" said Nellie, 
 "and you are " She stopped short. 
 
 "But I told you all this the day we first met," said Low, 
 with grave astonishment. "Don't you remember our long 
 talk coming from church?" 
 
 "No," said Nellie coldly, "you didn't tell me." But she 
 was obliged to drop her eyes before the unwavering, un 
 deniable truthfulness of his. 
 
 "You have forgotten," he said calmly; "but it is only 
 right you should have your own way in disposing of a 
 name that I have cared little for; and as you're to have 
 a share of it " 
 
 "Yes, but it's getting late, and if we are not going 
 forward " interrupted the girl impatiently. 
 
 "We are going forward," said Low imperturbably ; "but 
 I wanted to tell you, as we were speaking on that subject"
 
 298 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 (Nellie looked at her watch), "I've been offered the 
 place of botanist and naturalist in Professor Grant's 
 survey of Mount Shasta, and if I take it why, when I 
 come back, darling well " 
 
 "But you're not going just yet," broke in Nellie, with a 
 new expression in her face. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then we need not talk of it now," she said, with ani 
 mation. 
 
 Her sudden vivacity relieved him. "I see what's the 
 matter," he said gently, looking down at her feet ; "these 
 little shoes were not made to keep step with a moccasin. 
 We must try another way." He stooped as if to secure 
 the erring buskin, but suddenly lifted her like a child to 
 his shoulder. "There," he continued, placing her arm 
 round his neck, "you are clear of the ferns and brambles 
 now, and we can go on. Are you comfortable?" He 
 looked up, read her answer in her burning eyes and the 
 warm lips pressed to his forehead at the roots of his 
 straight dark hair, and again moved onward as in a 
 mesmeric dream. But he did not swerve from his direct 
 course, and with a final dash through the undergrowth 
 parted the leafy curtain before the spring. 
 
 At first the young girl was dazzled by the strong light 
 that came from a rent in the interwoven arches of the 
 wood. The breach had been caused by the huge bulk of 
 one of the great giants that had half fallen, and was 
 lying at a steep angle against one of its mightiest 
 brethren, having borne down a lesser tree in the arc of 
 its downward path. Two of the roots, as large as 
 younger trees, tossed their blackened and bare limbs 
 high in the air. The spring the insignificant cause of 
 this vast disruption gurgled, flashed, and sparkled at the 
 base; the limpid baby fingers that had laid bare the 
 foundations of that fallen column played with the still 
 clinging rootlets, laved the fractured and twisted limbs, 
 and, widening, filled with sleeping water the graves from 
 which they had been torn. 
 
 "It had been going on for years, down there," said 
 Low, pointing to a cavity from which the fresh water
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 299 
 
 now slowly welled, "but it had been quickened by the 
 rising of the subterranean springs and rivers which 
 always occurs at a certain stage of the dry season. I 
 remember that on that very night for it happened a little 
 after midnight, when all sounds are more audible I was 
 troubled and oppressed in my sleep by what you would 
 call a nightmare; a feeling as if I was kept down by 
 bonds and pinions that I longed to break. And then I 
 heard a crash in this direction, and the first streak of 
 morning brought me the sound and scent of water. Six 
 months afterwards I chanced to find my way here, as I 
 told you, and gave it your name. I did not dream that 
 I should ever stand beside it with you, and have you 
 christen it yourself." 
 
 He unloosened the cup from his flask, and filling it at the 
 spring handed it to her. But the young girl leant over 
 the pool, and pouring the water idly back said, "I'd rather 
 put my feet in it. Mayn't I ?" 
 
 "I don't understand you," he said wonderingly. 
 
 "My feet are so hot and dusty. The water looks 
 deliciously cool. May I?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 He turned away as Nellie, with apparent unconscious 
 ness, seated herself on the bank, and removed her shoes 
 and stockings. When she had dabbled her feet a few 
 moments in the pool, she said over her shoulder 
 
 "We can talk just as well, can't we?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well, then, why didn't you come to church more often, 
 and why didn't you think of telling father that you were 
 convicted of sin and wanted to be baptized?" 
 
 "I don't know," hesitated the young man. 
 
 "Well, you lost the chance of having father convert 
 you, baptize you, and take you into full church fel 
 lowship." 
 
 "I never thought " he began. 
 
 "You never thought. Aren't you a Christian?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "He supposes so ! Have you no convictions no pro 
 fession ?"
 
 300 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "But, Nellie, I never thought that you" 
 
 "Never thought that I what? Do you think that I 
 could ever be anything to a man who did not believe in 
 justification by faith, or in the covenant of church fellow 
 ship ? Do you think father would let me ?" 
 
 In his eagerness to defend himself he stepped to her 
 side. But seeing her little feet shining through the dark 
 water, like outcroppings of delicately veined quartz, he 
 stopped embarrassed. Miss Nellie, however, leaped to 
 one foot, and, shaking the other over the pool, put her 
 hand on his shoulder to steady herself. "You haven't got 
 a towel or," she said dubiously, looking at her small 
 handkerchief, "anything to dry them on ?" 
 
 But Low did not, as she perhaps expected, offer his 
 own handkerchief. 
 
 "If you take a bath after our fashion," he said gravely, 
 "you must learn to dry yourself after our fashion." 
 
 Lifting her again lightly in his arms, he carried her a 
 few steps to the sunny opening, and bade her bury her 
 feet in the dried mosses and baked withered grasses that 
 were bleaching in a hollow. The young girl uttered a 
 cry of childish delight, as the soft ciliated fibres touched 
 her sensitive skin. 
 
 "It is healing, too," continued Low ; "a moccasin filled 
 with it after a day on the trail makes you all right again," 
 
 But Miss Nellie seemed to be thinking of something 
 else. 
 
 "Is that the way the squaws bathe and dry them 
 selves ?" 
 
 "I don't know; you forget I was a boy when I left 
 them." 
 
 "And you're sure you never knew any?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 The young girl seemed to derive some satisfaction in 
 moving her feet up and down for several minutes among 
 the grasses in the hollow; then, after a pause, said, "You 
 are quite certain I am the first woman that ever touched 
 this spring?" 
 
 "Not only the first woman, but the first human being, 
 except myself."
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 301 
 
 "How nice !" 
 
 They had taken each other's hands ; seated side by side, 
 they leaned against a curving elastic root that half sup 
 ported, half encompassed, them. The girl's capricious, 
 fitful manner succumbed as before to the near contact 
 of her companion. Looking into her eyes, Low fell into 
 a sweet, selfish lover's monologue, descriptive of his past 
 and present feelings towards her, which she accepted 
 with a heightened color, a slight exchange of sentiment, 
 and a strange curiosity. The sun had painted their half- 
 embraced silhouettes against the slanting tree-trunk, and 
 began to decline unnoticed ; the ripple of the water 
 mingling with their whispers came as one sound to the 
 listening ear; even their eloquent silences were as deep, 
 and, I wot, perhaps as dangerous, as the darkened pool 
 that filled so noiselessly a dozen yards away. So quiet 
 were they that the tremor of invading wings once or 
 twice shook the silence, or the quick scamper of fright 
 ened feet rustled the dead grass. But in the midst of a 
 prolonged stillness the young man sprang up so suddenly 
 that Nellie was still half clinging to his neck as he stood 
 erect. "Hush !" he whispered ; "some one is near !" 
 
 He disengaged her anxious hands gently, leaped upon 
 the slanting tree-trunk, and running half-way up its in 
 cline with the agility of a squirrel, stretched himself at 
 full length upon it and listened. 
 
 To the impatient, inexplicably startled girl, it seemed 
 an age before he rejoined her. 
 
 "You are safe," he said; "he is going by the western 
 trail towards Indian Spring." 
 
 "Who is he?" she asked, biting her lips with a poorly 
 restrained gesture of mortification and disappointment. 
 
 "Some stranger," replied Low. 
 
 "As long as he wasn't coming here, why did you give 
 me such a fright?" she said pettishly. "Are you nervous 
 because a single wayfarer happens to stray here?" 
 
 "It was no wayfarer, for he tried to keep near the 
 trail," said Low. "He was a stranger to the wood, for 
 he lost his way every now and then. He was seeking or 
 expecting some one, for he stopped frequently and waited
 
 302 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 or listened. He had not walked far, for he wore spurs 
 that tinkled and caught in the brush; and yet he had not 
 ridden here, for no horse's hoofs passed the road since we 
 have been here. He must have come from Indian 
 Spring." 
 
 "And you heard all that when you listened just now?" 
 asked Nellie, half disdainfully. 
 
 Impervious to her incredulity Low turned his calm eyes 
 on her face. "Certainly, I'll bet my life on what I say. 
 Tell me : do you know anybody in Indian Spring who 
 would likely spy upon you?" 
 
 The young girl was conscious of a certain ill-defined 
 uneasiness, but answered, "No." 
 
 "Then it was not you he was seeking," said Low 
 thoughtfully. Miss Nellie had not time to notice the 
 emphasis, for he added, "You must go at once, and lest 
 you have been followed I will show you another way 
 back to Indian Spring. It is longer, and you must hasten. 
 Take your shoes and stockings with you until we are out 
 of the bush." 
 
 He raised her again in his arms and strode once more 
 out through the covert into the dim aisles of the wood. 
 They spoke but little ; she could not help feeling that some 
 other discordant element, affecting him more strongly 
 than it did her, had come between them, and was half 
 perplexed and half frightened. At the end of ten minutes 
 he seated her upon a fallen branch, and telling her he 
 would return by the time she had resumed her shoes and 
 stockings glided from her like a shadow. She would have 
 uttered an indignant protest at being left alone, but he 
 was gone ere she could detain him. For a moment she 
 thought she hated him. But when she had mechanically 
 shod herself once more, not without nervous shivers at 
 every falling needle, he was at her side. 
 
 "Do you know anyone who wears a frieze coat like 
 that?" he asked, handing her a few torn shreds of wool 
 affixed to a splinter of bark. 
 
 Miss Nellie instantly recognized the material of a cer 
 tain sporting coat worn by Mr. Jack Brace on festive 
 occasions, but a strange yet infallible instinct that was
 
 303 
 
 part of her nature made her instantly disclaim all knowl- 
 "dge of it. 
 
 "No," she said. 
 
 "Not anyone who scents himself with some doctor's 
 stufi like cologne?" continued Low, with the disgust of 
 keen olfactory sensibilities. 
 
 Aga ; .n Miss Nellie recognized the perfume with which 
 the gallant expressman was wont to make redolent her 
 little pailor, but again she avowed no knowledge of its 
 possessor. "Well," returned Low with some disappoint 
 ment, "such a man has been here. Be on your guard. 
 Let us go at once." 
 
 She required no urging to hasten her steps, but hurried 
 breathlessly at his side. He had taken a new trail by 
 which they left the wood at right angles with the high 
 way, two miles away. Following an almost effaced mule 
 track along a slight depression of the plain, deep enough, 
 however, to hide them from view, he accompanied her, 
 until, rising to the level again, she saw they were begin 
 ning to approach the highway and the distant roofs of 
 Indian Spring. "Nobody meeting you now," he 
 whispered, "would suspect where you had been. Good 
 night ! until next week remember." 
 
 They pressed each other's hands, and standing on the 
 slight ridge outlined against the paling sky, in full view 
 of the highway, parting carelessly, as if they had been 
 chance met travelers. But Nellie could not restrain a 
 parting backward glance as she left the ridge. Low had 
 descended to the deserted trail, and was running swiftly 
 in the direction of the Carquinez Woods. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TERESA awoke with a start. It was day already, but 
 how far advanced the even, unchanging, soft twilight of 
 the woods gave no indication. Her companion had van 
 ished, and to her bewildered senses so had the camp-fire, 
 even to its embers and ashes. Was she awake, or had she 
 wandered away unconsciously in the night? One glance
 
 304 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 at the tree above her dissipated the fancy. There was 
 the opening of her quaint retreat and the hanging strips 
 of bark, and at the foot of the opposite treee lay the 
 carcass of the bear. It had been skinned, and, as Teresa 
 thought with an inward shiver, already looked half its 
 former size. 
 
 Not yet accustomed to the fact that a few steps in 
 either direction around the circumference of those great 
 trunks produced the sudden appearance or disappearance 
 of any figure, Teresa uttered a slight scream as her 
 young companion unexpectedly stepped to her side. "You 
 see a change here," he said; "the stamped-out ashes of 
 the camp-fire lie under the brush," and he pointed to 
 some cleverly scattered boughs and strips of bark which 
 completely effaced the traces of last night's bivouac. 
 "We can't afford to call the attention of any packer or 
 hunter who might straggle this way to this particular 
 spot and this particular tree; the more naturally," he 
 added, "as they always prefer to camp over an old fire." 
 Accepting this explanation meekly, as partly a reproach 
 for her caprice of the previous night, Teresa hung her 
 head. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," she said, "but wouldn't that," point 
 ing to the carcass of the bear, "have made them curious ?" 
 
 But Low's logic was relentless. 
 
 "By this time there would have been little left to excite 
 curiosity, if you had been willing to leave those beasts to 
 their work." 
 
 "I'm very sorry," repeated the woman, her lips quiv 
 ering. 
 
 "They are the scavengers of the wood," he continued 
 in a lighter tone; "if you stay here you must try to use 
 them to keep your house clean." 
 
 Teresa smiled nervously. 
 
 "I mean that they shall finish their work to-night," he 
 added, "and I shall build another camp-fire for us a mile 
 from here until they do." 
 
 But Teresa caught his sleeve. 
 
 "No," she said hurriedly, "don't, please, for me, You 
 must not take the trouble, nor the risk. Hear me; do,
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 305 
 
 please. I can bear it, I will bear it to-night. I would 
 have borne it last night, but it was so strange and" 
 sue passed her hands over her forehead "I think I must 
 hare been half mad. But I am not so foolish now." 
 
 She seemed so broken and despondent that he replied 
 reassuringly : "Perhaps it would be better that I should 
 find another hiding-place for you, until I can dispose of 
 that carcass so that it will not draw dogs after the wolves, 
 and men after them. Besides, your friend the sheriff will 
 probably remember the bear when he remembers anything, 
 and try to get on its track again." 
 
 "He's a conceited fool," broke in Teresa in a high voice, 
 with a slight return of her old fury, "or he'd have guessed 
 where that shot came from; and," she added in a lower 
 tone, looking down at her limp and nerveless fingers, "he 
 wouldn't have let a poor, weak, nervous wretch like me 
 get away." 
 
 "But his deputy may put two and two together, and 
 connect your escape with it." 
 
 Teresa's eyes flashed. "It would be like the dog, just 
 to save his pride, to swear it was an ambush of my 
 friends, and that he was overpowered by numbers. Oh 
 yes ! I see it all !" she almost screamed, lashing herself 
 into a rage at the bare contemplation of this diminution 
 of her glory. "That's the dirty lie he tells everywhere, 
 and is telling now." 
 
 She stamped her feet and glanced savagely around, as 
 if at any risk to proclaim the falsehood. Low turned his 
 impassive, truthful face towards her. 
 
 "Sheriff Dunn," he began gravely, "is a politician, and 
 a fool when he takes to the trail as a hunter of man or 
 beast. But he is not a coward nor a liar. Your chances 
 would be better if he were if he laid your escape to an 
 ambush of your friends, than if his pride held you alone 
 responsible." 
 
 "If he's such a good man, why do you hesitate?" she 
 replied bitterly. "Why don't you give me up at once, 
 and do a service to one of your friends ?" 
 
 "I do not even know him," returned Low opening 
 his clear eyes upon her. "I've promised to hide you
 
 306 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 here, and I shall hide you as well from him as from 
 anybody." 
 
 Teresa did not reply, but suddenly dropping down upon 
 the ground buried her face in her hands and began to 
 sob convulsively. Low turned impassively away, and put 
 ting aside the bark curtain climbed into the hollov tree. 
 In a few moments he reappeared, laden with previsions 
 and a few simple cooking utensils, and touched her lightly 
 on the shoulder. She looked up timidly; the paroxysm 
 had passed, but her lashes yet glittered. 
 
 "Come," he said, "come and get some breakfast. I find 
 you have eaten nothing since you have been here twenty- 
 four hours." 
 
 "I didn't know it," she said, with a faint smile. Then 
 seeing his burden, and possessed by a new and strange 
 desire for some menial employment, she said hurriedly, 
 "Let me carry something do, please," and even tried to 
 disencumber him. 
 
 Half annoyed, Low at last yielded, and handing his rifle 
 said, "There, then, take that ; but be careful it's loaded !" 
 
 A cruel blush burnt the woman's face to the roots of 
 her hair as she took the weapon hesitatingly in her hand. 
 
 "No!" she stammered, hurriedly lifting her shame- 
 suffused eyes to his ; "no ! no !" 
 
 He turned away with an impatience which showed her 
 how completely gratuitous had been her agitation and its 
 significance, and said, "Well, then, give it back if you are 
 afraid of it." But she as suddenly declined to return it; 
 and shouldering it deftly, took her place by his side. 
 Silently they moved from the hollow tree together. 
 
 During their walk she did not attempt to invade his 
 taciturnity. Nevertheless she was as keenly alive and 
 watchful of his every movement and gesture as if she had 
 hung enchanted on his lips. The unerring way with which 
 he pursued a viewless, undeviating path through those 
 trackless woods, his quick reconnaissance of certain tree? 
 or openings, his mute inspection of some almost imper 
 ceptible footprint of bird or beast, his critical examination 
 of certain plants which he plucked and deposited 5n his 
 deerskin haversack, were not lost on the quick-witted
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 307 
 
 woman. As they gradually changed the clear, unencum 
 bered aisles of the central woods for a more tangled un 
 dergrowth, Teresa felt that subtle admiration which 
 culminates in imitation, and simulating perfectly the step, 
 tread, and easy swing of her companion, followed so ac 
 curately his lead that she won a gratified exclamation 
 from him when their goal was reached a broken, black 
 ened shaft, splintered by long-forgotten lightning, in the 
 centre of a tangled carpet of wood-clover. 
 
 "I don't wonder you distanced the deputy," he said 
 cheerfully, throwing down his burden, "if you can take 
 the hunting-path like that. In a few days, if you stay 
 here, I can venture to trust you alone for a little pasear 
 when you are tired of the tree." 
 
 Teresa looked pleased, but busied herself with arrange 
 ments for the breakfast, while he gathered the fuel for the 
 roaring fire which soon blazed beside the shattered tree. 
 
 Teresa's breakfast was a success. It was a revelation 
 to the young nomad, whose ascetic habits and simple 
 tastes were usually content with the most primitive forms 
 of frontier cookery. It was at least a surprise to him to 
 know that without extra trouble kneaded flour, water, and 
 saleratus need not be essentially heavy ; that coffee need 
 not be boiled with sugar to the consistency of syrup ; that 
 even that rarest delicacy, small shreds of venison covered 
 with ashes and broiled upon the end of a ramrod boldly 
 thrust into the flames, would be better and even more 
 expeditiously cooked upon burning coals. Moved in his 
 practical nature, he was surprised to find this curious 
 creature of disorganized nerves and useless impulses in 
 formed with an intelligence that did not preclude the wel 
 fare of humanity or the existence of a soul. He respected 
 her for some minutes, until in the midst of a culinary 
 triumph a big tear dropped and spluttered in the sauce 
 pan. But he forgave the irrelevancy by taking no notice 
 of it, and by doing full justice to that particular dish. 
 
 Nevertheless, he asked several questions based upon 
 these recently discovered qualities. It appeared that in 
 the old days of her wanderings with the circus troupe 
 she had often been forced to undertake this nomadic
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 housekeeping. But she "despised it," had never done it 
 since, and always had refused to do it for "him" the 
 personal pronoun referring, as Low understood, to her 
 lover, Curson. Not caring to revive these memories 
 further, Low briefly concluded : "I don't know what you 
 were, or what you may be, but from what I see of you 
 you've got all the sabe of a frontierman's wife." 
 
 She stopped and looked at him, and then with an im 
 pulse of imprudence that only half concealed a more 
 serious vanity, asked, "Do you think I might have made a 
 good squaw ?" 
 
 "I don't know," he replied quietly. "I never saw 
 enough of them to know." 
 
 Teresa, confident from his clear eyes that he spoke the 
 truth, but having nothing ready to follow this calm dis 
 posal of her curiosity, relapsed into silence. 
 
 The meal finished, Teresa washed their scant table 
 equipage in a little spring near the camp-fire; where, 
 catching sight of her disordered dress and collar, she 
 rapidly threw her shawl, after the national fashion, over 
 her shoulder and pinned it quickly. Low cached the re 
 maining provisions and the few cooking utensils under the 
 dead embers and ashes, obliterating all superficial indica 
 tion of their camp-fire as deftly and artistically as he had 
 before. 
 
 "There isn't the ghost of a chance," he said in explana 
 tion, "that anybody but you or I will set foot here before 
 we come back to supper, but it's well to be on guard. I'll 
 take you back to the cabin now, though I bet you could 
 find your way there as well as I can." 
 
 On their way back Teresa ran ahead of her companion, 
 and plucking a few tiny leaves from a hidden oasis in the 
 bark-strewn trail brought them to him. 
 
 "That's the kind you're looking for, isn't it?" she said, 
 half timidly. 
 
 "It is," responded Low, in gratified surprise ; "but how 
 did you know it? You're not a botanist, are you?" 
 
 "I reckon not," said Teresa ; "but you picked some when 
 we came, and I noticed what they were." 
 
 Here was indeed another revelation. Low stopped and
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 309 
 
 gazed at her with such frank, open, utterly unabashed 
 curiosity that her black eyes fell before him. 
 
 "And do you think," he asked with logical deliberation, 
 "that you could find any plant from another I should give 
 
 you 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Or from a drawing of it" 
 
 "Yes; perhaps even if you described it to me." 
 
 A half-confidential, half-fraternal silence followed. 
 
 "I tell you what. I've got a book " 
 
 "I know it," interrupted Teresa ; "full of these things." 
 
 "Yes. Do you think you could " 
 
 "Of course I could," broke in Teresa, again. 
 
 "But you don't know what I mean," said the im 
 perturbable Low. 
 
 "Certainly I do. Why, find 'em, and preserve all the 
 different ones for you to write under that's it, isn't it?" 
 
 Low nodded his head, gratified but not entirely con 
 vinced that she had fully estimated the magnitude of the 
 endeavor. 
 
 "I suppose," said Teresa, in the feminine postscriptum 
 voice which it would seem entered even the philosophical 
 calm of the aisles they were treading "I suppose that she 
 places great value on them?" 
 
 Low had indeed heard Science personified before, nor 
 was it at all impossible that the singular woman walking 
 by his side had also. He said "Yes ;" but added, in mental 
 reference to the Linnean Society of San Francisco, that 
 "they were rather particular about the rarer kinds." 
 
 Content as Teresa had been to believe in Low's tender 
 relations with some favored one of her sex, this frank 
 confession of a plural devotion staggered her. 
 
 "They?" she repeated. 
 
 "Yes," he continued calmly. "The Botanical Society I 
 correspond with are more particular than the Government 
 Survey." 
 
 "Then you are doing this for a society?" demanded 
 Teresa, with a stare. 
 
 "Certainly. I'm making a collection and classification 
 of specimens. I intend but what are you looking at?"
 
 310 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 Teresa had suddenly turned away. Putting his hand 
 lightly on her shoulder, the young man brought her face 
 to face him again. 
 
 She was laughing. 
 
 "I thought all the while it was for a girl," she said; 
 "and " But here the mere effort of speech sent her off 
 into an audible and genuine outburst of laughter. It was 
 the first time he had seen her even smile other than bit 
 terly. Characteristically unconscious of any humor in her 
 error, he remained unembarrassed. But he could not 
 help noticing a change in the expression of her face, her 
 voice, and even her intonation. It seemed as if that fit of 
 laughter had loosed the last ties that bound her to a self- 
 imposed character, had swept away the last barrier be 
 tween her and her healthier nature, had dispossessed a 
 painful unreality, and relieved the morbid tension of a 
 purely nervous attitude. The change in her utterance and 
 the resumption of her softer Spanish accent seemed to 
 have come with her confidences, and Low took leave of 
 her before their sylvan cabin with a comrade's hearti 
 ness, and a complete forgetfulness that her voice had 
 ever irritated him. 
 
 When he returned that afternoon he was startled to 
 find the cabin empty. But instead of bearing any appear 
 ance of disturbance or hurried flight, the rude interior 
 seemed to have magically assumed a decorous order and 
 cleanliness unknown before. Fresh bark hid the inequali 
 ties of the floor. The skins and blankets were folded in 
 the corners, the rude shelves were carefully arranged, even 
 a few tall ferns and bright but quickly fading flowers were 
 disposed around the blackened chimney. She had evi 
 dently availed herself of the change of clothing he had 
 brought her, for her late garments were hanging from the 
 hastily-devised wooden pegs driven in the wall. The 
 young man gazed around him with mixed feelings of 
 gratification and uneasiness. His presence had been dis 
 possessed in a single hour; his ten years of lonely habita 
 tion had left no trace that this woman had not effaced 
 with a deft move of her hand. More than that, it looked 
 as if she had always occupied it; and it was with a
 
 IN THE OARQUINEZ WOODS 311 
 
 singular conviction that even when she should occupy it 
 no longer it would only revert to him as her dwelling that 
 he dropped the bark shutters athwart the opening, and 
 left it to follow her. 
 
 To his quick ear, fine eye, and abnormal senses, this 
 was easy enough. She had gone in the direction of this 
 morning's camp. Once or twice he paused with a half- 
 gesture of recognition and a characteristic "Good !" at the 
 place where she had stopped, but was surprised to find 
 that her main course had been as direct as his own. 
 Deviating from this direct line with Indian precaution, he 
 first made a circuit of the camp, and approached the shat 
 tered trunk from the opposite direction. He consequently 
 came upon Teresa unawares. But the momentary as 
 tonishment and embarrassment were his alone. 
 
 He scarcely recognized her. She was wearing the gar 
 ments he had brought her the day before a certain dis 
 carded gown of Miss Nellie Wynn, which he had hurriedly 
 begged from her under the pretext of clothing the wife of 
 a distressed overland emigrant then on the way to the 
 mines. Although he had satisfied his conscience with the 
 intention of confessing the pious fraud to her when Te 
 resa was gone and safe from pursuit, it was not without 
 a sense of remorse that he witnessed the sacrilegious 
 transformation. The two women were nearly the same 
 height and size; and although Teresa's maturer figure ac 
 cented the outlines more strongly, it was still becoming 
 enough to increase his irritation. 
 
 Of this becomingness she was doubtless unaware at the 
 moment that he surprised her. She was conscious of 
 having "a change," and this had emboldened her to "do 
 her hair" and otherwise compose hers'elf. After their 
 greeting she was the first to allude to the dress, re 
 gretting that it was not more of a rough disguise, and 
 that, as she must now discard the national habit of wear 
 ing her shawl "manta" fashion over her head, she wanted 
 a hat. "But you must not," she said, "borrow any more 
 dresses for me from your young woman. Buy them for 
 me at some shop. They left me enough money for that." 
 Low gently put aside the few pieces of gold she had
 
 312 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 drawn from her pocket, and briefly reminded her of the 
 suspicion such a purchase by him would produce. "That's 
 so," she said, with a laugh. "Caramba ! what a mule I'm 
 becoming ! Ah ! wait a moment. I have it ! Buy me a 
 common felt hat a man's hat as if for yourself, as a 
 change to that animal," pointing to the fox-tailed cap he 
 wore summer and winter, "and I'll show you a trick. I 
 haven't run a theatrical wardrobe for nothing." Nor had 
 she, for the hat thus procured, a few days later, became, 
 by the aid of a silk handkerchief and a bluejay's feather, a 
 fascinating "pork pie." 
 
 Whatever cause of annoyance to Low still lingered in 
 Teresa's dress, it was soon forgotten in a palpable evi 
 dence of Teresa's value as a botanical assistant. It ap 
 peared that during the afternoon she had not only 
 duplicated his specimens, but had discoverd one or two 
 rare plants as yet unclassified in the flora of the Carquinez 
 Woods. He was delighted, and in turn, over the camp- 
 fire, yielded up some details of his present life and some of 
 his earlier recollections. 
 
 "You don't remember anything of your father?" she 
 asked. "Did he ever try to seek you out ?" 
 
 "No ! Why should he ?" replied the imperturbable 
 Low; "he was not a Cherokee." 
 
 "No, he was a beast," responded Teresa promptly. 
 "And your mother do you remember her ?" 
 
 "No, I think she died." 
 
 "You think she died? Don't you know?" 
 
 "No !" 
 
 "Then you're another !" said Teresa. Notwithstanding 
 this frankness, they shook hands for the night: Teresa 
 nestling like a rabbit in a hollow by the side of the camp- 
 fire; Low with his feet towards it, Indian-wise, and his 
 head and shoulders pillowed on his haversack, only half 
 distinguishable in the darkness beyond. 
 
 With such trivial details three uneventful days slipped 
 by. Their retreat was undisturbed, nor could Low detect, 
 by the least evidence to his acute perceptive faculties, that 
 any intruding feet had since crossed the belt of shade. 
 The echoes of passing events at Indian Spring had re-
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 313 
 
 corded the escape of Teresa as occurring at a remote and 
 purely imaginative distance, and her probable direction 
 the county of Yolo. 
 
 "Can you remember," he one day asked her, "what time 
 it was when you cut the riata and got away?" 
 
 Teresa pressed her hands upon her eyes and temples. 
 
 "About three, I reckon." 
 
 "And you were here at seven; you could have covered 
 some ground in four hours?" 
 
 "Perhaps I don't know," she said, her voice taking up 
 its old quality again. "Don't ask me I ran all the way." 
 
 Her face was quite pale as she removed her hands from 
 her eyes, and her breath came as quickly as if she had 
 just finished that race for life. 
 
 "Then you think I am safe here?" she added, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Perfectly until they find you are not in Yolo. Then 
 they'll look here. And that's the time for you to go there" 
 Teresa smiled timidly. 
 
 "It will take them some time to search Yolo unless," 
 she added, "you're tired of me here." The charming non 
 sequitur did not, however, seem to strike the young man. 
 "I've got time yet to find a few more plants for you," she 
 suggested. 
 
 "Oh, certainly!" 
 
 "And give you a few more lessons in cooking." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 The conscientious and literal Low was beginning to 
 doubt if she were really practical. How otherwise could 
 she trifle with such a situation? 
 
 It must be confessed that that day and the next she did 
 trifle with it. She gave herself up to a grave and 
 delicious languor that seemed to flow from shadow and 
 silence and permeate her entire being. She passed hours 
 in a thoughtful repose of mind and spirit that seemed to 
 fall like balm from those steadfast guardians, and distill 
 their gentle ether in her soul; or breathed into her lis 
 tening ear immunity from the forgotten past, and security 
 for the present. If there was no dream of the future in 
 this calm, even recurrence of placid existence, so much the
 
 314 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 better. The simple details of each succeeding day, the 
 quaint housekeeping, the brief companionship and coming 
 and going of her young host himself at best a crystal 
 lized personification of the sedate and hospitable woods 
 satisfied her feeble cravings. She no longer regretted the 
 inferior position that her fears had obliged her to take the 
 first night she came ; she began to look up to this young 
 man so much younger than herself without knowing 
 what it meant ; it was not until she found that this attitude 
 did not detract from his picturesqueness that she dis 
 covered herself seeking for reasons to degrade him from 
 this seductive eminence. 
 
 A week had elapsed with little change. On two days he 
 had been absent all day, returning only in time to sup in 
 the hollow tree, which, thanks to the final removal of the 
 dead bear from its vicinity, was now considered a safer 
 retreat than the exposed camp-fire. On the first of these 
 occasions she received him with some preoccupation, pay 
 ing but little heed to the scant gossip he brought from In 
 dian Spring, and retiring early under the plea of fatigue, 
 that he might seek his own distant camp-fire, which, 
 thanks to her stronger nerves and regained courage, sh< 
 no longer required so near. On the second occasion, he 
 found her writing a letter more or less blotted with her 
 tears. When it was finished, she begged him to post it at 
 Indian Spring, where in two days an answer would be 
 returned, under cover, to him. 
 
 "I hope you will be satisfied then," she added. 
 
 "Satisfied with what?" queried the young man. 
 
 "You'll see," she replied, giving him her cold hand. 
 "Good-night." 
 
 "But can't you tell me now ?" he remonstrated, retaining 
 her hand. 
 
 "Wait two days longer it isn't much," was all she 
 vouchsafed to answer. 
 
 The two days passed. Their former confidence and 
 good fellowship were fully restored when the morning 
 came on which he was to bring the answer from the 
 post-office at Indian Spring. He had talked again of his 
 future, and had recorded his ambition to procure the ap-
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 316 
 
 pointment of naturalist to a Government Surveying Ex 
 pedition. She had even jocularly proposed to dress 
 herself in man's attire and "enlist" as his assistant. 
 
 "But you will be safe with your friends, I hope, by 
 that time," responded Low. 
 
 "Safe with my friends," she repeated in a lower voice. 
 "Safe with my friends yes !" An awkward silence fol 
 lowed ; Teresa broke it gayly : "But your girl, your sweet 
 heart, my benefactor will she let you go?" 
 
 "I haven't told her yet," said Low, gravely, "but I don't 
 see why she should object." 
 
 "Object, indeed !" interrupted Teresa in a high voice 
 and a sudden and utterly gratuitous indignation; "how 
 should she? I'd like to see her do it!" 
 
 She accompanied him some distance to the intersection 
 of the trail, where they parted in good spirits. On the 
 dusty plain without a gale was blowing that rocked the 
 high tree-tops above her, but, tempered and subdued, 
 entered the low aisles with a fluttering breath of morning 
 and a sound like the cooing of doves. Never had the 
 wood before shown so sweet a sense of security from the 
 turmoil and tempest of the world beyond; never before 
 had an intrusion from the outer life even in the shape 
 of a letter seemed so wicked a desecration. Tempted 
 by the solicitation of air and shade, she lingered, with 
 Low's herbarium slung on her shoulder. 
 
 A strange sensation, like a shiver, suddenly passed 
 across her nerves, and left them in a state of rigid 
 tension. With every sense morbidly acute, with every 
 faculty strained to its utmost, the subtle instincts of 
 Low's woodcraft transformed and possessed her. She 
 knew it now ! A new element was in the wood a strange 
 being another life another man approaching! She did 
 not even raise her head to look about her, but darted 
 with the precision and fleetness of an arrow in the direc 
 tion of her tree. But her feet were arrested, her limbs 
 paralzyed, her very existence suspended, by the sound of 
 a voice : 
 
 "Teresa !" 
 
 It was a voice that had rung in her ears for the last
 
 316 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 two years in all phases of intensity, passion, tenderness, 
 and anger; a voice upon whose modulations, rude and 
 unmusical though they were, her heart and soul had hung 
 in transport or anguish. But it was a chime that had 
 rung its last peal to her senses as she entered the 
 Carquinez Woods, and for the last week had been as dead 
 to her as a voice from the grave. It was the voice of her 
 lover Dick Curson ! 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE wind was blowing towards the stranger, so that 
 he was nearly upon her when Teresa first took the alarm. 
 He was a man over six feet in height, strongly built, with 
 a slight tendency to a roundness of bulk which suggested 
 reserved rather than impeded energy. His thick beard 
 and mustache were closely cropped around a small and 
 handsome mouth that lisped except when he was excited, 
 but always kept fellowship with his blue eyes in a per 
 petual smile of half-cynical good-humor. His dress was 
 superior to that of the locality; his general expression 
 that of a man of the world, albeit a world of San Fran 
 cisco, Sacramento, and Murderer's Bar. He advanced 
 towards her with a laugh and an outstretched hand. 
 
 "You here !" she gasped, drawing back. 
 
 Apparently neither surprised nor mortified at this re 
 ception, he answered frankly, "Yeth. You didn't expect 
 me, I know. But Doloreth showed me the letter you 
 wrote her, and well here I am, ready to help you, with 
 two men and a thpare horthe waiting outside the woodth 
 on the blind trail." 
 
 "You you here?" she only repeated. 
 
 Curson shrugged his shoulders. "Yeth." Of courth 
 you never expected to thee me again, and leatht of all 
 here. I'll admit that; I'll thay I wouldn't if I'd been in 
 your plathe. I'll go further, and thay you didn't want to 
 thee me again anywhere. But it all cometh to the 
 thame thing; here I am. I read the letter you wrote 
 Doloreth. I read how you were hiding here, under 
 Dunn'th very nothe, with his whole pothe out, cavorting
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 317 
 
 round and barkin' up the wrong tree. I made up my 
 mind to come down here with a few nathty friends of 
 mine and cut you out under Dunn'th nothe, and run you 
 over into Yuba that'th all." 
 
 "How dared she show you my letter you of all men? 
 How dared she ask your help ?" continued Teresa, fiercely. 
 
 "But she didn't athk my help," he responded coolly. 
 
 "D d if I don't think she jutht calculated I'd be glad 
 
 to know you were being hunted down and thtarving, that 
 I might put Dunn on your track." 
 
 "You lie !" said Teresa, furiously ; "she was my friend. 
 A better friend than those who professed more," she 
 added, with a contemptuous drawing away of her skirt 
 as if she feared Curson's contamination. 
 
 "All right. Thettle that with her when you go back," 
 continued Curson philosophically. "We can talk of that 
 on the way. The thing now ith to get up and get out of 
 thethe woods. Come !" 
 
 Teresa's only reply was a gesture of scorn. 
 
 "I know all that," continued Curson half soothingly, 
 "but they're waiting." 
 
 "Let them wait. I shall not go." 
 
 "What will you do ?" 
 
 "Stay here till the wolves eat me." 
 
 "Teresa, listen. D it all Teresa Tita ! see here," 
 
 he said with sudden energy. "I swear to God it's all 
 right. I'm willing to let by-gones be by-gones and take a 
 new deal. You shall come back as if nothing had hap 
 pened, and take your old place as before. I don't mind 
 doing the square thing, all round. If that's what you 
 mean, if that's all that stands in the way, why, look upon 
 the thing as settled. There, Tita, old girl, come." 
 
 Careless or oblivious of her stony silence and starting 
 eyes, he attempted to take her hand. But she disengaged 
 herself with a quick movement, drew back, and suddenly 
 crouched like a wild animal about to spring. Curson 
 folded his arms as she leaped to her feet ; the little dagger 
 she had drawn from her garter flashed menacingly in the 
 air, but she stopped. 
 
 The man before her remained erect, impassive, and
 
 818 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 silent; the great trees around and beyond her remained 
 erect, impassive, and silent; there was no sound in the 
 dim aisles but the quick panting of her mad passion, no 
 movement in the calm, motionless shadow but the 
 trembling of her uplifted steel. Her arm bent and slowly 
 sank, her fingers relaxed, the knife fell from her hand. 
 
 'That'th quite enough for a thow," he said, with a re 
 turn to his former cynical ease and a perceptible tone of 
 relief in his voice. "It'th the thame old Theretha. Well, 
 then, if you won't go with me, go without ma; take the 
 led horthe and cut away. Dick Athley and Petereth will 
 follow you over the county line. If you want thome 
 money, there it ith." He took a buckskin purse from his 
 pocket. "If you won't take it from me " he hesitated as 
 she made no reply "Athley'th flush and ready to lend 
 you thome." 
 
 She had not seemed to hear him, but had stooped in 
 some embarrassment, picked up the knife and hastily hid 
 it, then with averted face and nervous fingers was begin 
 ning to tear strips of loose bark from the nearest trunk. 
 
 "Well, what do you thay?" 
 
 "I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She 
 hesitated, looked around her, and then added, with an 
 effort, "I suppose you meant well. Be it so ! Let by-gones 
 be by-gones. You said just now, 'It's the same old 
 Teresa.' So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better 
 here than anywhere else." 
 
 There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for 
 Curson's half-perfunctory sympathy. 
 
 "That be d d," he responded quickly. "Jutht thay 
 
 you'll come, Tita, and " 
 
 She stopped his half-spoken sentence with a negative 
 gesture. "You don't understand. I shall stay here." 
 
 "But even if they don't theek you here, you can't live 
 here forever. The friend that you wrote about who wath 
 tho good to you, you know, can't keep you here alwayth; 
 and are you thure you can alwayth trutht her?" 
 
 "It isn't a woman ; it's a man." She stopped short, 
 and colored to the line of her forehead. "Who said it 
 was a woman?" she continued fiercely, as if to cover her
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 319 
 
 confusion with a burst of gratuitous anger. "Is that 
 another of your lies?" 
 
 Curson's lips, which for a moment had completely lost 
 their smile, were now drawn together in a prolonged 
 whistle. He gazed curiously at her gown, at her hat, at 
 the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair, and 
 said, "Ah !" 
 
 "A poor man who has kept my secret," she went on 
 hurriedly "a man as friendless and lonely as myself. 
 Yes," disregarding Curson's cynical smile, "a man who 
 has shared everything " 
 
 "Naturally," suggested Curson. 
 
 "And turned himself out of his only shelter to give me 
 a roof and covering," she continued mechanically, strug 
 gling with the new and horrible fancy that his words 
 awakened. 
 
 "And thlept every night at Indian Thpring to save your 
 reputation," said Curson. "Of courthe." 
 
 Teresa turned very white. Curson was prepared for 
 an outburst of fury perhaps even another attack. But 
 the crushed and beaten woman only gazed at him with 
 frightened and imploring eyes. "For God's sake, Dick, 
 don't say that !" 
 
 The amiable cynic was staggered. His good-humor 
 and a certain chivalrous instinct he could not repress got 
 the better of him. He shrugged his shoulders. "What I 
 thay, and what you do, Teretha, needn't make us quarrel. 
 I've no claim on you I know it. Only " a vivid sense 
 of the ridiculous, powerful in men of his stamp, completed 
 her victory "only don't thay anything about my coming 
 down here to cut you out from the the the sheriff." 
 He gave utterance to a short but unaffected laugh, made 
 a slight grimace, and turned to go. 
 
 Teresa did not join in his mirth. Awkward as it 
 would have been if he had taken a severer view of the 
 subject, she was mortified even amidst her fears and em 
 barrassment at his levity. Just as she had become con 
 vinced that his jealousy had made her over-conscious, his 
 apparent good-humored indifference gave that over-con 
 sciousness a guilty significance. Yet this was lost in her
 
 320 IN THE CAKQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 sudden alarm as her companion, looking up, uttered an 
 exclamation, and placed his hand upon his revolver. 
 With a sinking conviction that the climax had come, 
 Teresa turned her eyes. From the dim aisles beyond, Low 
 was approaching. The catastrophe seemed complete. 
 
 She had barely time to utter an imploring whisper : 
 "In the name of God, not a word to him." But a change 
 had already come over her companion. It was no longer 
 a parley with a foolish woman; he had to deal with a 
 man like himself. As Low's dark face and picturesque 
 figure came nearer, Mr. Curson's proposed method of 
 dealing with him was made audible. 
 
 "Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both?" he asked, 
 with affected anxiety. 
 
 Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault. 
 He turned to Teresa, without apparently noticing her 
 companion. "I turned back," he said quietly, "as soon as 
 I knew there were strangers here; I thought you might 
 need me." She noticed for the first time that, in addition 
 to his rifle, he carried a revolver and hunting knife in 
 his belt. 
 
 "Yeth," returned Curson, with an ineffectual attempt 
 to imitate Low's phlegm; "but ath I didn't happen to be 
 a sthranger to this lady, perhaps it wathn't nethethary, 
 particularly ath I had two friends " 
 
 "Waiting at the edge of the wood with a led horse," 
 interrupted Low, without addressing him, but apparently 
 continuing his explanation to Teresa. But she turned to 
 Low with feverish anxiety. 
 
 "That's so he is an old friend " she gave a quick, 
 imploring glance at Curson "an old friend who came to 
 help me away he is very kind," she stammered, turning 
 alternately from the one to the other; "but I told him 
 there was no hurry at least to-day that you were 
 very good too, and would hide me a little longer, until 
 your plan you know your plan," she added, with a look 
 of beseeching significance to Low "could be tried." And 
 then, with a helpless conviction that her excuses, motives, 
 and emotions were equally and perfectly transparent to 
 both men, she stopped in a tremble.
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 321 
 
 "Perhapth it 'th jutht ath well, then, that the gentle 
 man came thtraight here, and didn't tackle my two 
 friendth when he pathed them," observed Curson, half 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "I have not passed your friends, nor have I been near 
 them," said Low, looking at him for the first time, with 
 the same exasperating calm, "or perhaps I should not be 
 here or they there. I knew that one man entered the 
 wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four 
 horses remained outside." 
 
 "That's true," said Teresa to Curson excitedly "that's 
 true. He knows all. He can see without looking, hear 
 without listening. He he " she stammered, colored, 
 and stopped. 
 
 The two men had faced each other. Curson, after his 
 first good-natured impulse, had retained no wish to regain 
 Teresa, whom he felt he no longer loved, and yet who, 
 for that very reason perhaps, had awakened his chivalrous 
 instincts. Low, equally on his side, was altogether un 
 conscious of any feeling which might grow into a passion, 
 and prevent him from letting her go with another if for 
 her own safety. They were both men of a certain taste 
 and refinement. Yet, in spite of all this, some vague 
 instinct of the baser male animal remained with them, 
 and they were moved to a mutually aggressive attitude in 
 the presence of the female. 
 
 One word more, and the opening chapter of a sylvan 
 Iliad might have begun. But this modern Helen saw it 
 coming, and arrested it with an inspiration of feminine 
 genius. Without being observed, she disengaged her 
 knife from her bosom and let it fall as if by accident. 
 It struck the ground with the point of its keen blade, 
 bounded and rolled between them. The two men started 
 and looked at each other with a foolish air. Curson 
 laughed. 
 
 "I reckon she can take care of herthelf," he said, ex 
 tending his hand to Low. "I'm off. But if I'm wanted 
 she'll know where to find me." Low took the proffered 
 hand, but neither of the two men looked at Teresa. The 
 reserve of antagonism once broken, a few words of 
 
 II V. 2
 
 322 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 caution, advice, and encouragement passed between them, 
 in apparent obliviousness of her presence or her per 
 sonal responsibility. As Curson at last nodded a fare 
 well to herj Low insisted upon accompanying him as 
 far as the horses, and in another moment she was again 
 alone. 
 
 She had saved a quarrel between them at the sacrifice 
 of herself, for her vanity was still keen enough to feel 
 that this exhibition of her old weakness had degraded her 
 in their eyes, and, worse, had lost the respect her late 
 restraint had won from Low. They had treated her like 
 a child or a crazy woman, perhaps even now were ex 
 changing criticisms upon her perhaps pitying her ! Yet 
 she had prevented a quarrel, a fight; possibly the death 
 of either one or the other of these men who despised her, 
 for none better knew than she the trivial beginning and 
 desperate end of these encounters. Would they would 
 Low ever realize it, and forgive her? Her small, dark 
 hands went up to her eyes and she sank upon the ground. 
 She looked through tear-veiled lashes upon the mute and 
 giant witnesses of her deceit and passion, and tried to 
 draw, from their immovable calm, strength and consola 
 tion as before. But even they seemed to stand apart, 
 reserved and forbidding. 
 
 When Low returned she hoped to gather from his eyes 
 and manner what had passed between him and her former 
 lover. But beyond a mere gentle abstraction at times he 
 retained his usual calm. She was at last forced to allude 
 to it herself with simulated recklessness. 
 
 "I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my 
 last place?" she said, with a laugh. 
 
 "I don't understand you," he replied, in evident 
 sincerity. 
 
 She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were 
 returning home, she said gently, "I hope you were not 
 angry with me for the lie I told when I spoke of 'your 
 plan.' I could not give the real reason for not returning 
 with with that man. But it's not all a lie. I have 
 a plan if you haven't. When you are ready to go to 
 Sacramento to take your place, dress me as an Indian
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 boy, paint my face, and let me go with you. You can 
 leave me there you know." 
 
 "It's not a bad idea/' he responded gravely. "We 
 will see." 
 
 On the next day, and the next, the rencontre seemed to 
 be forgotten. The herbarium was already filled with rare 
 specimens. Teresa had even overcome her feminine re 
 pugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so far as to 
 assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn 
 from a sacred cache in the hollow of a tree the few worn 
 text-books from which he had studied. 
 
 "They seem very precious," she said, with a smile. 
 
 "Very," he replied gravely. "There was one with 
 plates that the ants ate up. and it will be six months 
 before I can afford to buy another." 
 
 Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin 
 suit, at his calico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated 
 by countless washings, and became thoughtful. 
 
 "I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring?" she 
 said innocently. 
 
 For once Low was startled out of his phlegm. "Indian 
 Spring!" he ejaculated; "perhaps not even in San Fran 
 cisco. These came from the States." 
 
 "How did you get them?" persisted Teresa. 
 
 "I bought them for skins I got over the ridge." 
 
 "I didn't mean that but no matter. Then you mean 
 to sell that bearskin, don't you?" she added. 
 
 Low had, in fact, already sold it, the proceeds having 
 been invested in a gold ring for Miss Nellie, which she 
 scrupulously did not wear except in his presence. In his 
 singular truthfulness he would have frankly confessed it 
 to Teresa, but the secret was not his own. He contented 
 himself with saying that he had disposed of it at Indian 
 Spring. 
 
 Teresa started, and communicated unconsciously some 
 of her nervousness to her companion. They gazed in 
 each other's eyes with a troubled expression. 
 
 "Do you think it was wise to sell that particular skin, 
 which might be identified?" she asked timidly. 
 
 Low knitted his arched brows, but felt a strange sense
 
 324: IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 of relief. "Perhaps not," he said carelessly; "but it's 
 too late now to mend matters." 
 
 That afternoon she wrote several letters, and tore them 
 up. One, however, she retained, and handed it to Low to 
 post at Indian Spring, whither he was going. She called 
 his attention to the superscription, being the same as the 
 previous letter, and added, with affected gayety, "But if 
 the answer isn't as prompt, perhaps it will be pleasanter 
 than the last." Her quick feminine eye noticed a little 
 excitement in his manner and a more studious attention 
 to his dress. Only a few days before she would not have 
 allowed this to pass without some mischievous allusion 
 to his mysterious sweetheart; it troubled her greatly now 
 to find that she could not bring herself to this household 
 pleasantry, and that her lip trembled and her eye grew 
 moist as he parted from her. 
 
 The afternoon passed slowly ; he had said he might not 
 return to supper until late, nevertheless a strange rest 
 lessness took possession of her as the day wore on. She 
 put aside her work, the darning of his stockings, and 
 rambled aimlessly through the woods. She had wandered 
 she knew not how far, when she was suddenly seized with 
 the same vague sense of a foreign presence which she 
 had felt before. Could it be Curson again, with a word 
 of warning? No! she knew it was not he; so subtle 
 had her sense become that she even fancied that she 
 detected in the invisible aura projected by the unknown 
 no significance or relation to herself or Low, and felt no 
 fear. Nevertheless she deemed it wisest to seek the pro 
 tection of her sylvan bower, and hurried swiftly thither. 
 
 But not so quickly nor directly that she did not once 
 or twice pause in her flight to examine the new-comer 
 from behind a friendly trunk. He was a stranger a 
 young fellow with a brown mustache, wearing heavy 
 Mexican spurs in his riding-boots, whose tinkling he ap 
 parently did not care to conceal. He had perceived her, 
 and was evidently pursuing her, but so awkwardly and 
 timidly that she eluded him with ease. When she had 
 reached the security of the hollow tree and pulled the 
 curtain of bark before the narrow opening, with her eye
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 325 
 
 to the interstices, she waited his coming. He arrived 
 breathlessly in the open space before the tree where the 
 bear once lay ; the dazed, bewildered, and half-awed ex 
 pression of his face, as he glanced around him and 
 through the openings of the forest aisles, brought a faint 
 smile to her saddened face. At last he called in a half- 
 embarrassed voice : 
 
 "Miss Nellie!" 
 
 The smile faded from Teresa's cheek. Who was "Miss 
 Nellie?" She pressed her ear to the opening. "Miss 
 Wynn !" the voice again called, but was lost in the 
 echoless woods. Devoured with a new gratuitous curi 
 osity, in another moment Teresa felt she would have dis 
 closed herself at any risk, but the stranger rose and 
 began to retrace his steps. Long after his tinkling spurs 
 were lost in the distance, Teresa remained like a statue, 
 staring at the place where he had stood. Then she sud 
 denly turned like a mad woman, glanced down at the 
 gown she was wearing, tore it from her back as if it had 
 been a polluted garment, and stamped upon it in a con 
 vulsion of rage. And then, with her beautiful bare arms 
 clasped together over her head, she threw herself upon 
 her couch in a tempest of tears. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHEN Miss Nellie reached the first mining extension 
 of Indian Spring, which surrounded it like a fosse, she 
 descended for one instant into one of its trenches, opened 
 her parasol, removed her duster, hid it under a bowlder, 
 and with a few shivers and cat-like strokes of her soft 
 hands not only obliterated all material traces of the stolen 
 cream of Carquinez Woods, but assumed a feline demure- 
 ness quite inconsistent with any moral dereliction. Un 
 fortunately, she forgot to remove at the same time a 
 certain ring from her third finger, which she had put 
 on with her duster and had worn at no other time. With 
 this slight exception, the benignant fate which always 
 protected that young person brought her in contact with
 
 326 IN THE CAEQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 the Burnham girls at one end of the main street as the 
 returning coach to Excelsior entered the other, and 
 enabled her to take leave of them before the coach office 
 with a certain ostentation of parting which struck Mr. 
 Jack Brace, who was lingering at the doorway, into a 
 state of utter bewilderment. 
 
 Here was Miss Nellie Wynn, the belle of Excelsior, 
 calm, quiet, self-possessed, her chaste cambric skirts and 
 dainty shoes as fresh as when she had left her father's 
 house ; but where was the woman of the brown duster, 
 and where the yellow-dressed apparition of the woods ? 
 He was feebly repeating to himself his mental adjuration 
 of a few hours before when he caught her eye, and was 
 taken with a blush and a fit of coughing. Could he have 
 been such an egregious fool, and was it not plainly writ 
 ten on his embarrassed face for her to read? 
 
 "Are we going down together?" asked Miss Nellie 
 with an exceptionally gracious smile. 
 
 There was neither affectation nor coquetry in this ad 
 vance. The girl had no, idea of Brace's suspicion of her, 
 nor did any uneasy desire to placate or deceive a possible 
 rival of Low's prompt her graciousness. She simply 
 wished to shake off in this encounter the already stale 
 excitement of the past two hours, as she had shaken the 
 dust of the woods from her clothes. It was characteristic 
 of her irresponsible nature and transient susceptibilities 
 that she actually enjoyed the relief of change; more than 
 that. I fear, she looked upon this infidelity to a past 
 dubious pleasure as a moral principle. A mild, open 
 flirtation with a recognized man like Brace, after her 
 secret passionate tryst with a nameless nomad like Low, 
 was an ethical equipoise that seemed proper to one of her 
 religious education. 
 
 Brace was only too happy to profit by Miss Nellie's con 
 descension; he at once secured the seat by her side, and 
 spent the four hours and a half of their return journey to 
 Excelsior in blissful but timid communion with her. If he 
 did not dare to confess his past suspicions, he was equally 
 afraid to venture upon the boldness he had premeditated 
 a few hours before. He was therefore obliged to take a
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 327 
 
 middle course of slightly egotistical narration of his own 
 personal adventures, with which he beguiled the young 
 girl's ear. This he only departed from once, to describe 
 to her a valuable grizzly bearskin which he had seen that 
 day for sale at Indian Spring, with a view to divining 
 her possible acceptance of it for a "buggy robe;" and 
 once to comment upon a ring which she had inadvertently 
 disclosed in pulling off her glove. 
 
 "It's only an old family keepsake," she added, with easy 
 mendacity; and affecting to recognize in Mr. Brace's 
 curiosity a not unnatural excuse for toying with her 
 charming fingers, she hid them in chaste and virginal se 
 clusion in her lap, until she could recover the ring and 
 resume her glove. 
 
 A week passed a week of peculiar and desiccating heat 
 for even those dry Sierra table-lands. The long days 
 were filled with impalpable dust and acrid haze suspended 
 in the motionless air; the nights were breathless and 
 dewless; the cold wind which usually swept down from 
 the snow line was laid to slee'p over a dark monotonous 
 level, whose horizon was pricked with the eating fires of 
 burning forest crests. The lagging coach of Indian 
 Spring drove up at Excelsior, and precipitated its pas 
 sengers with an accompanying cloud of dust before the 
 Excelsior Hotel. As they emerged from the coach, Mr. 
 Brace, standing in the doorway, closely scanned their 
 begrimed and almost unrecognizable faces. They were 
 the usual type of travelers : a single professional man in 
 dusty black, a few traders in tweeds and flannels, a 
 sprinkling of miners in red and gray shirts, a Chinaman, 
 a negro, and a Mexican packer or muleteer. This latter 
 for a moment mingled with the crowd in the bar-room, 
 and even penetrated the corridor and dining-room of the 
 hotel, as if impelled by a certain semi-civilized curiosity, 
 and then strolled with a lazy, dragging step half im 
 peded by the enormous leather leggings, chains, and 
 spurs, peculiar to his class down the main street. The 
 darkness was gathering, but the muleteer indulged in the 
 same childish scrutiny of the dimly lighted shops, mag 
 azines, and saloons, and even of the occasional groups of
 
 328 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 citizens at the street corners. Apparently young, as far 
 as the outlines of his figure could be seen, he seemed to 
 show even more than the usual concern of masculine Ex 
 celsior in the charms of womankind. The few female 
 figures about at that hour, or visible at window or 
 veranda, received his marked attention; he respectfully 
 followed the two auburn-haired daughters of Deacon 
 Johnson on their way to choir meeting to the door of 
 the church. Not content with that act of discreet gal 
 lantry, after they had entered he managed to slip unper- 
 ceived behind them. 
 
 The memorial of the Excelsior gamblers' generosity 
 was a modern building, large and pretentious, for even 
 Mr. Wynn's popularity, and had been good-humoredly 
 known, in the characteristic language of the generous 
 donors, as one of the "biggest religious bluffs" on record. 
 Its groined rafters, which were so new and spicy that 
 they still suggested their native forest aisles, seldom 
 covered more than a hundred devotees, and in the 
 rambling choir, with its bare space for the future organ, 
 the few choristers, gathered round a small harmonium, 
 were lost in the deepening shadow of that summer 
 evening. The muleteer remained hidden in the obscurity 
 of the vestibule. After a few moments' desultory con 
 versation, in which it appeared that the unexpected ab 
 sence of Miss Nellie Wynn, their leader, would prevent 
 their practicing, the choristers withdrew. The stranger, 
 who had listened eagerly, drew back in the darkness as 
 they passed out, and remained for a few moments a 
 vague and motionless figure in the silent church. Then 
 coming cautiously to the window, the flapping broad- 
 brimmed hat was put aside, and the faint light of the 
 dying day shone in the black eyes of Teresa! Despite 
 her face, darkened with dye and disfigured with dust, the 
 matted hair piled and twisted around her head, the strange 
 dress and boyish figure, one swift glance from under her 
 raised lashes betrayed her identity. 
 
 She turned aside mechanically into the first pew, picked 
 up and opened a hymn-book. Her eyes became riveted 
 on a name written on the title-page, "Nellie Wynn."
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 329 
 
 Her name, and her book. The instinct that had guided 
 her here was right; the slight gossip of her fellow-pas 
 sengers was right; this was the clergyman's daughter, 
 whose praise filled all mouths. This was the unknown 
 girl the stranger was seeking, but who in turn perhaps 
 had been seeking Low the girl who absorbed his fancy 
 the secret of his absences, his preoccupation, his coldness ! 
 This was the girl whom to see, perhaps in his arms, 
 she was now periling her liberty and her life unknown 
 to him ! A slight odor, some faint perfume of its owner, 
 came from the book; it was the same she had noticed in 
 the dress Low had given her. She flung the volume to 
 the ground, and, throwing her arms over the back of the 
 pew before her, buried her face in her hands. 
 
 In that light and attitude she might have seemed some 
 rapt acolyte abandoned to self-communion. But what 
 ever yearning her soul might have had for higher sym 
 pathy or deeper consolation, I fear that the spiritual 
 Tabernacle of Excelsior and the Reverend Mr. Wynn did 
 not meet that requirement. She only felt the dry, oven- 
 like heat of that vast shell, empty of sentiment and beauty, 
 hollow in its pretense and dreary in its desolation. She 
 only saw in it a chief altar for the glorification of this 
 girl who had absorbed even the pure worship of her com 
 panion, and converted and degraded his sublime paganism 
 to her petty creed. With a woman's withering contempt 
 for her own art displayed in another woman, she thought 
 how she herself could have touched him with the peace 
 that the majesty of their woodland aisles so unlike this 
 pillared sham had taught her own passionate heart, had 
 she but dared. Mingling with this imperfect theology, 
 she felt she could have proved to him also that a brunette 
 and a woman of her experience was better than an im 
 mature blonde. She began to loathe herself for coming 
 hither, and dreaded to meet his face. Here a sudden 
 thought struck her. What if he had not come here? 
 What if she had been mistaken? What if her rash 
 interpretation of his absence from the wood that night 
 was simple madness? What if he should return if he 
 had already returned? She rose to her feet, whitening
 
 330 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 yet joyful with the thought. She could return at once; 
 what was the girl to her now? Yet there was time to 
 satisfy herself if he were at her house. She had been 
 told where it was; she could find it in the dark; an open 
 door or window would betray some sign or sound of the 
 occupants. She rose, replaced her hat over her eyes, 
 knotted her flaunting scarf around her throat, groped her 
 way to the door, and glided into the outer darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 IT was quite dark when Mr. Jack Brace stopped before 
 Father Wynn's open door. The windows were also in 
 vitingly open to the wayfarer, as were the pastoral coun 
 sels of Father Wynn, delivered to some favored guest 
 within, in a tone of voice loud enough for a pulpit. Jack 
 Brace paused. The visitor was the convalescent sheriff, 
 Jim Dunn, who had publicly commemorated his recovery 
 by making his first call upon the father of his inamorata. 
 The Reverend Mr. Wynn had been expatiating upon the 
 unremitting heat of a possible precursor of forest fires, 
 and exhibiting some catholic knowledge of the designs of 
 a Deity in that regard, and what should be the policy of 
 the Legislature, when Mr. Brace concluded to enter. Mr. 
 Wynn and the wounded man, who occupied an arm-chair 
 by the window, were the only occupants of the room. 
 But in spite of the former's ostentatious greeting, Brace 
 could see that his visit was inopportune and unwelcome. 
 The sheriff nodded a quick, impatient recognition, which, 
 had it not been accompanied by an anathema on the heat, 
 might have been taken as a personal insult. Neither 
 spoke of Miss Nellie, although it was patent to Brace 
 that they were momentarily expecting her. All of which 
 went far to strengthen a certain wavering purpose in his 
 mind. 
 
 "Ah, ha! strong language, Mr. Dunn," said Father 
 Wynn, referring to the sheriff's adjuration, "but 'out of 
 the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh.' Job, sir, 
 cursed, we are told, and even expressed himself in vigorous
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 331 
 
 Hebrew regarding his birthday. Ha, ha ! I'm not op 
 posed to that. When I have often wrestled with the 
 
 spirit I confess I have sometimes said, 'D n you.' Yes, 
 
 sir, 'D n you.' " 
 
 There was something so unutterably vile in the rev 
 erend gentleman's utterance and emphasis of this oath 
 that the two men, albeit both easy and facile blasphemers, 
 felt shocked; as the purest of actresses is apt to overdo 
 the rakishness of a gay Lothario, Father Wynn's im 
 maculate conception of an imprecation was something 
 terrible. But he added, "The law ought to interfere with 
 the reckless use of camp-fires in the woods in such 
 weather by packers and prospectors." 
 
 "It isn't so much the work of white men," broke in 
 Brace, "as it is of Greasers, Chinamen, and Diggers, es 
 pecially Diggers. There's that blasted Low, ranges the 
 whole Carquinez Woods as if they were his. I reckon 
 he ain't particular just where he throws his matches." 
 
 "But he's not a Digger; he's a Cherokee, and only a 
 half-breed at that," interpolated Wynn. "Unless," he 
 added, with the artful suggestion of the betrayed trust 
 of a too credulous Christian, "he deceived me in this 
 as in other things." 
 
 In what other things Low had deceived him he did not 
 say ; but, to the astonishment of both men, Dunn growled 
 a dissent to Brace's proposition. Either from some se 
 cret irritation with that possible rival, or impatience at 
 the prolonged absence of Nellie, he had "had enough of 
 that sort of hog-wash ladled out to him for genuine 
 liquor." As to the Carquinez Woods, he [Dunn] "didn't 
 know why Low hadn't as much right there as if he'd 
 grabbed it under a preemption law and didn't live there." 
 With this hint at certain speculations of Father Wynn 
 in public lands for a homestead, he added that "If they 
 [Brace and Wynn] could bring him along any older 
 American settler than an Indian, they might rake down 
 his [Dunn's] pile." Unprepared for this turn in the con 
 versation, Wynn hastened to explain that he did not refer 
 to the pure aborigine, whose gradual extinction no one 
 regretted more than himself, but to the mongrel, who
 
 332 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 inherited only the vices of civilization. "There should 
 be a law, sir, against the mingling of races. There are 
 men, sir, who violate the laws of the Most High by living 
 with Indian women squaw men, sir, as they are called." 
 
 Dunn rose with a face livid with weakness and pas 
 sion. "Who dares say that? They are a d d sight 
 
 better than sneaking Northern Abolitionists, who married 
 their daughters to buck niggers like " But a spasm of 
 pain withheld this Parthian shot at the politics of his 
 two companions, and he sank back helplessly in his 
 chair. 
 
 An awkward silence ensued. The three men looked at 
 each other in embarrassment and confusion. Dunn felt 
 that he had given way to a gratuitous passion ; Wynn had 
 a vague presentiment that he had said something that 
 imperiled his daughter's prospects ; and Brace was divided 
 between an angry retort and the secret purpose already 
 alluded to. 
 
 "It's all the blasted heat," said Dunn, with a forced 
 smile, pushing away the whisky which Wynn had os 
 tentatiously placed before him. 
 
 "Of course," said Wynn hastily; "only it's a pity Nel 
 lie ain't here to give you her smelling-salts. She ought 
 to be back now," he added, no longer mindful of Brace's 
 presence; "the coach is over-due now, though I reckon 
 the heat made Yuba Bill take it easy at the up grade." 
 
 "If you mean the coach from Indian Spring," said 
 Brace quietly, "it's in already; but Miss Nellie didn't 
 come on it." 
 
 "May be she got out at the Crossing," said Wynn 
 cheerfully; "she sometimes does." 
 
 "She didn't take the coach at Indian Spring," re 
 turned Brace, "because I saw it leave, and passed it on 
 Buckskin ten minutes ago, coming up the hills." 
 
 "She's stopped over at Burnham's," said Wynn re 
 flectively. Then, in response to the significant silence of 
 his guests, he added, in a tone of chagrin which his 
 forced heartiness could not disguise, "Well, boys, it's a 
 disappointment all round; but we must take the lesson 
 as it comes. I'll go over to the coach office and see if
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 333 
 
 she's sent any word. Make yourselves at home until I 
 return." 
 
 When the door had closed behind him, Brace arose 
 and took his hat as if to go. With his hand on the lock, 
 he turned to his rival, who, half hidden in the gathering 
 darkness, still seemed unable to comprehend his ill-luck. 
 
 "If you're waiting for that bald-headed fraud to come 
 back with the truth about his daughter," said Brace 
 coolly, "you'd better send for your things and take up 
 your lodgings here." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Dunn sternly. 
 
 "I mean that she's not at the Burnhams'; I mean that 
 he either does or does not know where she is, and that 
 in either case he is not likely to give you information. 
 But / can." 
 
 "You can?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then, where is she?" 
 
 "In the Carquinez Woods, in the arms of the man you 
 were just defending Low, the half-breed." 
 
 The room had become so dark that from the road 
 nothing could be distinguished. Only the momentary 
 sound of struggling feet was heard. 
 
 "Sit down," said Brace's voice, "and don't be a fool. 
 You're too weak, and it ain't a fair fight. Let go your 
 hold. I'm not lying I wish to God I was !" 
 
 There was silence, and Brace resumed, "We've been 
 rivals, I know. May be I thought my chance as good as 
 yours. If what I say ain't truth, we'll stand as we stood 
 before ; and if you're on the shoot, I'm your man when 
 you like, where you like, or on sight if you choose. 
 But I can't bear to see another man played upon as I've 
 been played upon given dead away as I've been. It 
 ain't on the square. 
 
 "There," he continued, after a pause, "that's right, 
 now steady. Listen. A week ago that girl went down 
 just like this to Indian Spring. It was given out, like 
 this, that she went to the Burnhams'. I don't mind saying, 
 Dunn, that I went down myself, all on the square, thinking 
 I might get a show to talk to her, just as you might have
 
 334 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 done, you know, if you had my chance. I didn't come 
 across her anywhere. But two men that I met thought 
 they recognized her in a disguise going into the woods. 
 Not suspecting anything, I went after her ; saw her at 
 a distance in the middle of the woods in another dress 
 that I can swear to, and was just coming up to her 
 when she vanished went like a squirrel up a tree, or 
 down like a gopher in the ground, but vanished." 
 
 "Is that all?" said Dunn's voice. "And just because 
 
 you were a d d fool, or had taken a little too much 
 
 whisky, you thought " 
 
 "Steady. That's just what I said to myself," inter 
 rupted Brace coolly, "particularly when I saw her that 
 same afternoon in another dress, saying 'Good-by' to the 
 Burnhams, as fresh as a rose and as cold as those snow- 
 peaks. Only one thing she had a ring on her finger 
 she never wore before, and didn't expect me to see." 
 
 "What if she did ? She might have bought it. I reckon 
 she hasn't to consult you," broke in Dunn's voice sternly. 
 
 "She didn't buy it," continued Brace quietly. "Low 
 gave that Jew trader a bearskin in exchange for it, and 
 presented it to her. I found that out two days after 
 wards. I found out that out of the whole afternoon 
 she spent less than an hour with the Burnhams. I 
 found out that she bought a duster like the disguise the 
 two men saw her in. I found the yellow dress she wore 
 that day hanging up in Low's cabin the place where 
 I saw her go the rendezvous where she meets him. Oh, 
 you're listening are you? Stop! SIT DOWN! 
 
 "I discovered it by accident," continued the voice of 
 Brace when all was again quiet; "it was hidden as only 
 a squirrel or an Injin can hide when they improve upon 
 nature. When I was satisfied that the girl had been 
 in the woods, I was determined to find out where she 
 vanished, and went there again. Prospecting around, I 
 picked up at the foot of one of the biggest trees this 
 yer old memorandum-book, with grasses and herbs stuck 
 in it. I remembered that I'd heard old Wynn say that 
 
 Low, like the d d Digger that he was, collected these 
 
 herbs; only he pretended it was for science. I reckoned
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 385 
 
 the book was his and that he mightn't be far away. I 
 lay low and waited. Bimeby I saw a lizard running 
 down the root. When he got sight of me he stopped." 
 
 "D n the lizard ! What's that got to do with 
 
 where she is now ?" 
 
 "Everything. That lizard had a piece of sugar in his 
 mouth. Where did it come from? I made him drop it, 
 and calculated he'd go back for more. He did. He 
 scooted up that tree and slipped in under some hanging 
 strips of bark. I shoved 'em aside, and found an open 
 ing to the hollow where they do their housekeeping." 
 
 "But you didn't see her there and how do you know 
 she is there now?" 
 
 "I determined to make it sure. When she left to-day, 
 I started an hour ahead of her, and hid myself at the edge 
 of the woods. An hour after the coach arrived at Indian 
 Spring, she came there in a brown duster and was joined 
 
 by him. I'd have followed them, but the d d hound 
 
 has the ears of a squirrel, and though I was five hundred 
 yards from him he was on his guard." 
 
 "Guard be blessed ! Wasn't you armed ? Why didn't 
 you go for him?" said Dunn, furiously. 
 
 "I reckoned I'd leave that for you," said Brace coolly. 
 "If he'd killed me, and il he'd even covered me with his 
 rifle, he'd been sure to let daylight through me at 
 double the distance. I shouldn't have been any better 
 off, nor you either. If I'd killed him, it would have been 
 your duty as sheriff to put me in jail; and I reckon it 
 wouldn't have broken your heart, Jim Dunn, to have 
 got rid of two rivals instead of one. Hullo ! Where are 
 you going?" 
 
 "Going?" said Dunn hoarsely. "Going to the Car- 
 quinez Woods, by God ! to kill him before her. I'll risk 
 it, if you daren't. Let me succeed, and you can hang me 
 and take the girl yourself." 
 
 "Sit down, sit down. Don't be a fool, Jim Dunn ! 
 You wouldn't keep the saddle a hundred yards. Did I 
 say I wouldn't help you? No. If you're willing, we'll 
 run the risk together, but it must be in my way. Hear 
 me. I'll drive you down there in a buggy before daylight,
 
 336 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 and we'll surprise them in the cabin or as they leave the 
 wood. But you must come as if to arrest him for some 
 offense say, as an escaped Digger from the Reservation, 
 a dangerous tramp, a destroyer of public property in 
 the forests, a suspected road agent, or anything to give 
 you the right to hunt him. The exposure of him and 
 Nellie, don't you see, must be accidental. If he resists, 
 kill him on the spot, and nobody'll blame you; if he goes 
 peaceably with you, and you once get him in Excelsior 
 jail, when the story gets out that he's taken the belle of 
 Excelsior for his squaw, if you'd the angels for your 
 posse you couldn't keep the boys from hanging him to the 
 first tree. What's that?" 
 
 He walked to the window, and looked out cautiously. 
 
 "If it was the old man coming back and listening," he 
 said, after a pause, "it can't be helped. He'll hear it 
 soon enough, if he don't suspect something already." 
 
 "Look yer, Brace," broke in Dunn hoarsely. "D d 
 
 if I understand you or you me. That dog Low has got 
 to answer to me, not to the law! I'll take my risk of 
 killing him, on sight and on the square. I don't reckon 
 to handicap myself with a warrant, and I am not going 
 to draw him out with a lie. You hear me? That's me 
 all the time!" 
 
 "Then you calkilate to go down thar," said Brace con 
 temptuously, "yell out for him and Nellie, and let him 
 line you on a rest from the first tree as if you were a 
 grizzly." 
 
 There was a pause. "What's that you were saying 
 just now about a bearskin he sold?" asked Dunn slowly, 
 as if reflecting. 
 
 "He exchanged a bearskin," replied Brace, "with a 
 single hole right over the heart. He's a dead shot, I 
 tell you." 
 
 "D n his shooting," said Dunn. "I'm not thinking 
 
 of that. How long ago did he bring in that bearskin?" 
 
 "About two weeks, I reckon. Why?" 
 
 "Nothing ! Look yer, Brace, you mean well thar's 
 my hand. I'll go down with you there, but not as the 
 sheriff, I'm going there as Jim Dunn, and you can come
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 337 
 
 along as a white man, to see things fixed on the square. 
 Come !" 
 
 Brace hesitated. "You'll think better of my plan be 
 fore you get there; but I've said I'd stand by you, and 
 I will. Come, then. There's no time to lose." 
 
 They passed out into the darkness together. 
 
 "What are you waiting for?" said Dunn impatiently, 
 as Brace, who was supporting him by the arm, suddenly 
 halted at the corner of the house. 
 
 "Some one was listening did you not see him? Was 
 it the old man?" asked Brace hurriedly. 
 
 "Blast the old man ! It was only one of them Mexican 
 packers chock-full of whisky, and trying to hold up the 
 house. What are you thinking of? We shall be late." 
 
 In spite of his weakness, the wounded man hurriedly 
 urged Brace forward, until they reached the latter's 
 lodgings . To his surprise, the horse and buggy were 
 already before the door. 
 
 "Then you reckoned to go, any way?" said Dunn, 
 with a searching look at his companion. 
 
 "I calkilated somebody would go," returned Brace, 
 evasively, patting the impatient Buckskin ; "but come in 
 and take a drink before we leave." 
 
 Dunn started out of a momentary abstraction, put 
 his hand on his hip, and mechanically entered the house. 
 They had scarcely raised the glasses to their lips when 
 a sudden rattle of wheels was heard in the street. Brace 
 set down his glass and ran to the window. 
 
 "It's the mare bolted," he said, with an oath. "We've 
 kept her too long standing. Follow me," and he dashed 
 down the staircase into the street. Dunn followed with 
 difficulty; when he reached the door he was already con 
 fronted by his breathless companion. "She's gone off on 
 a run, and I'll swear there was a man in the buggy!" 
 He stopped and examined the halter-strap, still fastened 
 to the fence. "Cut ! by God !" 
 
 Dunn turned pale with passion. "Who's got another 
 horse and buggy?" he demanded. 
 
 "The new blacksmith in Main Street; but we won't 
 get it by borrowing," said Brace,
 
 338 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "How then?" asked Dunn savagely. 
 
 "Seize it, as the sheriff of Yuba and his deputy, 
 pursuing a confederate of the Injin Low THE HORSE 
 THIEF!" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE brief hour of darkness that preceded the dawn 
 was that night intensified by a dense smoke, which, after 
 blotting out horizon and sky, dropped a thick veil on the 
 high road and the silent streets of Indian Spring. As 
 the buggy containing Sheriff Dunn and Brace dashed 
 through the obscurity, Brace suddenly turned to his com 
 panion. 
 
 "Some one ahead !" 
 
 The two men bent forward over the dashboard. Above 
 the steady plunging of their own horse-hoofs they could 
 hear the quicker irregular beat of other hoofs in the 
 darkness before them. 
 
 "It's that horse thief !" said Dunn, in a savage whisper. 
 "Bear to the right, and hand me the whip." 
 
 A dozen cuts of the cruel lash, and their maddened 
 horse, bounding at each stroke, broke into a wild canter. 
 The frail vehicle swayed from side to side at each spring 
 of the elastic shafts. Steadying himself by one hand 
 on the low rail, Dunn drew his revolver with the other. 
 "Sing out to him to pull up, or we'll fire. My voice is 
 clean gone," he added, in a husky whisper. 
 
 They were so near that they could distinguish the bulk 
 of a vehicle careering from side to side in the blackness 
 ahead. Dunn deliberately raised his weapon. "Sing 
 out!" he repeated impatiently. But Brace, who was still 
 keeping in the shadow, suddenly grasped his companion's 
 arm. 
 
 "Hush! It's not Buckskin/' he whispered hurriedly. 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Don't you see we're gaining on him?" replied the other 
 contemptuously. Dunn grasped his companion's hand 
 and pressed it silently. Even in that supreme moment
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 389 
 
 this horseman's tribute to the fugitive Buckskin fore 
 stalled all baser considerations of pursuit and capture ! 
 
 In twenty seconds they were abreast of the stranger, 
 crowding his horse and buggy nearly into the ditch ; 
 Brace keenly watchful, Dunn suppressed and pale. In 
 half a minute they were leading him a length; and when 
 their horse again settled down to his steady work, the 
 stranger was already lost in the circling dust that fol 
 lowed them. But the victors seemed disappointed. The 
 obscurity had completely hidden all but the vague outlines 
 of the mysterious driver. 
 
 "He's not our game, anyway," whispered Dunn. 
 "Drive on." 
 
 "But if it was some friend of his," suggested Brace 
 uneasily, "what would you do?" 
 
 "What I said I'd do/' responded Dunn savagely. "I 
 don't want five minutes to do it in, either; we'll be half 
 
 an hour ahead of that d d fool, whoever he is. Look 
 
 here ; all you've got to do is to put me in the trail to 
 that cabin. Stand back of me, out of gun-shot, alone, if 
 you like, as my deputy, or with any number you can pick 
 up as my posse. If he gets by me as Nellie's lover, you 
 may shoot him or take him as a horse thief, if you like." 
 
 "Then you won't shoot him on sight?" 
 
 "Not till I've had a word with him." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "I've chirped," said the sheriff gravely. "Drive on." 
 
 For a few moments only the plunging hoofs and rat 
 tling wheels were heard. A dull, lurid glow began to 
 define the horizon. They were silent until an abatement 
 of the smoke, the vanishing of the gloomy horizon line, 
 and a certain impenetrability in the darkness ahead 
 showed them they were nearing the Carquinez Woods. 
 But they were surprised on entering them to find the 
 dim aisles alight with a faint mystic Aurora. The tops of 
 the towering spires above them had caught the gleam of 
 the distant forest fires, and reflected it as from a gilded 
 dome. 
 
 "It would be hot work if the Carquinez Woods should 
 conclude to take a hand in this yer little game that's
 
 340 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 going on over on the Divide yonder," said Brace, securing 
 his horse and glancing at the spires overhead. "I reckon 
 I'd rather take a back seat at Injin Spring when the 
 show commences." 
 
 Dunn did not reply, but, buttoning his coat, placed one 
 hand on his companion's shoulder, and sullenly bade him 
 "lead the way." Advancing slowly and with difficulty 
 the desperate man might have been taken for a peaceful 
 invalid returning from an early morning stroll. His 
 right hand was buried thoughtfully in the side pocket of 
 his coat. Only Brace knew that it rested on the handle 
 of his pistol. 
 
 From time to time the latter stopped and consulted the 
 faint trail with a minuteness that showed recent careful 
 study. Suddenly he paused. "I made a blaze hereabouts 
 to show where to leave the trail. There it is," he added, 
 pointing to a slight notch cut in the trunk of an adjoining 
 tree. 
 
 "But we've just passed one," said Dunn, "if that's what 
 you are looking after, a hundred yards back." 
 
 Brace uttered an oath, and ran back in the direction 
 signified by his companion. Presently he returned with 
 a smile of triumph. 
 
 "They've suspected something. It's a clever trick, but 
 it won't hold water. That blaze which was done to 
 muddle you was cut with an axe ; this which I made was 
 done with a bowie-knife. It's the real one. We're not 
 far off now. Come on." 
 
 They proceeded cautiously, at right angles with the 
 "blazed" tree, for ten minutes more. The heat was op 
 pressive; drops of perspiration rolled from the fore 
 head of the sheriff, and at times, when he attempted 
 to steady his uncertain limbs, his hands shrank from 
 the heated, blistering bark he touched with ungloved 
 palms. 
 
 "Here we are," said Brace, pausing at last. "Do you 
 see that biggest tree, with the root stretching out half 
 way across to the opposite one?" 
 
 "No, it's further to the right and abreast of the dead 
 brush," interrupted Dunn quickly, with a sudden revela-
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 341 
 
 tion that this was the spot where he had found the dead 
 bear in the night Teresa escaped. 
 
 "That's so," responded Brace, in astonishment. 
 
 "And the opening is on the other side, opposite the 
 dead brush," said Dunn. 
 
 "Then you know it ?" said Brace suspiciously. 
 
 "I reckon !" responded Dunn, grimly. "That's enough ! 
 Fall back !" 
 
 To the surprise of his companion, he lifted his head 
 erect, and with a strong, firm step walked directly to the 
 tree. Reaching it, he planted himself squarely before the 
 opening. 
 
 "Halloo !" he said. 
 
 There was no reply. A squirrel scampered away close 
 to his feet. Brace, far in the distance, after an in 
 effectual attempt to distinguish his companion through 
 the intervening trunks, took off his coat, leaned against a 
 tree, and lit a cigar. 
 
 "Come out of that cabin !" continued Dunn, in a clear, 
 resonant voice. "Come out before I drag you out !" 
 
 "All right, 'Captain Scott.' Don't shoot, and I'll come 
 down," said a voice as clear and as high as his own. The 
 hanging strips of bark were dashed aside, and a woman 
 leaped lightly to the ground. 
 
 Dunn staggered back. "Teresa ! by the Eternal !" 
 
 It was Teresa ! the old Teresa ! Teresa, a hundred times 
 more vicious, reckless, hysterical, extravagant, and out 
 rageous than before. Teresa, staring with tooth and eye, 
 sunburnt and embrowned, her hair hanging down her 
 shoulders, and her shawl drawn tightly around her 
 neck. 
 
 "Teresa it is ! the same old gal ! Here we are again ! 
 Return of the favorite in her original character ! For 
 two weeks only ! Houp la ! Tshk !" and, catching her 
 yellow skirt with her fingers, she pirouetted before the 
 astounded man, and ended in a pose. Recovering him 
 self with an effort, Dunn dashed forward and seized her 
 by the wrist. 
 
 "Answer me, woman! Is that Low's cabin?" 
 
 "It is."
 
 342 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "Who occupies it besides?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And who else?" 
 
 "Well," drawled Teresa slowly, with an extravagant 
 affectation of modesty, "nobody else but us, I reckon. 
 Two's company, you know, and three's none." 
 
 "Stop ! Will you swear that there isn't a young girl, 
 his his sweetheart concealed there with you?" 
 
 The fire in Teresa's eye was genuine as she answered 
 steadily, "Well, it ain't my style to put up with that sort 
 of thing; at least, it wasn't over at Yolo, and you know 
 it, Jim Dunn, or I wouldn't be here." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Dunn hurriedly. "But I'm a d d 
 
 fool, or worse, the fool of a fool. Tell me, Teresa, is this 
 man Low your lover?" 
 
 Teresa lowered her eyes as if in maidenly confusion. 
 "Well, if I'd known that you had any feeling of your own 
 about it if you'd spoken sooner " 
 
 "Answer me, you devil !" 
 
 "He is." 
 
 "And he has been with you here yesterday to-night?" 
 
 "He has." 
 
 "Enough." He laughed a weak, foolish laugh, and, 
 turning pale, suddenly lapsed against a tree. He would 
 have fallen, but with a quick instinct Teresa sprang to 
 his side, and supported him gently to a root. The action 
 over they both looked astounded. 
 
 "I reckon that wasn't much like either you or me," 
 said Dunn slowly, "was it? But if you'd let me drop 
 then you'd have stretched out the biggest fool in the 
 Sierras." He paused, and looked at her curiously. 
 "What's come over you; blessed if I seem to know you 
 now." 
 
 She was very pale again, and quiet; that was all. 
 
 "Teresa ! d n it, look here ! When I was laid up 
 
 yonder in Excelsior I said I wanted to get well for only 
 two things. One was to hunt you down, the other to 
 marry Nellie Wynn. When I came here I thought that 
 last thing could never be. I came here expecting to find 
 her here with Low, and kill him perhaps kill her too.
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 343 
 
 I never once thought of you ; not once. You might have 
 risen up before me between me and him and I'd have 
 passed you by. And now that I find it's all a mistake, 
 and it was you, not her, I was looking for, why " 
 
 "Why," she interrupted bitterly, "you'll just take me, 
 of course, to save your time and earn your salary. I'm 
 ready." 
 
 "But I'm not, just yet," he said faintly. "Help me 
 up." 
 
 She mechanically assisted him to his feet. 
 
 "Now stand where you are," he added, "and don't move 
 beyond this tree till I return." 
 
 He straightened himself with an effort, clenched his 
 fists until the nails were nearly buried in his palms, and 
 strode with a firm, steady step in the direction he had 
 come. In a few moments he returned and stood before 
 her. 
 
 "I've sent away my deputy the man who brought me 
 here, the fool who thought you were Nellie. He knows 
 now he made a mistake. But who it was he mistook for 
 Nellie he does not know, nor shall ever know, nor shall 
 any living being know, other than myself. And when I 
 leave the wood to-day I shall know it no longer. You are 
 safe here as far as I am concerned, but I cannot screen 
 you from others prying. Let Low take you away from 
 here as soon as he can." 
 
 "Let him take me away? Ah, yes. For what?" 
 
 "To save you," said Dunn. "Look here, Teresa! 
 Without knowing it, you lifted me out of hell just now, 
 and because of the wrong I might have done her for her 
 sake, I spare you and shirk my duty." 
 
 "For her sake !" gasped the woman "for her sake ! 
 Oh, yes ! Go on." 
 
 "Well," said Dunn gloomily, "I reckon perhaps you'd 
 as lieve left me in hell, for all the love you bear me. And 
 may be you've grudge enough agin me still to wish I'd 
 found her and him together." 
 
 "You think so?" she said, turning her head away. 
 
 "There, d n it ! I didn't mean to make you cry. 
 
 May be you wouldn't, then. Only tell that fellow to
 
 344 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 take you out of this, and not run away the next time 
 he sees a man coming." 
 
 "He didn't run," said Teresa, with flashing eyes. "I 
 I I sent him away," she stammered. Then, suddenly 
 turning with fury upon him, she broke out, "Run ! Run 
 from you! Ha, ha! You said just now I'd a grudge 
 against you. Well, listen, Jim Dunn. I'd only to bring 
 you in range of that young man's rifle, and you'd have 
 dropped in your tracks like " 
 
 "Like that bar, the other night," said Dunn, with a 
 short laugh. "So that was your little game?" He 
 checked his laugh suddenly a cloud passed over his face. 
 "Look here, Teresa," he said, with an assumption of care 
 lessness that was as transparent as it was utterly incom 
 patible with his frank, open selfishness. "What became of 
 that bar? The skin eh? That was worth something ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Teresa quietly. "Low exchanged it and 
 got a ring for me from that trader Isaacs. It was worth 
 more, you bet. And the ring didn't fit either " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Dunn, with an almost childish 
 eagerness. 
 
 "And I made him take it back, and get the value in 
 money. I hear that Isaacs sold it again and made 
 another profit; but that's like those traders." The disin 
 genuous candor of Teresa's manner was in exquisite con 
 trast to Dunn. He rose and grasped her hand so heartily 
 she was forced to turn her eyes away. 
 
 "Good-by!" he said. 
 
 "You look tired," she murmured, with a sudden gen 
 tleness that surprised him; "let me go with you a part 
 of the way." 
 
 "It isn't safe for you just now," he said, thinking of 
 the possible consequences of the alarm Brace had raised. 
 
 "Not the way you came," she replied; "but one known 
 only to myself." 
 
 He hesitated only a moment. "All right, then," he 
 said finally, "let us go at once. It's suffocating here, and 
 I seem to feel this dead bark crinkle under my feet." 
 
 She cast a rapid glance around her, and then seemed 
 to sound with her eyes the far-off depths of the aisles,
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 345 
 
 beginning to grow pale with the advancing day, but still 
 holding a strange quiver of heat in the air. When she 
 had finished her half-abstracted scrutiny of the distance, 
 she cast one backward glance at her own cabin and 
 stopped. 
 
 "Will you wait a moment for me?" she asked gently. 
 
 "Yes but no tricks, Teresa ! It isn't worth the time." 
 
 She looked him squarely in the eyes without a word. 
 
 "Enough," he said; "go!" 
 
 She was absent for some moments. He was beginning 
 to become uneasy, when she made her appearance again, 
 clad in her old faded black dress. Her face was very 
 pale, and her eyes were swollen, but she placed his hand 
 on her shoulder, and bidding him not to fear to lean 
 upon her, for she was quite strong, led the way. 
 
 "You look more like yourself now, and yet blast it 
 all ! you don't either," said Dunn, looking down upon 
 her. "You've changed in some way. What is it? Is it 
 on account of that Injin? Couldn't you have found a 
 white man in his place?" 
 
 "I reckon he's neither worse nor better for that," she 
 replied bitterly; "and perhaps he wasn't as particular in 
 his taste as a white man might have been. But," she 
 added, with a sudden spasm of her old rage, "it's a lie; 
 he's not an Indian, no more than I am. Not unless being 
 born of a mother who scarcely knew him, of a father who 
 never even saw him, and being brought up among white 
 men and wild beasts less cruel than they were could 
 make him one !" 
 
 Dunn looked at her in surprise not unmixed with ad 
 miration. "If Nellie," he thought, "could but love me 
 like that !" But he only said : 
 
 "For all that, he's an Injin. Why, look at his name. 
 It ain't Low. It's L'Eau Dormante, Sleeping Water, an 
 Injin name." 
 
 "And what does that prove?" returned Teresa. "Only 
 that Indians clap a nick-name on any stranger, white or 
 red, who may camp with them. Why, even his own 
 father, a white man, the wretch who begot him and 
 abandoned him, he had an Indian name Loup Noir."
 
 346 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "What name did you say?" 
 
 "Le Loup Noir, the Black Wolf. I suppose you'd call 
 him an Indian, too ? Eh ! What's the matter ? We're 
 walking too fast. Stop a moment and rest. There 
 there, lean on me !" 
 
 She was none too soon; for, after holding him upright 
 a moment, his limbs failed, and stooping gently she was 
 obliged to support him half reclining against a tree. 
 
 "It's the heat !" he said. "Give me some whisky from 
 my flask. Never mind the water," he added faintly, with 
 a forced laugh, after he had taken a draught at the strong 
 spirit. "Tell me more about the other water the 
 Sleeping Water you know. How do you know all this 
 about him and his father?" 
 
 "Partly from him and partly from Curson, who wrote 
 to me about him," she answered with some hesitation. 
 
 But Dunn did not seem to notice this incongruity of 
 correspondence with a former lover. "And he told 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes ; and I saw the name on an old memorandum book 
 he has, which he says belonged to his father. It's full of 
 old accounts of some trading post on the frontier. It's 
 been missing for a day or two, but it will turn up. 
 But I can swear I saw it." 
 
 Dunn attempted to rise to his feet. "Put your hand in 
 my pocket," he said in a hurried whisper. "No, there ! 
 bring out a book. There, I haven't looked at it yet. Is 
 that it?" he added, handing her the book Brace had given 
 him a few hours before. 
 
 "Yes," said Teresa, in surprise. "Where did you 
 find it ?" 
 
 "Never mind ! Now let me see it, quick. Open it, for 
 my sight is failing. There thank you that's all 1" 
 
 "Take more whisky," said Teresa, with a strange 
 anxiety creeping over her. "You are faint again." 
 
 "Wait! Listen, Teresa lower put your ear lower. 
 Listen ! I came near killing that chap Low to-day. 
 Wouldn't it have been ridiculous?" 
 
 He tried to smile, but his head fell back. He had 
 fainted.
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 347 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FOR the first time in her life Teresa lost her presence 
 of mind in an emergency. She could only sit staring at 
 the helpless man, scarcely conscious of his condition, her 
 mind filled with a sudden prophetic intuition of the 
 significance of his last words. In the light of that new 
 revelation she looked into his pale, haggard face for some 
 resemblance to Low, but in vain. Yet her swift feminine 
 instinct met the objection. "It's the mother's blood that 
 would show," she murmured, "not this man's." 
 
 Recovering herself, she began to chafe his hands 
 and temples, and moistened his lips with the spirit. 
 When his respiration returned with a faint color to his 
 cheeks, she pressed his hands eagerly and leaned over 
 him. 
 
 "Are you sure?" she asked. 
 
 "Of what?" he whispered faintly. 
 
 "That Low is really your son?" 
 
 "Who said so?" he asked, opening his round eyes 
 upon her. 
 
 "You did yourself, a moment ago," she said quickly. 
 "Don't you remember?" 
 
 "Did I ?" 
 
 "You did. Is it not so?" 
 
 He smiled faintly. "I reckon." 
 
 She held her breath in expectation. But only the 
 ludicrousness of- the discovery seemed paramount to his 
 weakened faculties. "Isn't it just about the ridiculousest 
 thing all round?" he said, with a feeble chuckle. "First 
 you nearly kill me before you know I am Low's father; 
 then I'm just spoilin' to kill him before I know he's my 
 son; then that god-forsaken fool Jack Brace mistakes you 
 for Nellie and Nellie for you. Ain't it just the biggest 
 thing for the boys to get hold of? But we must keep it 
 dark until after I marry Nellie, don't you see? Then 
 we'll have a good time all round, and I'll stand the drinks. 
 Think of it, Teresha ! You don' no me, I do' no you, 
 nobody knowsh anybody elsh. I try kill Lo'. Lo' wants
 
 348 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 kill Nellie. No thath no ri ' " but the potent liquor, over 
 taking his exhausted senses, thickened, impeded, and at 
 last stopped his speech. His head slipped to her shoulder, 
 and he became once more unconscious. 
 
 Teresa breathed again. In that brief moment she had 
 abandoned herself to a wild inspiration of hope which 
 she could scarcely define. Not that it was entirely a wild 
 inspiration ; she tried to reason calmly. What if she 
 revealed the truth to him ? What if she told the wretched 
 man before her that she had deceived him; that she had 
 overheard his conversation with Brace; that she had 
 stolen Brace's horse to Bring Low warning; that, failing 
 to find Low in his accustomed haunts, or at the camp- 
 fire, she had left a note for him pinned to the herbarium, 
 imploring him to fly with his companion from the danger 
 that was coming; and that, remaining on watch, she had 
 seen them both Brace and Dunn approaching, and had 
 prepared to meet them at the cabin? Would this mis 
 erable and maddened man understand her self-abnegation ? 
 Would he forgive Low and Nellie? she did not ask for 
 herself. Or would the revelation turn his brain, if it did 
 not kill him outright? She looked at the sunken orbits 
 of his eyes and hectic on his cheek, and shuddered. 
 
 Why was this added to the agony she already suffered? 
 She had been willing to stand between them with her 
 life, her liberty, and even the hot blood dyed her cheek 
 at the thought with the added shame of being thought 
 the cast-off mistress of that man's son. Yet all this she 
 had taken upon herself in expiation of something she 
 knew not clearly what; no, for nothing only for him.- 
 And yet this very situation offered her that gleam of hope 
 which had thrilled her; a hope so wild in its improba 
 bility, so degrading in its possibility, that at first she 
 knew not whether despair was not preferable to its 
 shame. And yet was it unreasonable? She was no 
 longer passionate; she would be calm and think it out 
 fairly. 
 
 She would go to Low at once. She would find him 
 somewhere and even if with that girl, what mattered? 
 and she would tell him all. When he knew that the life
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 349 
 
 and death of his father lay in the scale, would he let his 
 brief, foolish passion for Nellie stand in the way? Even 
 if he were not influenced by filial affection or mere com 
 passion, would his pride let him stoop to a rivalry with the 
 man who had deserted his youth? Could he take Dunn's 
 promised bride, who must have coquetted with him to 
 have brought him to this miserable plight ? Was this like 
 the calm, proud young god she knew ? Yet she had an 
 uneasy instinct that calm, proud young gods and god 
 desses did things like this, and felt the weakness of her 
 reasoning flush her own conscious cheek. 
 
 "Teresa !" 
 
 She started. Dunn was awake, and was gazing at her 
 curiously. 
 
 "I was reckoning it was the only square thing for Low 
 to stop this promiscuous picnicking here and marry you 
 out and out." 
 
 "Marry me !" said Teresa in a voice that, with all her 
 efforts, she could not make cynical. 
 
 "Yes," he repeated, "after I've married Nellie; tote you 
 down to San Angeles, and there take my name like a man, 
 and give it to you. Nobody'll ask after Teresa, sure you 
 bet your life. And if they do, and he can't stop their 
 jaw, just you call on the old man. It's mighty queer, 
 ain't it, Teresa, to think of your being my daughter- 
 in-law?" 
 
 It seemed here as if he was about to lapse again into 
 unconsciousness over the purely ludicrous aspect of the 
 subject, but he haply recovered his seriousness. "He'll 
 have as much money from me as he wants to go into 
 business with. What's his line of business, Teresa?" 
 asked this prospective father-in-law, in a large, liberal 
 way. 
 
 "He is a botanist !" said Teresa, with a sudden childish 
 animation that seemed to keep up the grim humor of the 
 paternal suggestion ; "and oh, he is too poor to buy books ! 
 I sent for one or two for him myself, the other day " 
 she hesitated "it was all the money I had, but it wasn't 
 enough for him to go on with his studies." 
 
 Dunn looked at her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks,
 
 S50 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 and became thoughtful. "Curson must have been a 
 d d fool," he said finally. 
 
 Teresa remained silent. She was beginning to be im 
 patient and uneasy, fearing some mischance that might 
 delay her dreaded, yet longed-for meeting with Low. 
 Yet she could not leave this sick and exhausted man, 
 his father, now bound to her by more than mere 
 humanity. 
 
 "Couldn't you manage," she said gently, "to lean on me 
 a few steps further, until I could bring you to a cooler 
 spot and nearer assistance? 
 
 He nodded. She lifted him almost like a child to his 
 feet. A spasm of pain passed over his face. "How far 
 is it?" he asked. 
 
 "Not more than ten minutes," she replied. 
 
 "I can make a spurt for that time," he said coolly, and 
 began to walk slowly but steadily on. Only his face, 
 which was white and set, and the convulsive grip of his 
 hand on her arm betrayed the effort. At the end of ten 
 minutes she stopped. They stood before the splintered, 
 lightning-scarred shaft in the opening of the woods, where 
 Low had built her first camp-fire. She carefully picked 
 up the herbarium, but her quick eye had already detected 
 in the distance, before she had allowed Dunn to enter the 
 opening with her, that her note was gone. Low had been 
 there before them; he had been warned, as his absence 
 from the cabin showed ; he would not return there. They 
 were free from interruption but where had he gone? 
 
 The sick man drew a long breath of relief as she 
 seated him in the clover-grown hollow where she had 
 slept the second night of her stay. "It's cooler than 
 those cursed woods," he said. "I suppose it's because 
 it's a little like a grave. What are you going to do 
 now?" he added, as she brought a cup of water and 
 placed it at his side. 
 
 "I am going to leave you here for a little while," she 
 said cheerfully, but with a pale face and nervous hands. 
 "I'm going to leave you while I seek Low." 
 
 The sick man raised his head. "I'm good for a spurt, 
 Teresa, like that I've just got through, but I don't
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 351 
 
 think I'm up to a family party. Couldn't you issue cards 
 later on?" 
 
 "You don't understand," she said. "I'm going to get 
 Low to send some one of your friends to you here. I 
 don't think he'll begrudge leaving her a moment for 
 that," she added to herself bitterly. 
 
 "What's that you're saying?" he queried, with the 
 nervous quickness of an invalid. 
 
 "Nothing but that I'm going now." She turned her 
 face aside to hide her moistened eyes. "Wish me good 
 luck, won't you?" she asked, half sadly, half pettishly. 
 
 "Come here !" 
 
 She came and bent over him. He suddenly raised his 
 hands, and, drawing her face down to his own, kissed 
 her forehead. 
 
 "Give that to him," he whispered, "from me" 
 
 She turned and fled, happily for her sentiment, not 
 hearing the feeble laugh that followed, as Dunn, in sheer 
 imbecility, again referred to the extravagant ludicrous- 
 ness of the situation. "It is about the biggest thing 
 in the way of a sell all round," he repeated, lying on 
 his back, confidentially to the speck of smoke-obscured 
 sky above him. He pictured himself repeating it, not to 
 Nellie her severe propriety might at last overlook the 
 fact, but would not tolerate the joke but to her father ! 
 It would be one of those characteristic Calif ornian jokes 
 Father Wynn would admire. 
 
 To his exhaustion fever presently succeeded, and he 
 began to grow restless. The heat too seemed to invade 
 his retreat, and from time to time the little patch of 
 blue sky was totally obscured by clouds of smoke. He 
 amused himself with watching a lizard who was investi 
 gating a folded piece of paper, whose elasticity gave the 
 little creature lively apprehensions of its vitality. At 
 last he could stand the stillness of his reatreat and his 
 supine position no longer, and rolled himself out of the 
 bed of leaves that Teresa had so carefully prepared for 
 him. He rose to his feet stiff and sore, and, supporting 
 himself by the nearest tree, moved a few steps from 
 the dead ashes of the camp-fire. The movement fright-
 
 352 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 ened the lizard, who abandoned the paper and fled. 
 With a satirical recollection of Brace and his "ridicu 
 lous" discovery through the medium of this animal, he 
 stooped and picked up the paper. "Like as not," he said 
 to himself, with grim irony, "these yer lizards are in 
 the discovery business. P'r'aps this may lead to another 
 mystery," and he began to unfold the paper with a smile. 
 But the smile ceased as his eye suddenly caught his own 
 name. 
 
 A dozen lines were written in pencil on what seemed 
 to be a blank leaf originally torn from some book. He 
 trembled so that he was obliged to sit down to read 
 these words: 
 
 "When you get this keep away from the woods. Dunn 
 and another man are in deadly pursuit of you and your 
 companion. I overheard their plan to surprise you in 
 our cabin. Don't go there, and I will delay them and 
 put them off the scent. Don't mind me. God bless you, 
 and if you never see me again think sometimes of 
 
 "TERESA." 
 
 His trembling ceased; he did not start, but rose in an 
 abstracted way, and made a few deliberate steps in the 
 direction Teresa had gone. Even then he was so con 
 fused that he was obliged to refer to the paper again, 
 but with so little effect that he could only repeat the last 
 words, "think sometimes of Teresa." He was conscious 
 that this was not all; he had a full conviction of being 
 deceived, and knew that he held the proof in his hand, 
 but he could not formulate it beyond that sentence. 
 "Teresa" yes, he would think of her. She would ex 
 plain it. And here she was returning. 
 
 In that brief interval her face and manner had again 
 changed. Her face was pale and quite breathless. She 
 cast a swift glance at Dunn and the paper he mechanic 
 ally held out, walked up to him, and tore it from his hand. 
 
 "Well," she said hoarsely, "what are you going to do 
 about it?" 
 
 He attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. Even 
 then he was conscious that if he had spoken he would
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 853 
 
 have only repeated, "think sometimes of Teresa." He 
 looked longingly but helplessly at the spot where she had 
 thrown the paper, as if it had contained his unuttered 
 words. 
 
 "Yes," she went on to herself, as if he was a mute, 
 indifferent spectator "yes, they're gone. That ends it 
 all. The game's played out. Well !" suddenly turning 
 upon him, "now you know it all. Your Nellie was here 
 with him, and is with him now. Do you hear? Make 
 the most of it ; you've lost them but here I am." 
 
 "Yes," he said eagerly "yes, Teresa." 
 
 She stopped, stared at him; then taking him by the 
 hand led him like a child back to his couch. "Well," she 
 said, in half-savage explanation, "I told you the truth 
 when I said the girl wasn't at the cabin last night, and 
 that I didn't know her. What are you glowerin' at? 
 No ! I haven't lied to you, I swear to God, except in one 
 thing. Did you know what that was? To save him I 
 took upon me a shame I don't deserve. I let you think 
 I was his mistress. You think so now, don't you? Well, 
 before God to-day and He may take me when He likes 
 I'm no more to him than a sister ! I reckon your Nellie 
 can't say as much." 
 
 She turned away, and with the quick, impatient stride 
 of some caged animal made the narrow circuit of the 
 opening, stopping a moment mechanically before the sick 
 man, and again, without looking at him, continuing her 
 monotonous round. The heat had become excessive, but 
 she held her shawl with both hands drawn tightly over 
 her shoulders. Suddenly a wood-duck darted out of the 
 covert blindly into the opening, struck against the blasted 
 trunk, fell half stunned near her feet, and then, recov 
 ering, fluttered away. She had scarcely completed 
 another circuit before the irruption was followed by a 
 whirring bevy of quail, a flight of jays, and a sudden 
 tumult of wings swept through the wood like a tornado. 
 She turned inquiringly to Dunn, who had risen to his 
 feet, but the next moment she caught convulsively at 
 his wrist; a wolf had just dashed through the under 
 brush not a dozen yards away, and on either side of them 
 
 12 V. a
 
 354 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 they could hear the scamper and rustle of hurrying feet 
 like the outburst of a summer shower. A cold wind 
 arose from the opposite direction, as if to contest this 
 wild exodus, but it was followed by a blast of sickening 
 heat. Teresa sank at Dunn's feet in an agony of terror. 
 
 "Don't let them touch me!" she gasped; "keep them 
 off ! Tell me, for God's sake, what has happened !" 
 
 He laid his hand firmly on her arm, and lifted her in 
 his turn to her feet like a child. In that supreme moment 
 of physical danger, his strength, reason, and manhood 
 returned in their plenitude of power. He pointed coolly 
 to the trail she had quitted, and said, 
 
 "The Carquinez Woods are on fire !" 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE nest of the tuneful Burnhams, although in the 
 suburbs of Indian Spring, was not in ordinary weather 
 and seasons hidden from the longing eyes of the youth 
 of that settlement. That night, however, it was veiled in 
 the smoke that encompassed the great highway leading 
 to Excelsior. It is presumed that the Burnham brood 
 had long since folded their wings, for there was no sign 
 of life nor movement in the house as a rapidly-driven 
 horse and buggy pulled up before it. Fortunately, the 
 paternal Burnham was an early bird, in the habit of 
 picking up the first stirring mining worm, and a resound 
 ing knock brought him half dressed to the street door. 
 He was startled at seeing Father Wynn before him, a 
 trifle flushed and abstracted. 
 
 "Ah ha ! up betimes, I see, and ready. No sluggards 
 here ha, ha !" he said heartily, slamming the door be 
 hind him, and by a series of pokes in the ribs genially 
 backing his host into his own sitting-room. "I'm up, 
 too, and am here to see Nellie. She's here, eh of 
 course?" he added, darting a quick look at Burnham. 
 
 But Mr. Burnham was one of those large, liberal 
 Western husbands who classified his household under 
 the general title of "woman folk," for the integers of
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 355 
 
 which he was not responsible. He hesitated, and then 
 propounded over the balusters to the upper story the 
 direct query 
 
 "You don't happen to have Nellie Wynn up there, 
 do ye?" 
 
 There was an interval of inquiry proceeding from half 
 a dozen reluctant throats, more or less cottony and 
 muffled, in those various degrees of grievance and mental 
 distress which indicate too early roused young woman 
 hood. The eventual reply seemed to be affirmative, albeit 
 accompanied with a suppressed giggle, as if the young 
 lady had just been discovered as an answer to an amusing 
 conundrum. 
 
 "All right," said Wynn, with an apparent accession of 
 boisterous geniality. "Tell her I must see her, and I've 
 only got a few minutes to spare. Tell her to slip on any 
 thing and come down ; there's no one here but myself, and 
 I've shut the front door on Brother Burnham. Ha, ha !" 
 and suiting the action to the word, he actually bundled 
 the admiring Brother Burnham out on his own doorstep. 
 There was a light pattering on the staircase, and Nellie 
 Wynn, pink with sleep, very tall, very slim, hastily 
 draped in a white counterpane with a blue border and a 
 general classic suggestion, slipped into the parlor. At 
 the same moment her father shut the door behind her. 
 placed one hand on the knob, and with the other seized 
 her wrist. 
 
 "Where were you yesterday?" he asked. 
 
 Nellie looked at him, shrugged her shoulders, and said, 
 "Here." 
 
 "You were in the Carquinez Woods with Low Dor- 
 man ; you went there in disguise ; you've met him there 
 before. He is your clandestine lover; you have taken 
 pledges of affection from him; you have " 
 
 "Stop !" she said. 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 "Did he tell you this?" she asked, with an expression 
 of disdain. 
 
 "No;" I overheard it. Dunn and Brace were at the 
 house waiting for you.- When the coach did not bring
 
 356 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 you, I went to the office to inquire. As I left our door 
 I thought I saw somebody listening at the parlor win 
 dows. It was only a drunken Mexican muleteer leaning 
 against the house; but if he heard nothing, / did. Nellie, 
 I heard Brace tell Dunn that he had tracked you in your 
 disguise to the woods do you hear? that when you pre 
 tended to be here with the girls you were with Low 
 alone; that you wear a ring that Low got of a trader 
 here; that there was a cabin in the woods " 
 
 "Stop !" she repeated. 
 
 Wynn again paused. 
 
 "And what did you do?" she asked. 
 
 "I heard they were starting down there to surprise you 
 and him together, and I harnessed up and got ahead of 
 them in my buggy." 
 
 "And found me here," she said, looking full into his 
 eyes. 
 
 He understood her and returned the look. He recog 
 nized the full importance of the culminating fact conveyed 
 in her words, and was obliged to content himself with its 
 logical and worldly significance. It was too late now to 
 take her to task for mere filial disobedience; they must 
 become allies. 
 
 "Yes," he said hurriedly; "but if you value your repu 
 tation, if you wish to silence both these men, answer me 
 fully." 
 
 "Go on," she said. 
 
 "Did you go to the cabin in the woods yesterday?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Did you ever go there with Low?" 
 
 "No; I do not know even where it is." 
 
 Wynn felt that she was telling the truth. Nellie knew 
 it; but as she would have been equally satisfied with an 
 equally efficacious falsehood, her face remained .un 
 changed. 
 
 "And when did he leave you ?" 
 
 "At nine o'clock, here. He went to the hotel." 
 
 "He saved his life, then, for Dunn is on his way to 
 the woods to kill him." 
 
 The jeopardy of her lover did not seem to affect the
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 357 
 
 young girl with alarm, although her eyes betrayed some 
 interest. 
 
 "Then Dunn has gone to the woods?" she said thought 
 fully. 
 
 "He has." replied Wynn. 
 
 "Is that all ?" she asked. 
 
 "I want to know what you are going to do?" 
 
 "I was going back to bed." 
 
 "This is no time for trifling, girl." 
 
 "I should think not," she said, with a yawn; "it's too 
 early, or too late." 
 
 Wynn grasped her wrist more tightly. "Hear me ! 
 Put whatever face you like on this affair, you are compro 
 mised and compromised with a man you can't marry." 
 
 "I don't know that I ever wanted to marry Low, if you 
 mean him," she said quietly. 
 
 "And Dunn wouldn't marry you now." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that, either." 
 
 "Nellie," said Wynn excitedly, "do you want to drive 
 me mad? Have you nothing to say nothing to 
 suggest ?" 
 
 "Oh, you want me to help you, do you! Why didn't 
 you say that first? Well, go and bring Dunn here." 
 
 "Are you mad? The man has gone already in pursuit 
 of your lover, believing you with him." 
 
 "Then he will the more readily come and talk with 
 me without him. Will you take the invitation yes 
 or no?" 
 
 "Yes, but" 
 
 "Enough. On your way there you will stop at the 
 hotel and give Low a letter from me." 
 
 "Nellie !" 
 
 "You shall read it, of course," she said scornfully, "for 
 it will be your text for the conversation you will have 
 with him. Will you please take your hand from the lock 
 and open the door?" 
 
 Wynn mechanically opened the door. The young girl 
 flew up-stairs. In a very few moments she returned with 
 two notes : one contained a few lines of formal invitation 
 to Dunn; the other read as follows:
 
 358 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "DEAR MR. DORM AN, My father will tell you how 
 deeply I regret that our recent botanical excursions in the 
 Carquinez Woods have been a source of serious misappre 
 hensions to those who had a claim to my consideration, 
 and that I shall be obliged to discontinue them for the 
 future. At the same time he wishes me to express my 
 gratitude for your valuable instruction and assistance in 
 that pleasing study, even though approaching events may 
 compel me to relinquish it for other duties. May I beg 
 you to accept the inclosed ring as a slight recognition of 
 my obligations to you? 
 
 "Your grateful pupil, 
 
 "NELLIE WYNN." 
 
 When he had finished reading the letter, she handed 
 him a ring, which he took mechanically. He raised his 
 eyes to hers with perfectly genuine admiration. "You're 
 a good girl, Nellie/' he said, and, in a moment of parental 
 forgetfulness, unconsciously advanced his lips towards 
 her cheek. But she drew back in time to recall him to a 
 sense of that human weakness. 
 
 "I suppose I'll have time for a nap yet," she said, as a 
 gentle hint to her embarrassed parent. He nodded and 
 turned towards the door. 
 
 "If I were you," she continued, repressing a yawn, "I'd 
 manage to be seen on good terms with Low at the hotel ; 
 so perhaps you need not give the letter to him until the 
 last thing. Good-by." 
 
 The sitting-room door opened and closed behind her as 
 she slipped up-stairs, and her father, without the formality 
 of leave-taking, quietly let himself out by the front door. 
 
 When he drove into the high road again, however, an 
 overlooked possibility threatened for a moment to indefi 
 nitely postpone his amiable intentions regarding Low. 
 The hotel was at the further end of the settlement towards 
 the Carquinez Woods, and as Wynn had nearly reached it 
 he was recalled to himself by the sounds of hoofs and 
 wheels rapidly approaching from the direction of the 
 Excelsior turnpike. Wynn made no doubt it was the 
 sheriff and Brace. To avoid recognition at that moment,
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 869 
 
 he whipped up his horse, intending to keep the lead until 
 he could turn into the first cross-road. But the coming 
 travelers had the fleetest horse, and finding it impossible 
 to distance them he drove close to the ditch, pulling up 
 suddenly as the strange vehicle was abreast of him, and 
 forcing them to pass him at full speed, with the result 
 already chronicled. When they had vanished in the dark 
 ness, Mr. Wynn, with a heart overflowing with Christian 
 thankfulness and universal benevolence, wheeled round, 
 and drove back to the hotel he had already passed. To 
 pull up at the veranda with a stentorian shout, to thump 
 loudly at the deserted bar, to hilariously beat the panels 
 of the landlord's door, and commit a jocose assault and 
 battery upon that half-dresssed and half-awakened man. 
 was eminently characteristic of Wynn, and part of his 
 amiable plans that morning. 
 
 "Something to wash this wood smoke from my throat, 
 Brother Carter, and about as much again to prop open 
 your eyes," he said, dragging Carter before the bar, "and 
 glasses round for as many of the boys as are up and stir 
 ring after a hard-working Christian's rest. How goes 
 the honest publican's trade, and who have we here?" 
 
 "Thar's Judge Robinson and two lawyers from Sacra 
 mento, Dick Curson over from Yolo," said Carter, "and 
 that ar young Injin yarb doctor from the Carquinez 
 Woods. I reckon he's jist up I noticed a light under 
 his door as I passed." 
 
 "He's my man for a friendly chat before breakfast," 
 said Wynn. "You needn't come up. I'll find the way. 
 I don't want a light ; I reckon my eyes ain't as bright nor 
 as young as his, but they'll see almost as far in the dark 
 he ! he !" And, nodding to Brother Carter, he strode 
 along the passage, and with no other introduction than a 
 playful and preliminary "Boo !" burst into one of the 
 rooms. Low, who by the light of a single candle was 
 bending over the plates of a large quarto, merely raised 
 his eyes and looked at the intruder. The young man's 
 natural imperturbability, always exasperating to Wynn, 
 seemed accented that morning by contrast with his own 
 over-acted animation.
 
 360 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "Ah ha ! wasting the midnight oil instead of imbibing 
 the morning dews," said Father Wynn archly, illustrating 
 his metaphor with a movement of his hand to his lips. 
 "What have we here?" 
 
 "An anonymous gift," replied Low simply, recognizing 
 the father of Nellie by rising from his chair. "It's a 
 volume I've longed to possess, but never could afford to 
 buy. I cannot imagine who sent it to me." 
 
 Wynn was for a moment startled by the thought that 
 this recipient of valuable gifts might have influential 
 friends. But a glance at the bare room, which looked 
 like a camp, and the strange, unconventional garb of its 
 occupant, restored his former convictions. There might 
 be a promise of intelligence, but scarcely of prosperity, 
 in the figure before him. 
 
 "Ah ! We must not forget that we are watched over 
 in the night season," he said, laying his hand on Low's 
 shoulder, with an illustration of celestial guardianship 
 that would have been impious but for its palpable gro- 
 tesqueness. "No, sir, we know not what a day may 
 bring forth." 
 
 Unfortunately, Low's practical mind did not go beyond 
 a mere human interpretation. It was enough, however, 
 to put a new light in his eye and a faint color in his 
 cheek. 
 
 "Could it have been Miss Nellie?" he asked, with half- 
 boyish hesitation. 
 
 Mr. Wynn was too much of a Christian not to bow 
 before what appeared to him the purely providential inter 
 position of this suggestion. Seizing it and Low at the 
 same moment, he playfully forced him down again in his 
 chair. 
 
 "Ah, you rascal !" he said, with infinite archness ; "that's 
 your game, is it? You want to trap poor Father Wynn. 
 You want to make him say 'No.' You want to tempt him 
 to commit himself. No, sir ! never, sir ! no, no !" 
 
 Firmly convinced that the present was Nellie's, and that 
 her father only good-humoredly guessed it, the young 
 man's simple, truthful nature was embarrassed. He 
 longed to express his gratitude, but feared to betray the
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 861 
 
 young girl's trust. The Reverend Mr. Wynn speedily 
 relieved his mind. 
 
 "No," he continued, bestriding a chair, and familiarly 
 confronting Low over its back. "No, sir no ! And you 
 want me to say 'No/ don't you, regarding the little walks 
 of Nellie and a certain young man in the Carquinez 
 Woods ? ha, ha ! You'd like me to say that I knew 
 nothing of the botanizings, and the herb collectings, and 
 the picknickings there he, he ! you sly dog ! Perhaps 
 you'd like to tempt Father Wynn further, and make him 
 swear he knows nothing of his daughter disguising her 
 self in a duster and meeting another young man isn't it 
 another young man ? all alone, eh ? Perhaps you want 
 poor old Father Wynn to say No. No, sir, nothing of the 
 kind ever occurred. Ah, you young rascal !" 
 
 Slightly troubled, in spite of Wynn's hearty manner, 
 Low, with his usual directness, however, said, "I do not 
 want anyone to deny that I have seen Miss Nellie." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," said Wynn, abandoning his 
 method, considerably disconcerted by Low's simplicity, 
 and a certain natural reserve that shook off his familiarity. 
 "Certainly it's a noble thing to be able to put your hand 
 on your heart and say to the world, 'Come on, all of you ! 
 Observe me ; I have nothing to conceal. I walk with Miss 
 Wynn in the woods as her instructor her teacher, in 
 fact. We cull a flower here and there ; we pluck an herb 
 fresh from the hands of the Creator. We look, so to 
 speak, from Nature to Nature's God.' Yes, my young 
 friend, we should be the first to repel the foul calumny 
 that could misinterpret our most innocent actions." 
 
 "Calumny ?" repeated Low, starting to his feet. "What 
 calumny?" 
 
 "My friend, my noble young friend, I recognize your 
 indignation. I know your worth. When I said to Nellie, 
 my only child, my perhaps too simple offspring a mere 
 wildflower like yourself when I said to her, 'Go, my 
 child, walk in the woods with this young man, hand in 
 hand. Let him instruct you from the humblest roots, for 
 he has trodden in the ways of the Almighty. Gather 
 wisdom from his lips, and knowledge from his simple
 
 862 IN THE OARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 woodman's craft. Make, in fact, a collection not only of 
 herbs, but of moral axioms and experience' I knew I 
 could trust you, and, trusting you, my young friend, I felt 
 I could trust the world. Perhaps I was weak, foolish. 
 But I thought only of her welfare. I even recall how 
 that to preserve the purity of her garments, I bade 
 her don a simple duster; that, to secure her from the 
 trifling companionship of others, I bade her keep her 
 own counsel, and seek you at seasons known but to 
 yourselves." 
 
 "But ... did Nellie . . . understand you?" inter 
 rupted Low hastily. 
 
 "I see you read her simple nature. Understand me? 
 No, not at first ! Her maidenly instinct perhaps her 
 duty to another took the alarm. I remember her words. 
 'But what will Dunn say?' she asked. 'Will he not be 
 jealous?' " 
 
 "Dunn ! jealous ! I don't understand," said Low, fixing 
 his eyes on Wynn. 
 
 "That's just what I said to Nellie. 'Jealous!' I said. 
 'What, Dunn, your affianced husband, jealous of a mere 
 friend a teacher, a guide, a philosopher. It is impos 
 sible.' Well, sir, she was right. He is jealous. And, 
 more than that, he has imparted his jealousy to others ! 
 In other words, he has made a scandal !" 
 
 Low's eyes flashed. "Where is your daughter now?" 
 he said sternly. 
 
 "At present in bed, suffering from a nervous attack 
 brought on by these unjust suspicions. She appreciates 
 your anxiety, and, knowing that you could not see her, 
 told me to give you this." He handed Low the ring and 
 the letter. 
 
 The climax had been forced, and, it must be confessed, 
 was by no means the one Mr. Wynn had fully arranged 
 in his own inner consciousness. He had intended to 
 take an ostentatious leave of Low in the bar-room, deliver 
 the letter with archness, and escape before a possible 
 explosion. He consequently backed towards the door 
 for an emergency. But he was again at fault. That 
 unaffected stoical fortitude in acute suffering, which was
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 363 
 
 the one remaining pride and glory of Low's race, was 
 yet to be revealed to Wynn's civilized eyes. 
 
 The young man took the letter, and read it without 
 changing a muscle, folded the ring in it, and dropped it 
 into his haversack. Then he picked up his blanket, 
 threw it over his shoulder, took his trusty rifle in his 
 hand, and turned towards Wynn as if coldly surprised 
 that he was still standing there. 
 
 "Are you are you going?" stammered Wynn. 
 
 "Are you not?" replied Low dryly, leaning on his 
 rifle for a moment as if waiting for Wynn to precede 
 him. The preacher looked at him a moment, mumbled 
 something, and then shambled feebly and ineffectively 
 down the staircase before Low, with a painful suggestion 
 to the ordinary observer of being occasionally urged 
 thereto by the moccasin of the young man behind him. 
 
 On reaching the lower hall, however, he endeavored 
 to create a diversion in his favor by dashing into the 
 bar-room and clapping the occupants on the back with 
 indiscriminate playfulness. But here again he seemed 
 to be disappointed. To his great discomfiture, a large 
 man not only returned his salutation with powerful levity, 
 but with equal playfulness seized him in his arms, and 
 after an ingenious simulation of depositing him in the 
 horse-trough set him down in affected amazement. 
 "Bleth't if I didn't think from the weight of your hand 
 it wath my old friend, Thacramento Bill," said Curson 
 apologetically, with a wink at the bystanders. "That'th 
 the way Bill alwayth uthed to tackle hith friendth, till 
 he wath one day bounthed by a prithe-fighter in Frithco, 
 whom he had mithtaken for a mithionary." As Mr. 
 Curson's reputation was of a quality that made any form 
 of apology from him instantly acceptable, the amused 
 spectators made way for him as, recognizing Low, who 
 was just leaving the hotel, he turned coolly from them 
 and walked towards him. 
 
 "Halloo !" he said, extending his hand. "You're the 
 man I'm waiting for. Did you get a book from the 
 exthpreth offithe latht night?" 
 
 "I did. Why?"
 
 364 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "It'th all right. Ath I'm rethponthible for it, I only 
 wanted to know." 
 
 "Did you send it?" asked Low, quickly fixing his eyes 
 on his face. 
 
 "Well, not exactly me. But it'th not worth making 
 a mythtery of it. Teretha gave me a commithion to 
 buy it and thend it to you anonymouthly. That'th a 
 woman'th nonthenth, for how could thee get a retheipt 
 for it?" 
 
 "Then it was her present," said Low gloomily. 
 
 "Of courthe. It wathn't mine, my boy. I'd have thent 
 you a Tharp'th rifle in plathe of that muthle loader you 
 carry, or thomething thenthible. But, I thay ! what'th 
 up? You look ath if you had been running all night." 
 
 Low grasped his hand. "Thank you," he said hur 
 riedly; "but it's nothing. Only I must be back to the 
 woods early. Good-by." 
 
 But Curson retained Low's hand in his own powerful 
 
 grip- 
 
 "I'll go with you a bit further," he said. "In fact, 
 I've got thomething to thay to you ; only don't be in 
 thuch a hurry; the woodth can wait till you get there." 
 Quietly compelling Low to alter his own characteristic 
 Indian stride to keep pace with his, he went on: "I don't 
 mind thaying I rather cottoned to you from the time 
 you acted like a white man no offenthe to Teretha. 
 She thayth you were left when a child lying round, 
 jutht ath promithcuouthly ath she wath; and if I can 
 do anything towardth putting you on the trail of your 
 people, I'll do it. I know thome of the voyageurth who 
 traded with the Cherokeeth, and your father wath one 
 wathn't he?" He glanced at Low's utterly abstracted and 
 immobile face. "I thay, you don't theem to take a hand 
 in thith game, pardner. What'th the row? Ith anything 
 wrong over there?" and he pointed to the Carquinez 
 Woods, which were just looming out of the morning 
 horizon in the distance. 
 
 Low stopped. The last words of his companion seemed 
 to recall him to himself. He raised his eyes automatically 
 to the woods and started.
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 365 
 
 "There is something wrong over there," he said breath 
 lessly. "Look !" 
 
 "I thee nothing," said Curson, beginning to doubt 
 Low's sanity ; "nothing more than I thaw an hour ago." 
 
 "Look again. Don't you see that smoke rising straight 
 up? It isn't blown over there from the Divide; it's new 
 smoke ! The fire is in the woods !" 
 
 "I reckon that'th so," muttered Curson, shading his 
 eyes with his hand. "But, hullo ! wait a minute ! We'll 
 get hortheth. I say !" he shouted, forgetting his lisp in 
 his excitement "stop !" But Low had already lowered 
 his head and darted forward like an arrow. 
 
 In a few moments he had left not only his companion 
 but the last straggling houses of the outskirts far behind 
 him, and had struck out in a long, swinging trot for the 
 disused "cut-off." Already he fancied he heard the note 
 of clamor in Indian Spring, and thought he distinguished 
 the sound of hurrying hoofs on the great highway. But 
 the sunken trail hid it from his view. From the column 
 of smoke now plainly visible in the growing morning 
 light he tried to locate the scene of the conflagration. 
 It was evidently not a fire advancing regularly from 
 the outer skirt of the wood, communicated to it from the 
 Divide; it was a local outburst near its centre. It was 
 not in the direction of his cabin in the tree. There was no 
 immediate danger to Teresa, unless fear drove her beyond 
 the confines of the wood into the hands of those who might 
 recognize her. The screaming of jays and ravens above 
 his head quickened his speed, as it heralded the rapid 
 advance of the flames; and the unexpected apparition of 
 a bounding body, flattened and flying over the yellow 
 plain, told him that even the secure retreat of the moun 
 tain wild-cat had been invaded. A sudden recollection of 
 Teresa's uncontrollable terror that first night smote him 
 with remorse and redoubled his efforts. Alone in the 
 track of these frantic and bewildered beasts, to what 
 madness might she not be driven ! 
 
 The sharp crack of a rifle from the high road turned 
 his course momentarily in that direction. The smoke was 
 curling lazily over the heads of the party of men in the
 
 366 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 road, while the huge bulk of a grizzly was disappearing 
 in the distance. A battue of the escaping animals had 
 commenced ! In the bitterness of his heart he caught 
 at the horrible suggestion, and resolved to save her from 
 them or die with her there. 
 
 How fast he ran, or the time it took him to reach the 
 woods, has never been known. Their outlines were 
 already hidden when he entered them. To a sense less 
 keen, a courage less desperate, and a purpose less unal 
 tered than Low's, the wood would have been impene 
 trable. The central fire was still confined to the lofty 
 tree tops, but the downward rush of wind from time to 
 time drove the smoke into the aisles in blinding and 
 suffocating volumes. To simulate the creeping animals, 
 and fall to the ground on hands and knees, feel his way 
 through the underbrush when the smoke was densest, 
 or take advantage of its momentary lifting, and without 
 uncertainty, mistake, or hesitation glide from tree to tree 
 in one undeviating course, was possible only to an expe 
 rienced woodsman. To keep his reason and insight so 
 clear as to be able in the midst of this bewildering con 
 fusion to shape that course so as to intersect the wild 
 and unknown tract of an inexperienced, frightened wan 
 derer belonged to Low, and Low alone. He was making 
 his way against the wind towards the fire. He had 
 reasoned that she was either in comparative safety to 
 windward of it, or he should meet her being driven 
 towards him by it, or find her succumbed and fainting 
 at its feet. To do this he must penetrate the burning 
 belt, and then pass under the blazing dome. He was 
 already upon it ; he could see the falling fire dropping like 
 rain or blown like gorgeous blossoms of the conflagration 
 across his path. The space was lit up brilliantly. The 
 vast shafts of dull copper cast no shadow below, but 
 there was no sign nor token of any human being. For 
 a moment the young man was at fault. It was true this 
 hidden heart of the forest bore no undergrowth ; the cool 
 matted carpet of the aisles seemed to quench the glowing 
 fragments as they fell. Escape might be difficult, but 
 not impossible, yet every moment was precious. He
 
 IN THE CAEQUINEZ WOODS 367 
 
 leaned against a tree, and sent his voice like a clarion 
 before him: "Teresa!" There was no reply. He called 
 again. A faint cry at his back from the trail he had 
 just traversed made him turn. Only a few paces behind 
 him, blinded and staggering, but following like a beaten 
 and wounded animal, Teresa, halted, knelt, clasped her 
 hands, and dumbly held them out before her. "Teresa !" 
 he cried again, and sprang to her side. 
 
 She caught him by the knees, and lifted her face im 
 ploringly to his. 
 
 "Say that again !" she cried, passionately. "Tell me it 
 was Teresa you called, and no other ! You have come 
 back for me ! You would not let me die here alone !" 
 
 He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and cast a rapid 
 glance around him. It might have been his fancy, but 
 there seemed a dull glow in the direction he had come. 
 
 "You do not speak!" she said. "Tell me! You did 
 not come here to seek her?" 
 
 "Whom?" he said quickly. 
 
 "Nellie !" 
 
 With a sharp cry he let her slip to the ground. All 
 the pent-up agony, rage, and mortification of the last hour 
 broke from him in that inarticulate outburst. Then, 
 catching her hands again, he dragged her to his level. 
 
 "Hear me !" he cried, disregarding the whirling smoke 
 and the fiery baptism that sprinkled them "hear me ! 
 If you value your life, if you value your soul, and if you 
 do not want me to cast you to the beasts like Jezebel of 
 old, never never take that accursed name again upon 
 your lips. Seek her her? Yes! Seek her to tie her 
 like a witch's daughter of hell to that blazing tree !" He 
 stopped. "Forgive me," he said in a changed voice. "I'm 
 mad, and forgetting myself and you. Come." 
 
 Without noticing the expression of half-savage delight 
 that had passed across her face, he lifted her in his arms. 
 
 "Which way are you going?" she asked, passing her 
 hands vaguely across his breast, as if to reassure herself 
 of his identity. 
 
 "To our camp by the scarred tree," he replied. 
 
 "Not there, not there," she said, hurriedly. "I was
 
 868 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 driven from there just now. I thought the fire began 
 there until I came here." 
 
 Then it was as he feared. Obeying the same mysterious 
 law that had launched this fatal fire like a thunderbolt 
 from the burning mountain crest five miles away into the 
 heart of the Carquinez Woods, it had again leaped a mile 
 beyond, and was hemming them between two narrowing 
 lines of fire. But Low was not daunted. Retracing his 
 steps through the blinding smoke, he strode off at right 
 angles to the trail near the point where he had entered 
 the wood. It was the spot where he had first lifted Nellie 
 in his arms to carry her to the hidden spring. If any 
 recollection of it crossed his mind at that moment, it 
 was only shown in his redoubled energy. He did not 
 glide through the thick underbrush, as on that day, but 
 seemed to take a savage pleasure in breaking through 
 it with sheer brute force. Once Teresa insisted upon 
 relieving him of the burden of her weight, but after a 
 few steps she staggered blindly against him, and would 
 fain have recourse once more to his strong arms. And 
 so, alternately staggering, bending, crouching, or bounding 
 and crashing on, but always in one direction, they burst 
 through the jealous rampart, and came upon the sylvan 
 haunt of the hidden spring. The great angle of the half- 
 fallen tree acted as a barrier to the wind and drifting 
 smoke, and the cool spring sparkled and bubbled in the 
 almost translucent air. He laid her down beside the 
 water, and bathed her face and hands. As he did so his 
 quick eye caught sight of a woman's handkerchief lying 
 at the foot of the disrupted root. Dropping Teresa's 
 hand, he walked towards it, and with the toe of his 
 moccasin gave it one vigorous kick into the ooze at the 
 overflow of the spring. He turned to Teresa, but she 
 evidently had not ncticed the act. 
 
 "Where are you?" she asked, with a smile. 
 
 Something in her movement struck him ! He came 
 towards her, and bending down looked into her face. 
 "Teresa! Good God! look at me! What has hap 
 pened ?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. There was a slight film
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 369 
 
 across them ; the lids were blackened ; the beautiful lashes 
 gone forever ! 
 
 "I see you a little now, I think," she said, with a smile, 
 passing her hands vaguely over his face. "It must have 
 happened when he fainted, and I had to drag him through 
 the blazing brush ; both my hands were full, and I could 
 not cover my eyes." 
 
 "Drag whom?" said Low, quickly. 
 
 "Why, Dunn." 
 
 "Dunn! He here?" said Low, hoarsely. 
 
 "Yes; didn't you read the note I left on the herbarium? 
 Didn't you come to the camp-fire?" she asked hurriedly, 
 clasping his hands. "Tell me quickly !" 
 
 "No !" 
 
 "Then you were not there then you didn't leave me 
 to die?" 
 
 "No ! I swear it, Teresa !" the stoicism that had up 
 held his own agony breaking down before her strong 
 emotion. 
 
 "Thank God !" She threw her arms around him, and 
 hid her aching eyes in his troubled breast. 
 
 "Tell me all, Teresa," he whispered in her listening ear. 
 "Don't move; stay there, and tell me all." 
 
 With her face buried in his bosom, as if speaking to 
 his heart alone, she told him part, but not all. With her 
 eyes filled with tears, but a smile on her lips, radiant with 
 new-found happiness, she told him how she had overheard 
 the plans of Dunn and Brace, how she had stolen their 
 conveyance to warn him in time. But here she stopped, 
 dreading to say a word that would shatter the hope 
 she was building upon his sudden revulsion of feeling 
 for Nellie. She could not bring herself to repeat their 
 interview that would come later, when they were safe 
 and out of danger; now not even the secret of his birth 
 must come between them with its distraction, to mar their 
 perfect communion. She faltered that Dunn had fainted 
 from weakness, and that she had dragged him out of 
 danger. "He will never interfere with us I mean," she 
 said softly, "with me again. I can promise you that as 
 well as if he had sworn it."
 
 370 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 "Let him pass, now," said Low; "that will come later 
 on," he added, unconsciously repeating her thought in a 
 tone that made her heart sick. "But tell me, Teresa, why 
 did you go to Excelsior?" 
 
 She buried her head still deeper, as if to hide it. He 
 felt her broken heart beat against his own; he was con 
 scious of a depth of feeling her rival had never awakened 
 in him. The possibility of Teresa loving him had never 
 occurred to his simple nature. He bent his head and 
 kissed her. She was frightened, and unloosed her cling 
 ing arms; but he retained her hand, and said, "We will 
 leave this accursed place, and you shall go with me as 
 you said you would; nor need you ever leave me, unless 
 you wish it." 
 
 She could hear the beating of her own heart through 
 his words; she longed to look at the eyes and lips that 
 told her this, and read the meaning his voice alone could 
 not entirely convey. For the first time she felt the loss 
 of her sight. She did not know that it was, in this mo 
 ment of happiness, the last blessing vouchsafed to her 
 miserable life. 
 
 A few moments of silence followed, broken only by 
 the distant rumor of the conflagration and the crash of 
 falling boughs. 
 
 "It may be an hour yet," he whispered, "before the 
 fire has swept a path for us to the road below. We 
 are safe here, unless some sudden current should draw 
 the fire down upon us. You are not frightened?" She 
 pressed his hand; she was thinking of the pale face 
 of Dunn, lying in the secure retreat she had purchased 
 for him at such a sacrifice. Yet the possibility of danger 
 to him now for a moment marred her present happiness 
 and security. "You think the fire will not go north of 
 where you found me?" she asked softly. 
 
 "I think not," he said, "but I will reconnoitre. Stay 
 where you are." 
 
 They pressed hands, and parted. He leaped upon the 
 slanting trunk and ascended it rapidly. She waited in 
 mute expectation. 
 
 There was a sudden movement of the root on which
 
 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 371 
 
 she sat, a deafening crash, and she was thrown forward 
 on her face. 
 
 The vast bulk of the leaning tree, dislodged from its 
 aerial support by the gradual sapping of the spring at its 
 roots, or by the crumbling of the bark from the heat, had 
 slipped, made a half revolution, and, falling, overbore 
 the lesser trees in its path, and tore, in its resistless 
 momentum, a broad opening to the underbrush. 
 
 With a cry to Low, Teresa staggered to her feet. 
 There was an interval of hideous silence, but no reply. 
 She called again. There was a sudden deepening roar, 
 the blast of a fiery furnace swept through the opening, 
 a thousand luminous points around her burst into fire, 
 and in an instant she was lost in a whirlwind of smoke 
 and flame ! From the onset of its fury to its culmination 
 twenty minutes did not elapse; but in that interval a 
 radius of two hundred yards around the hidden spring 
 was swept of life and light and motion. 
 
 For the rest of that day and part of the night a pall 
 of smoke hung above the scene of desolation. It lifted 
 only towards the morning, when the moon, rising high, 
 picked out in black and silver the shrunken and silent 
 columns of those roofless vaults, shorn of base and capi 
 tal. It flickered on the still, overflowing pool of the 
 hidden spring, and shone upon the white face of Low, 
 who, with a rootlet of the fallen tree holding him down 
 like an arm across his breast, seemed to be sleeping 
 peacefully in the sleeping water. 
 
 Contemporaneous history touched him as briefly, but 
 not as gently. "It is now definitely ascertained," said 
 "The Slumgullion Mirror," "that Sheriff Dunn met his 
 fate in the Carquinez Woods in the performance of his 
 duty; that fearless man having received information of 
 the concealment of a band of horse thieves in their 
 recesses. The desperadoes are presumed to have escaped, 
 as the only remains found are those of two wretched 
 tramps, one of whom is said to have been a digger, who
 
 372 IN THE CARQUINEZ WOODS 
 
 supported himself upon roots and herbs, and the other 
 a degraded half-white woman. It is not unreasonable 
 to suppose that the fire originated through their care 
 lessness, although Father Wynn of the First Baptist 
 Church, in his powerful discourse of last Sunday, pointed 
 at the warning and lesson of such catastrophes. It may 
 not be out of place here to say that the rumors regarding 
 an engagement between the pastor's accomplished 
 daughter and the late lamented sheriff are utterly with 
 out foundation, as it has been an on dit for some time 
 in all well-informed circles that the indefatigable Mr. 
 Brace, of Wells, Fargo and Co.'s Express, will shortly 
 lead the lady to the hymeneal altar."
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FOR some moments profound silence and darkness had 
 accompanied a Sierran stage-coach towards the summit. 
 The huge, dim bulk of the vehicle, swaying noiselessly on 
 its straps, glided onward and upward as if obeying some 
 mysterious impulse from behind, so faint and indefinite 
 appeared its relation to the viewless and silent horses 
 ahead. The shadowy trunks of tall trees that seemed to 
 approach the coach windows, look in, and then move 
 hurriedly away, were the only distinguishable objects. 
 Yet even these were so vague and unreal that they might 
 have been the mere phantoms of some dream of the half- 
 sleeping passengers ; for the thickly-strewn needles of the 
 pine, that choked the way and deadened all sound, yielded 
 under the silently-crushing wheels a faint soporific odor 
 that seemed to benumb their senses, already slipping back 
 into unconsciousness during the long ascent. Suddenly 
 the stage stopped. 
 
 Three of the four passengers inside struggled at once 
 into upright wakefulness. The fourth passenger, John 
 Hale, had not been sleeping, and turned impatiently 
 towards the window. It seemed to him that two of the 
 moving trees had suddenly become motionless outside. 
 One of them moved again, and the door opened quickly 
 but quietly, as of itself. 
 
 "Git down," said a voice in the darkness. 
 
 All the passengers except Hale started. The man next 
 to him moved his right hand suddenly behind him, but 
 as quickly stopped. One of the motionless trees had 
 apparently closed upon the vehicle, and what had seemed 
 
 375
 
 376 SXOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 to be a bough projecting from it at right angles changed 
 slowly into the faintly shining double-barrels of a gun 
 at the window. 
 
 "Drop that !" said the voice. 
 
 The man who had moved uttered a short laugh, and 
 returned his hand empty to his knees. The two others 
 perceptibly shrugged their shoulders as over a game 
 that was lost. The remaining passenger, John Hale, 
 fearless by nature, inexperienced by habit, awaking 
 suddenly to the truth, conceived a desperate resistance. 
 But without his making a gesture this was instinctively 
 felt by the others; the muzzle of the gun turned 
 spontaneously on him, and he was vaguely conscious 
 of a certain contempt and impatience of him in his 
 companions. 
 
 "Git down," repeated the voice imperatively. 
 
 The three passengers descended. Hale, furious, alert, 
 but helpless of any opportunity, followed. He was sur 
 prised to find the stage-driver and express messenger 
 standing beside him; he had not heard them dismount. 
 He instinctively looked towards the horses. He could 
 see nothing. 
 
 "Hold up your hands !" 
 
 One of the passengers had already lifted his, in a weary, 
 perfunctory way. The others did the same reluctantly 
 and awkwardly, but apparently more from the conscious 
 ness of the ludicrousness of their attitude than from any 
 sense of danger. The rays of a bull's-eye lantern, deftly 
 managed by invisible hands, while it left the intruders in 
 shadow, completely illuminated the faces and figures of 
 the passengers. In spite of the majestic obscurity and 
 silence of surrounding nature, the group of humanity 
 thus illuminated was more farcical than dramatic. A 
 scrap of newspaper, part of a sandwich, and an orange 
 peel that had fallen from the floor of the coach, brought 
 into equal prominence by the searching light, completed 
 the absurdity. 
 
 "There's a man here with a package of greenbacks," 
 said the voice, with an official coolness that lent a certain 
 suggestion of Custom House inspection to the transaction ;
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 377 
 
 "who is it?" The passengers looked at each other, and 
 their glance finally settled on Hale. 
 
 "It's not him" continued the voice, with a slight tinge 
 of contempt on the emphasis. "You'll save time and 
 searching, gentlemen, if you'll tote it out. If we've got 
 to go through every one of you we'll try to make it 
 pay." 
 
 The significant threat was not unheeded. The pas 
 senger who had first moved when the stage stopped put 
 his hand to his breast. 
 
 "T'other pocket first, if you please," said the voice. 
 
 The man laughed, drew a pistol from his hip pocket, 
 and, under the strong light of the lantern, laid it on a 
 spot in the road indicated by the voice. A thick envelope, 
 taken from his breast pocket, was laid beside it. "I told 
 the d d fools that gave it to me, instead of -sending it by 
 express, it would be at their own risk," he said apolo 
 getically. 
 
 "As it's going with the express now it's all the same," 
 said the inevitable humorist of the occasion, pointing to 
 the despoiled express treasure-box already in the road. 
 
 The intention and deliberation of the outrage was plain 
 enough to Hale's inexperience now. Yet he could not 
 understand the cool acquiescence of his fellow-passengers, 
 and was furious. His reflections were interrupted by a 
 voice which seemed to come from a greater distance. He 
 fancied it was even softer in tone, as if a certain austerity 
 was relaxed. 
 
 "Step in as quick as you like, gentlemen. You've five 
 minutes to wait, Bill." 
 
 The passengers reentered the coach; the driver and 
 express messenger hurriedly climbed to their places. 
 Hale would have spoken, but an impatient gesture from 
 his companions stopped him. They were evidently listen 
 ing for something ; he listened too. 
 
 Yet the silence remained unbroken. It seemed incred 
 ible that there should be no indication near or far of that 
 forceful presence which a moment ago had been so 
 dominant. No rustle in the wayside "brush," nor echo 
 from the rocky canon below, betrayed a sound of their
 
 378 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 flight. A faint breeze stirred the tall tips of the pines, 
 a cone dropped on the stage roof, one of the invisible 
 horses that seemed to be listening too moved slightly in 
 his harness. But this only appeared to accentuate the 
 profound stillness. The moments were growing inter 
 minable, when the voice, so near as to startle Hale, broke 
 once more from the surrounding obscurity. 
 
 "Good-night !" 
 
 It was the signal that they were free. The driver's 
 whip cracked like a pistol shot, the horses sprang furi 
 ously forward, the huge vehicle lurched ahead, and then 
 bounded violently after them. When Hale could make 
 his voice heard in the confusion a confusion which 
 seemed greater from the colorless intensity of their last 
 few moments' experience he said hurriedly, "Then that 
 fellow was there all the time?" 
 
 "I reckon," returned his companion, "he stopped five 
 minutes to cover the driver with his double-barrel, until 
 the two other men got off with the treasure." 
 
 "The two others !" gasped Hale. "Then there were only 
 three men, and we six." 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders. The passenger who 
 had given up the greenbacks drawled, with a slow, ir 
 ritating tolerance, "I reckon you're a stranger here?" 
 
 "I am to this sort of thing, certainly, though I live a 
 dozen miles from here, at Eagle's Court," returned Hale 
 scornfully. 
 
 "Then you're the chap that's doin' that fancy ranchin' 
 over at Eagle's," continued the man lazily. 
 
 "Whatever I'm doing at Eagle's Court, I'm not ashamed 
 of it," said Hale tartly; "and that's more than I can say 
 of what I've done or haven't done to-night. I've been 
 one of six men overawed and robbed by three" 
 
 "As to the over-awin', ez you call it mebbee you know 
 more about it than us. As to the robbin' ez far as I kin 
 remember, you haven't unloaded much. Ef you're talkin' 
 about what oughter have been done, I'll tell you what 
 could have happened. P'r'aps ye noticed that when he 
 pulled up I made a kind of grab for my wepping behind 
 me?"
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 379 
 
 "I did; and you wern't quick enough," said Hale 
 shortly. 
 
 "I wasn't quick enough, and that saved you. For ef I 
 got that pistol out and in sight o' that man that held 
 the gun " 
 
 "Well," said Hale impatiently, "he'd have hesitated." 
 
 "He'd hev blown you with both barrels outer the 
 window, and that before I'd got a half-cock on my 
 revolver." 
 
 "But that would have been only one man gone, and 
 there would have been five of you left," said Hale 
 haughtily. 
 
 "That might have been, ef you'd contracted to take 
 the hull charge of two handfuls of buck-shot and slugs; 
 but ez one eighth o' that amount would have done your 
 business, and yet left enough to have gone round, pro- 
 miskiss, and satisfied the other passengers, it wouldn't do 
 to kalkilate upon." 
 
 "But the express messenger and the driver were armed," 
 continued Hale. 
 
 "They were armed, but not fixed; that makes all the 
 difference." 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "I reckon you know what a duel is?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, the chances agin us was about the same as 
 you'd have ef you was put up agin another chap who was 
 allowed to draw a bead on you, and the signal to fire was 
 your drawin' your weapon. You may be a stranger to 
 this sort o' thing, and p'r'aps you never fought a duel, 
 but even then you wouldn't go foolin' your life away on 
 any such chances." 
 
 Something in the man's manner, as in a certain sly 
 amusement the other passengers appeared to extract from 
 the conversation, impressed Hale, already beginning to be 
 conscious of the ludicrous insufficiency of his own griev 
 ance beside that of his interlocutor. 
 
 "Then you mean to say this thing is inevitable," said 
 he bitterly, but less aggressively. 
 
 "Ez long ez they hunt you; when you hunt them you've
 
 380 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 got the advantage, allus provided you know how to get 
 at them ez well as they know how to get at you. This 
 yer coach is bound to go regular, and on certain days. 
 They ain't. By the time the sheriff gets out his posse 
 they've skedaddled, and the leader, like as not, is takin' 
 his quiet cocktail at the Bank Exchange, or mebbe losin' 
 Jiis earnings to the sheriff over draw poker, in Sacra 
 mento. You see you can't prove anything agin them 
 unless you take them 'on the fly.' It may be a part 
 of Joaquim Murietta's band, though I wouldn't swear 
 to it." 
 
 "The leader might have been Gentleman George, from 
 up-country," interposed a passenger. "He seemed to 
 throw in a few fancy touches, particlerly in that 'Good 
 night.' Sorter chucked a little sentiment in it. Didn't 
 seem to be the same thing ez, 'Git, yer d d suckers,' on 
 the other line." 
 
 "Whoever he was, he knew the road and the men who 
 travelled on it. Like ez not, he went over the line beside 
 the driver on the box on the down trip, and took stock of 
 everything. He even knew I had those greenbacks; 
 though they were handed to me in the bank at Sacra 
 mento. He must have been hanging' round there." 
 
 For some moments Hale remained silent. He was a 
 civic-bred man, with an intense love of law and order; 
 the kind of man who is the first to take that law and 
 order into his own hands when he does not find it existing 
 to please him. He had a Bostonian's respect for re 
 spectability, tradition, and propriety, but was willing to 
 *ace irregularity and impropriety to create order else 
 where. He was fond of Nature with these limitations, 
 never quite trusting her unguided instincts, and finding 
 her as an instructress greatly inferior to Harvard Uni 
 versity, though possibly not to Cornell. With dauntless 
 enterprise and energy he had built and stocked a charming 
 cottage farm in a nook in the Sierras, whence he opposed, 
 like the lesser Englishman that he was, his own tastes to 
 those of the alien West. In the present instance he felt 
 it incumbent upon him not only to assert his principles, 
 but to act upon them with his usual energy. How far he
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 381 
 
 was impelled by the half-contemptuous passiveness of his 
 companions it would be difficult to say. 
 
 "What is to prevent the pursuit of them at once?" he 
 asked suddenly. "We are a few miles from the station, 
 where horses can be procured." 
 
 "Who's to do it?" replied the other lazily. "The stage 
 company will lodge the complaint with the authorities, 
 but it will take two days to get the county officers out, 
 and it's nobody else's funeral." 
 
 "I will go for one," said Hale quietly. "I have a horse 
 waiting for me at the station, and can start at once." 
 
 There was an instant of silence. The stage-coach had 
 left the obscurity of the forest, and by the stronger light 
 Hale could perceive that his companion was examining 
 him with two colorless, lazy eyes. Presently he said, 
 meeting Hale's clear glance, but rather as if yielding to a 
 careless reflection, 
 
 "It might be done with four men. We oughter raise 
 one man at the station." He paused. "I don't know ez 
 I'd mind taking a hand myself," he added, stretching out 
 his legs with a slight yawn. 
 
 "Ye can count me in, if you're goin', Kernel. I reckon 
 I'm talkin' to Kernel Clinch," said the passenger beside 
 Hale with sudden alacrity. "I'm Rawlins, of Frisco. 
 Heerd of ye afore, Kernel, and kinder spotted you jist now 
 from your talk." 
 
 To Hale's surprise the two men, after awkwardly and 
 perfunctorily grasping each other's hand, entered at once 
 into a languid conversation on the recent election at 
 Fresno, without the slightest further reference to the 
 pursuit of the robbers. It was not until the remaining 
 and undenominated passenger turned to Hale, and, re 
 gretting that he had immediate business at the Summit, 
 offered to accompany the party if they would wait a couple 
 of hours, that Colonel Clinch briefly returned to the 
 subject. 
 
 "Four men will do, and ez we'll hev to take horses from 
 the station we'll hev to take the fourth man from there." 
 
 With these words he resumed his uninteresting con 
 versation with the equally uninterested Rawlins, and the
 
 382 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 undenominated passenger subsided into an admiring and 
 dreamy contemplation of them both. With all his 
 principle and really high-minded purpose, Hale could not 
 help feeling constrained and annoyed at the sudden sub 
 ordinate and auxiliary position to which he, the projector 
 of the enterprise, had been reduced. It was true that he 
 had never offered himself as their leader; it was true 
 that the principle he wished to uphold and the effect he 
 sought to obtain would be equally demonstrated under 
 another; it was true that the execution of his own con 
 ception gravitated by some occult impulse to the man who 
 had not sought it, and whom he had always regarded as 
 an incapable. But all .this was so unlike precedent or 
 tradition that, after the fashion of conservative men, he 
 was suspicious of it, and only that his honor was now 
 involved he would have withdrawn from the enterprise. 
 There was still a chance of reasserting himself at the 
 station, where he was known, and where some authority 
 might be deputed to him. 
 
 But even this prospect failed. The station, half hotel 
 and half stable, contained only the landlord, who was 
 also express agent, and the new volunteer who Clinch 
 had suggested would be found among the stable-men. 
 The nearest justice of the peace was ten miles away, 
 and Hale had to abandon even his hope of being sworn 
 in 'as a deputy constable. This introduction of a common 
 and illiterate ostler into the party on equal terms with 
 himself did not add to his satisfaction, and a remark 
 from Rawlins seemed to complete his embarrassment. 
 
 "Ye had a mighty narrer escape down there just now," 
 said that gentleman confidentially, as Hale buckled his 
 saddle girths. 
 
 "I thought, as we were not supposed to defend our 
 selves, there was no danger," said Hale scornfully. 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean them road agents. But him." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Kernel Clinch. You jist ez good as allowed he 
 hadn't any grit." 
 
 "Whatever I said, I suppose I am responsible for it," 
 answered Hale haughtily.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 383 
 
 "That's what gits me," was the imperturbable reply. 
 "He's the best shot in Southern California, and hez let 
 daylight through a dozen chaps afore now for half what 
 you said." 
 
 "Indeed !" 
 
 "Howsummever," continued Rawlins philosophically, 
 "ez he's concluded to go with ye instead of for ye, you're 
 likely to hev your ideas on this matter carried out up to 
 the handle. He'll make short work of it, you bet. Ef, 
 ez I suspect, the leader is an airy young feller from 
 Frisco, who hez took to the road lately, Clinch hez got 
 a personal grudge agin him from a quarrel over draw 
 poker." 
 
 This was the last blow to Hale's ideal crusade. Here 
 he was an honest, respectable citizen engaged as 
 simple accessory to a lawless vendetta originating at a 
 gambling table ! When the first shock was over that 
 grim philosophy which is the reaction of all imaginative 
 and sensitive natures came to his aid. He felt better; 
 oddly enough he began to be conscious that he was think 
 ing and acting like his companions. With this feeling 
 a vague sympathy, before absent, faintly showed itself 
 in their actions. The Sharpe's rifle put into his hands 
 by the stable-man was accompanied by a familiar word 
 of suggestion as to an equal, which he was ashamed to 
 find flattered him. He was able to continue the conversa 
 tion with Rawlins more coolly. 
 
 "Then you suspect who is the leader?" 
 
 "Only on giniral principles. There was a finer touch, 
 so to speak, in this yer robbery that wasn't in the old- 
 fashioned style. Down in my country they hed crude 
 ideas about them things used to strip the passengers of 
 everything, includin' their clothes. They say that at the 
 station hotels, when the coach came in, the folks used 
 to stand round with blankets to wrap up the passengers 
 so ez not to skeer the wimen. Thar's a story that the 
 driver and express manager drove up one day with only 
 a copy of the Alty Calif orny wrapped around 'em ; but 
 thin," added Rawlins grimly, "there was folks ez said the 
 hull story was only an advertisement got up for the Alty."
 
 384 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 "Time's up." 
 
 "Are you ready, gentlemen?" said Colonel Clinch. 
 
 Hale started. He had forgotten his wife and family at 
 Eagle's Court, ten miles away. They would be alarmed 
 at his absence, would perhaps hear some exaggerated 
 version of the stage coach robbery, and fear the worst. 
 
 "Is there any way I could send a line to Eagle's 
 Court before daybreak?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 The station was already drained of its spare men and 
 horses. The undenominated passenger stepped forward 
 and offered to take it himself when his business, which 
 he would despatch as quickly as possible, was concluded. 
 
 "That ain't a bad idea," said Clinch reflectively, "for 
 ef yer hurry you'll head 'em off in case they scent us, 
 and try to double back on the North Ridge. They'll 
 fight shy of the trail if they see anybody on it, and one 
 man's as good as a dozen." 
 
 Hale could not help thinking that he might have been 
 that one man, and had his opportunity for independent 
 action but for his rash proposal, but it was too late to 
 withdraw now. He hastily scribbled a few lines to his 
 wife on a sheet of the station paper, handed it to the man, 
 and took his place in the little cavalcade as it filed silently 
 down the road. 
 
 They had ridden in silence for nearly an hour, and 
 had passed the scene of the robbery by a higher track. 
 Morning had long ago advanced its colors on the cold 
 white peaks to their right, and was taking possession of 
 the spur where they rode. 
 
 "It looks like snow," said Rawlins quietly. 
 
 Hale turned towards him in astonishment. Nothing on 
 earth or sky looked less likely. It had been cold, but 
 that might have been only a current from the frozen 
 peaks beyond, reaching the lower valley. The ridge on 
 which they had halted was still thick with yellowish-green 
 summer foliage, mingled with the darker evergreen of 
 pine and fir. Oven-like canons in the long flanks of the 
 mountain seemed still to glow with the heat of yester 
 day's noon; the breathless air yet trembled and quivered 
 over stifling gorges and passes in the granite rocks,
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 385 
 
 while far at their feet sixty miles of perpetual summer 
 stretched away over the winding American River, now 
 and then lost in a gossamer haze. It was scarcely ripe 
 October where they stood ; they could see the plenitude 
 of August still lingering in the valleys. 
 
 "I've seen Thomson's Pass choked up with fifteen feet 
 o' snow earlier than this," said Rawlins, answering Hale's 
 gaze; "and last September the passengers sledded over 
 the road we came last night, and all the time Thomson, 
 a mile lower down over the ridge in the hollow, smoking 
 his pipes under roses in his piazzy ! Mountains is mighty 
 uncertain; they make their own weather ez they want 
 it. I reckon you ain't wintered here yet." 
 
 Hale was obliged to admit that he had only taken 
 Eagle's Court in the early spring. 
 
 "Oh, you're all right at Eagle's when you're there ! 
 
 But it's like Thomson's it's the gettin' there that 
 
 Hallo! What's that?" 
 
 A shot, distant but distinct, had rung through the keen 
 air. It was followed by another so alike as to seem an 
 echo. 
 
 "That's over yon, on the North Ridge," said the ostler, 
 "about two miles as the crow flies and five by the trail. 
 Somebody's shootin' b'ar." 
 
 "Not with a shot gun," said Clinch, quickly wheeling 
 his horse with a gesture that electrified them. "It's them, 
 and the've doubled on us ! To the North Ridge, gentle 
 men, and ride all you know!" 
 
 It needed no second challenge to completely transform 
 that quiet cavalcade. The wild man-hunting instinct, 
 inseparable to most humanity, rose at their leader's look 
 and word. With an incoherent and unintelligible cry, 
 giving voice to the chase like the commonest hound of 
 their fields, the order-loving Hale and the philosophical 
 Rawlins wheeled with the others, and in another instant 
 the little band swept out of sight in the forest. 
 
 An immense and immeasurable quiet succeeded. The 
 sunlight glistened silently on cliff and scar, the vast 
 distance below seemed to stretch out and broaden into 
 repose. It might have been fancy, but over the sharp 
 
 13 v - 2
 
 386 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 line of the North Ridge a light smoke lifted as of an 
 escaping soul. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 EAGLE'S COURT, one of the highest canons of the 
 Sierras, was in reality a plateau of table-land, embayed 
 like a green lake in a semi-circular sweep of granite, 
 that, lifting itself three thousand feet higher, became a 
 foundation for the eternal snows. The mountain genii 
 of space and atmosphere jealously guarded its seclusion 
 and surrounded it with illusions; it never looked to be 
 exactly what it was: the traveller who saw it from the 
 North Ridge apparently at his feet in descending found 
 himself separated from it by a mile-long abyss and a 
 rushing river; those who sought it by a seeming direct 
 trail at the end of an hour lost sight of it completely, 
 or, abandoning the quest and retracing their steps, sud 
 denly came upon the gap through which it was entered. 
 That which from the Ridge appeared to be a copse of 
 bushes beside the tiny dwelling were trees three hundred 
 feet high; the cultivated lawn before it, which might 
 have been covered by the traveller's handkerchief, was a 
 field of a thousand acres. 
 
 The house itself was a long, low, irregular structure, 
 chiefly of roof and veranda, picturesquely upheld by 
 rustic pillars of pine, with the bark still adhering, and 
 covered with vines and trailing roses. Yet it was evident 
 that the coolness produced by this vast extent of cover 
 was more than the architect, who had planned it under 
 the influence of a staring and bewildering sky, had trust 
 fully conceived, for it had to be mitigated by blazing fires 
 in open hearths when the thermometer marked a hundred 
 degrees in the field beyond. The dry, restless wind that 
 continually rocked the tall masts of the pines with a 
 sound like the distant sea, while it stimulated out-door 
 physical exertion and defied fatigue, left the sedentary 
 dwellers in these altitudes chilled in the shade they 
 courted, or scorched them with heat when they ven 
 tured to bask supinely in the sun. White muslin curtains
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 387 
 
 at the French windows, and rugs, skins, and heavy furs 
 dispersed in the interior, with certain other charming but 
 incongruous details of furniture, marked the inconsis 
 tencies of the climate. 
 
 There was a coquettish indication of this in the cos 
 tume of Miss Kate Scott as she stepped out on the 
 veranda that morning. A man's broad-brimmed Panama 
 hat, partly unsexed by a twisted gayly-colored scarf, but 
 retaining enough character to give piquancy to the pretty 
 curves of the face beneath, protected her from the sun; 
 a red flannel shirt another spoil from the enemy and a 
 thick jacket shielded her from the austerities of the morn 
 ing breeze. But the next inconsistency was peculiarly 
 her own. Miss Kate always wore the freshest and light 
 est of white cambric skirts, without the least reference 
 to the temperature. To the practical sanatory remon 
 strances of her brother-in-law, and to the conventional 
 criticism of her sister, she opposed the same defence: 
 "How else is one to tell when it is summer in this ridicu 
 lous climate? And then, woollen is stuffy, color draws 
 the sun, and one at least knows when one is clean or 
 dirty." Artistically the result was far from unsatisfactory. 
 It was a pretty figure under the sombre pines, against the 
 gray granite and the steely sky, and seemed to lend the 
 yellowing fields from which the flowers had already fled 
 a floral relief of color. I do not think the few masculine 
 wayfarers of that locality objected to it; indeed, some 
 had betrayed an indiscreet admiration, and had curiously 
 followed the invitation of Miss Kate's warmly-colored 
 figure until they had encountered the invincible indiffer 
 ence of Miss Kate's cold gray eyes. With these mani 
 festations her brother-in-law did not concern himself; he 
 had perfect confidence in her unqualified disinterest in 
 the neighboring humanity, and permitted her to wander 
 in her solitary picturesqueness, or accompanied her when 
 she rode in her dark green habit, with equal freedom 
 from anxiety. 
 
 For Miss Scott, although only twenty, had already 
 subjected most of her maidenly illusions to mature critical 
 analyses. She had voluntarily accompanied her sister
 
 388 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 and mother to California, in the earnest hope that nature 
 contained something worth saying to her, and was dis 
 appointed to find she had already discounted its value 
 in the pages of books. She hoped to find a vague free 
 dom in this unconventional life thus opened to her, or 
 rather to show others that she knew how intelligently 
 to appreciate it, but as yet she was only able to express it 
 in the one detail of dress already alluded to. Some of 
 the men, and nearly all the women, she had met thus 
 far, she was amazed to find, valued the conventionalities 
 she believed she despised, and were voluntarily assuming 
 the chains she thought she had thrown off. Instead of 
 learning anything from them, these children of nature 
 had bored her with eager questionings regarding the 
 civilization she had abandoned, or irritated her with 
 crude imitations of it for her benefit. "Fancy," she had 
 written to a friend in Boston, "my calling on Sue 
 Murphy, who remembered the Donner tragedy, and who 
 once shot a grizzly that was prowling round her cabin, 
 and think of her begging me to lend her my sack for a 
 pattern, and wawting to know if 'polonays' were still 
 worn." She remembered more bitterly the romance that 
 had tickled her earlier fancy, told of two college friends 
 of her brother-in-law's who were living the "perfect 
 life" in the mines, laboring in the ditches with a copy 
 of Homer in their pockets, and writing letters of the 
 purest philosophy under the free air of the pines. How, 
 coming unexpectedly on them in their Arcadia, the party 
 found them unpresentable through dirt, and thenceforth 
 unknowable through domestic complications that had 
 filled their Arcadian cabin with half-breed children. 
 
 Much of this disillusion she had kept within her own 
 heart, from a feeling of pride, or only lightly touched upon 
 it in her relations with her mother and sister. For Mrs. 
 Hale and Mrs. Scott had no idols to shatter, no enthusiasm 
 to subdue. Firmly and unalterably conscious of their 
 own superiority to the life they led and the community 
 that surrounded them, they accepted their duties cheer 
 fully, and performed them conscientiously. Those duties 
 were loyalty to Hale's interests and a vague missionary
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 389 
 
 work among the neighbors, which, like most missionary 
 work, consisted rather in making their own ideas under 
 stood than in understanding the ideas of their audience. 
 Old Mrs. Scott's zeal was partly religious, an inheritance 
 from her Puritan ancestry; Mrs. Hale's was the affability 
 of a gentlewoman and the obligation of her position. To 
 this was added the slight languor of the cultivated Ameri 
 can wife, whose health has been affected by the birth of 
 her first child, and whose views of marriage and maternity 
 were slightly tinged with gentle scepticism. She w'as sin 
 cerely attached to her husband, "who dominated the 
 household" like the rest of his "women folk," with the 
 faint consciousness of that division of service which ren 
 ders the position of the sultan of a seraglio at once so 
 prominent and so precarious. The attitude of John Hale 
 in his family circle was dominant because it had never 
 been subjected to criticism or comparison; and perilous 
 for the same reason. 
 
 Mrs. Hale presently joined her sister in the veranda, 
 and, shading her eyes with a narrow white hand, glanced 
 on the prospect with a polite interest and ladylike 
 urbanity. The searching sun, which, as Miss Kate once 
 intimated, was "vulgarity itself," stared at her in return, 
 but could not call a blush to her somewhat sallow cheek. 
 Neither could it detract, however, from the delicate pretti- 
 ness of her refined face with its soft gray shadows, or 
 the dark gentle eyes, whose blue-veined lids were just 
 then wrinkled into coquettishly mischievous lines by the 
 strong light. She was taller and thinner than Kate, and 
 had at times a certain shy, coy sinuosity of movement 
 which gave her a more virginal suggestion than her un 
 married sister. For Miss Kate, from her earliest youth, 
 had been distinguished by that matronly sedateness of 
 voice and step, and completeness of figure, which indi 
 cates some members of the gallinaceous tribe from their 
 callow infancy. 
 
 "I suppose John must have stopped at the Summit on 
 some business," said Mrs. Hale, "or he would have been 
 here already. It's scarcely worth while waiting for him, 
 unless you choose to ride over and meet him. You might
 
 390 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 change your dress," she continued, looking doubtfully at 
 Kate's costume. "Put on your riding-habit, and take 
 Manuel with you." 
 
 "And take the only man we have, and leave you alone ?" 
 returned Kate slowly. "No !" 
 
 "There are the Chinese field hands," said Mrs. Hale; 
 "you must correct your ideas, and really allow them some 
 humanity, Kate. John says they have a very good com 
 pulsory school system in their own country, and can read 
 and write." 
 
 "That would be of little use to you here alone if if " 
 Kate hesitated. 
 
 "If what?" said Mrs. Hale smiling. "Are you thinking 
 of Manuel's dreadful story of the grizzly tracks across 
 the fields this morning? I promise you that neither I, 
 nor mother, nor Minnie shall stir out of the house until 
 you return, if you wish it." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of that," said Kate ; "though I don't 
 believe the beating of a gong and the using of strong 
 language is the best way to frighten a grizzly from the 
 house. Besides, the Chinese are going down the river 
 to-day to a funeral, or a wedding, or a feast of stolen 
 chickens they're all the same and won't be here." 
 
 "Then take Manuel," repeated Mrs. Hale. "We have 
 the Chinese servants and Indian Molly in the house to 
 protect us from Heaven knows what ! I have the great 
 est confidence in Chy-Lee as a warrior, and in Chinese 
 warfare generally. One has only to hear him pipe in 
 time of peace to imagine what a terror he might become 
 in war time. Indeed, anything more deadly and soul- 
 harrowing than that love song he sang for us last night I 
 cannot conceive. But really, Kate, I am not afraid to 
 stay alone. You know what John says : we ought to be 
 always prepared for anything that might happen." 
 
 "My dear Josie," returned Kate, putting her arm around 
 her sister's waist, "I am perfectly convinced that if three- 
 fingered Jack, or two-toed Bill, or even Joaquim Murietta 
 himself, should step, red-handed, on that veranda, you 
 would gently invite him to take a cup of tea, inquire about 
 the state of the road, and refrain delicately from any
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 391 
 
 allusions to the sheriff. But I shan't take Manuel from 
 you. I really cannot undertake to look after his morals 
 at the station, and keep him from drinking aguardiente 
 with suspicious characters at the bar. It is true he 'kisses 
 my hand' in his speech, even when it is thickest, and 
 offers his back to me for a horse-block, but I think I 
 prefer the sober and honest familiarity of even that Pike 
 County landlord who is satisfied to say, 'Jump, girl, and 
 I'll ketch ye!'" 
 
 "I hope you didn't change your manner to either of 
 them for that," said Mrs. Hale with a faint sigh. "John 
 wants to be good friends with them, and they are behaving 
 quite decently lately, considering that they can't speak 
 a grammatical sentence nor know the use of a fork." 
 
 "And now the man puts on gloves and a tall hat to 
 come here on Sundays, and the woman won't call until 
 you've called first," retorted Kate; "perhaps you call that 
 improvement. The fact is, Josephine," continued the 
 young girl, folding her arms demurely, "we might as well 
 admit it at once these people don't like us." 
 
 "That's impossible !" said Mrs. Hale, with sublime sim 
 plicity. "You don't like them, you mean." 
 
 "I like them better than you do, Josie, and that's the 
 reason why / feel it and you don't." She checked herself, 
 and after a pause resumed in a lighter tone : "No ; I 
 sha'n't go to the station ; I'll commune with nature to-day, 
 and won't 'take any humanity in mine, thank you,' as Bill 
 the driver says. Adios." 
 
 "I wish Kate would not use that dreadful slang, even in 
 jest," said Mrs. Scott, in her rocking-chair at the French 
 window, when Josephine reentered the parlor as her sister 
 walked briskly away. "I am afraid she is being infected 
 by the people at the station. She ought to have a 
 change." 
 
 "I was just thinking," said Josephine, looking abstract 
 edly at her mother, "that I would try to get John to take 
 her to San Francisco this winter. The Careys are ex 
 pected, you know; she might visit them." 
 
 "I'm afraid, if she stays here much longer, she won't 
 care to see them at all. She seems to care for nothing
 
 392 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 now that she ever liked before," returned the old lady 
 ominously. 
 
 Meantime the subject of these criticisms was carrying 
 away her own reflections tightly buttoned up in her short 
 jacket. She had driven back her dog Spot another one 
 of her disillusions, who, giving way to his lower nature, 
 had once killed a sheep as she did not wish her Jacques- 
 like contemplation of any wounded deer to be incon 
 sistently interrupted by a fresh outrage from her com 
 panion. The air was really very chilly, and for the first 
 time in her mountain experience the direct rays of the 
 sun seemed to be shorn of their power. This compelled 
 her to walk more briskly than she was conscious of, for 
 in less than an hour she came suddenly and breathlessly 
 upon the mouth of the canon, or natural gateway to 
 Eagle's Court. 
 
 To her always a profound spectacle of mountain mag 
 nificence, it seemed to-day almost terrible in its cold, 
 strong grandeur. The narrowing pass was choked for 
 a moment between two gigantic buttresses of granite, ap 
 proaching each other so closely at their towering summits 
 that trees growing in opposite clefts of the rock inter 
 mingled their branches and pointed the soaring Gothic 
 arch of a stupendous gateway. She raised her eyes with 
 a quickly beating heart. She knew that the interlacing 
 trees above her were as large as -those she had just 
 quitted; she knew also that the point where they met was 
 only half-way up the cliff, for she had once gazed down 
 upon them, dwindled to shrubs from the airy summit; 
 she knew that their shaken cones fell a thousand feet 
 perpendicularly, or bounded like shot from the scarred 
 walls they bombarded. She remembered that one of these 
 pines, dislodged from its high foundations, had once 
 dropped like a portcullis in the archway, blocking the pass, 
 and was only carried afterwards by assault of steel and 
 fire. Bending her head mechanically, she ran swiftly 
 through the shadowy passage, and halted only at the be 
 ginning of the ascent on the other side. 
 
 It was here that the actual position of the plateau, so 
 indefinite of approach, began to be realized. It now ap-
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 393 
 
 peared an independent elevation, surrounded on three 
 sides by gorges and watercourses, so narrow as to be 
 overlooked from the principal mountain range, with 
 which it was connected by a long canon that led to the 
 ridge. At the outlet of this canon in bygone ages a 
 mighty river it had the appearance of having been slowly 
 raised by the diluvium of that river, and the debris washed 
 down from above a suggestion repeated in miniature by 
 the artificial plateaus of excavated soil raised before the 
 mouths of mining tunnels in the lower flanks of the moun 
 tain. It was the realization of a fact often forgotten 
 by the dwellers in Eagle's Court that the valley below 
 them, which was their connecting link with the surround 
 ing world, was only reached by ascending the mountain, 
 and the nearest road was over the higher mountain ridge. 
 Never before had this impressed itself so strongly upon 
 the young girl as when she turned that morning to look 
 upon the plateau below her. It seemed to illustrate the 
 conviction that had been slowly shaping itself out of her 
 reflections on the conversation of that morning. It was 
 possible that the perfect understanding of a higher life 
 was only reached from a height still greater, and that to 
 those half-way up the mountain the summit was never as 
 truthfully revealed as to the humbler dwellers in the 
 valley. 
 
 I do not know that these profound truths prevented 
 her from gathering some quaint ferns and berries, or 
 from keeping her calm gray eyes open to certain practical 
 changes that were taking place around her. She had 
 noticed a singular thickening in the atmosphere that 
 seemed to prevent the passage of the sun's rays, yet with 
 out diminishing the transparent quality of the air. The 
 distant snow-peaks were as plainly seen, though they ap 
 peared as if in moonlight. This seemed due to no cloud 
 or mist, but rather to a fading of the sun itself. The 
 occasional flurry of wings overhead, the whirring of 
 larger birds in the cover, and a frequent rustling in the 
 undergrowth, as of the passage of some stealthy animal, 
 began equally to attract her attention. It was so different 
 from the habitual silence of these sedate solitudes. Kate
 
 394 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 had no vague fear of wild beasts; she had been long 
 enough a mountaineer to understand the general immunity 
 enjoyed by the unmolesting wayfarer, and kept her way 
 undismayed. She was descending an abrupt trail when 
 she was stopped by a sudden crash in the bushes. It 
 seemed to come from the opposite incline, directly in a 
 line with her, and apparently on the very trail that she 
 was pursuing. The crash was then repeated again and 
 again lower down, as of a descending body. Expecting 
 the apparition of some fallen tree, or detached boulder 
 bursting through the thicket, in its way to the bottom of 
 the gulch, she waited. The foliage was suddenly brushed 
 aside, and a large grizzly bear half rolled, half waddled, 
 into the trail on the opposite side of the hill. A few 
 moments more would have brought them face to face at 
 the foot of the gulch ; when she stopped there were not 
 fifty yards between them. 
 
 She did not scream ; she did not faint ; she was not even 
 frightened. There did not seem to be anything terrifying 
 in this huge, stupid beast, who, arrested by the rustle of a 
 stone displaced by her descending feet, rose slowly on 
 his haunches and gazed at her with small, wondering eyes. 
 Nor did it seem strange to her, seeing that he was in 
 her way, to pick up a stone, throw it in his direction, and 
 say simply, "Sho ! get away !" as she would have done to 
 an intruding cow. Nor did it seem odd that he should 
 actually "go away" as he did, scrambling back into the 
 bushes again, and disappearing like some grotesque figure 
 in a transformation scene. It was not until after he had 
 gone that she was taken with a slight nervousness and 
 giddiness, and retraced her steps somewhat hurriedly, 
 shying a little at every rustle in the thicket. By the 
 time she had reached the great gateway she was doubtful 
 whether to be pleased or frightened at the incident, but 
 she concluded to keep it to herself. 
 
 It was still intensely cold. The light of the midday 
 sun had decreased still more, and on reaching the plateau 
 again she saw that a dark cloud, not unlike the precursor 
 of a thunder-storm, was brooding over the snowy peaks 
 beyond. In spite of the cold this singular suggestion of
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 395 
 
 summer phenomena was still borne out by the distant 
 smiling valley, and even in the soft grasses at her feet. 
 It seemed to her the crowning inconsistency of the climate, 
 and with a half-serious, half-playful protest on her lips 
 she hurried forward to seek the shelter of the house. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 To Kate's surprise, the lower part of the house was 
 deserted, but there was an unusual activity on the floor 
 above, and the sound of heavy steps. There were alien 
 marks of dusty feet on the scrupulously clean passage, and 
 on the first step of the stairs a spot of blood. With a 
 sudden genuine alarm that drove her previous adventure 
 from her mind, she impatiently called her sister's name. 
 There was a hasty yet subdued rustle of skirts on the 
 staircase, and Mrs. Hale, with her finger on her lip, 
 swept Kate unceremoniously into the sitting-room, closed 
 the door, and leaned back against it, with a faint smile. 
 She had a crumpled paper in her hand. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, but read that first," she said, hand 
 ing her sister the paper. "It was brought just now." 
 
 Kate instantly recognized her brother's distinct hand. 
 She read hurriedly, "The coach was robbed last night; 
 nobody hurt. I've lost nothing but a day's time, as this 
 business will keep me here until to-morrow, when Manuel 
 can join me with a fresh horse. No cause for alarm. 
 As the bearer goes out of his way to bring you this, 
 see that he wants for nothing." 
 
 "Well," said Kate expectantly. 
 
 "Well, the 'bearer' was fired upon by the robbers, who 
 were lurking on the Ridge. He was wounded in the leg. 
 Luckily he was picked up by his friend, who was coming 
 to meet him, and brought here as the nearest place. 
 He's up-stairs in the spare bed in the spare room, with 
 his friend, who won't leave his side. He won't even 
 have mother in the room. They've stopped the bleeding 
 with John's ambulance things, and now, Kate, here's 
 a chance for you to show the value of your education
 
 396 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 in the ambulance class. The ball has got to be extracted. 
 Here's your opportunity." 
 
 Kate looked at her sister curiously. There was a faint 
 pink flush on her pale cheeks, and her eyes were gently 
 sparkling. She had never seen her look so pretty before. 
 
 "Why not have sent Manuel for a doctor at once?" 
 asked Kate. 
 
 "The nearest doctor is fifteen miles away, and Manuel 
 is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he's gone to look after 
 the stock. There's some talk of snow; imagine the 
 absurdity of it !" 
 
 "But who are they?" 
 
 "They speak of themselves as 'friends,' as if it were a 
 profession. The wounded one was a passenger, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 "But what are they like?" continued Kate. "I suppose 
 they're like them all." 
 
 Mrs. Hale shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "The wounded one, when he's not fainting away, is 
 laughing. The other is a creature with a moustache, and 
 gloomy beyond expression." 
 
 "What are you going to do with them?" said Kate. 
 
 "What should I do? Even without John's letter I 
 could not refuse the shelter of my house to a wounded 
 and helpless man. I shall keep him, of course, until John 
 comes. Why, Kate, I really believe you are so prejudiced 
 against these people you'd like to turn them out. But I 
 forget ! It's because you like them so well. Well, you 
 need not fear to expose yourself to the fascinations of 
 the wounded Christy Minstrel I'm sure he's that or to 
 the unspeakable one, who is shyness itself, and would not 
 dare to raise his eyes to you." 
 
 There was a timid, hesitating step in the passage. It 
 paused before the door, moved away, returned, and finally 
 asserted its intentions in the gentlest of taps. 
 
 "It's him; I'm sure of it," said Mrs. Hale, with a 
 suppressed smile. 
 
 Kate threw open the door smartly, to the extreme dis 
 comfiture of a tall, dark figure that already had slunk 
 away from it. For all that, he was a good-looking
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 397 
 
 enough fellow, with a moustache as long and almost as 
 flexible as a ringlet. Kate could not help noticing also 
 that his hand, which was nervously pulling the mous 
 tache, was white and thin. 
 
 "Excuse me," he stammered, without raising his eyes, 
 "I was looking for for the old lady. I I beg your 
 pardon. I didn't know that you the young ladies com 
 pany were here. I intended I only wanted to say that 
 my friend " He stopped at the slight smile that passed 
 quickly over Mrs. Hale's mouth, and his pale face red 
 dened with an angry flush. 
 
 "I hope he is not worse," said Mrs. Hale, with more 
 than her usual languid gentleness. "My mother is not 
 here at present. Can I can we this is my sister do 
 as well?" 
 
 Without looking up he made a constrained recognition 
 of Kate's presence, that embarrassed and curt as it was, 
 had none of the awkwardness of rusticity. 
 
 "Thank you ; you're very kind. But my friend is a 
 little stronger, and if you can lend me an extra horse I'll 
 try to get him on the Summit to-night." 
 
 "But you surely will not take him away from us so 
 soon?" said Mrs. Hale, with a languid look of alarm, 
 in which Kate, however, detected a certain real feeling. 
 "Wait at least until my husband returns to-morrow." 
 
 "He won't be here to-morrow," said the stranger 
 hastily. He stopped, and as quickly corrected himself. 
 "That is, his business is so very uncertain, my friend 
 says." 
 
 Only Kate noticed the slip; but she noticed also that 
 her sister was apparently unconscious of it. "You think," 
 she said, "that Mr. Hale may be delayed?" 
 
 He turned upon her almost brusquely. "I mean that 
 it is already snowing up there ;" he pointed through the 
 window to the cloud Kate had noticed; "if it comes down 
 lower in the pass the roads will be blocked up. That is 
 why it would be better for us to try and get on at once." 
 
 "But if Mr. Hale is likely to be stopped by snow, so 
 are you," said Mrs. Hale playfully; "and you had better 
 let us try to make your friend comfortable here rather
 
 398 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 than expose him to that uncertainty in his weak condi 
 tion. We will do our best for him. My sister is dying 
 for an opportunity to show her skill in surgery," she 
 continued, with an unexpected mischievousness that only 
 added to Kate's surprised embarrassment. "Aren't you, 
 Kate?" 
 
 Equivocal as the young girl knew her silence appeared, 
 she was unable to utter the simplest polite evasion. Some 
 unaccountable impulse kept her constrained and speech 
 less. The stranger did not, however, wait for her reply, 
 but, casting a swift, hurried glance around the room, 
 said, "It's impossible ; we must go. In fact, I've already 
 taken the liberty to order the horses round. They are at 
 the door now. You may be certain," he added, with 
 quick earnestness, suddenly lifting his dark eyes to Mrs. 
 Hale, and as rapidly withdrawing them, "that your horse 
 will be returned at once, and and we won't forget 
 your kindness." He stopped and turned towards the hall. 
 "I I have brought my friend down-etairs. He wants 
 to thank you before he goes." 
 
 As he remained standing in the hall the two women 
 stepped to the door. To their surprise, half reclining on 
 a cane sofa was the wounded man, and what could be 
 seen of his slight figure was wrapped in a dark scrape. 
 His beardless face gave him a quaint boyishness quite 
 inconsistent with the mature lines of his temples and 
 forehead. Pale, and in pain, as he evidently was, his blue 
 eyes twinkled with intense amusement. Not only did his 
 manner offer a marked contrast to the sombre uneasiness 
 of his companion, but he seemed to be the only one per 
 fectly at his ease in the group around him. 
 
 "It's rather rough making you come out here to see 
 me off," he said, with a not unmusical laugh that was 
 very infectious, "but Ned there, who carried me down 
 stairs, wanted to tote me round the house in his arms 
 like a baby to say ta-ta to you all. Excuse my not rising, 
 but I feel as uncertain below as a mermaid, and as out of 
 my element," he added, with a mischievous glance at his 
 friend. "Ned concluded I must go on. But I must say 
 good-by to the old lady first. Ah ! here she is."
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 399 
 
 To Kate's complete bewilderment, not only did the utter 
 familiarity of this speech, pass unnoticed and unrebuked 
 by her sister, but actually her own mother advanced 
 quickly with every expression of lively sympathy, and 
 with the authority of her years and an almost maternal 
 anxiety endeavored to dissuade the invalid from going. 
 "This is not my house," she said, looking at her daughter, 
 "but if it were I should not hear of your leaving, not 
 only to-night, but until you were out of danger. 
 Josephine ! Kate ! What are you thinking of to permit 
 it ? Well, then / forbid it there !" 
 
 Had they become suddenly insane, or were they be 
 witched by this morose intruder and his insufferably 
 familiar confidant ? The man was wounded, it was true ; 
 they might have to put him up in common humanity; 
 but here was her austere mother, who wouldn't come in 
 the room when Whisky Dick called on business, actually 
 pressing both of the invalid's hands, while her sister, 
 who never extended a finger to the ordinary visiting 
 humanity of the neighborhood, looked on with evident 
 complacency. 
 
 The wounded man suddenly raised Mrs. Scott's hand 
 to his lips, kissed it gently, and, with his smile quite van 
 ished, endeavored to rise to his feet. "It's of no use we 
 must go. Give me your arm, Ned. Quick! Are the 
 horses there?" 
 
 "Dear me," said Mrs. Scott quickly. "I forgot to say 
 the horse cannot be found anywhere. Manuel must have 
 taken him this morning to look up the stock. But he 
 will be back to-night certainly, and if to-morrow " 
 
 The wounded man sank back to a sitting position. "Is 
 Manuel your man?" he asked grimly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The two men exchanged glances. 
 
 "Marked on his left cheek and drinks a good deal?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kate, finding her voice. "Why?" 
 
 The amused look came back to the man's eyes. "That 
 kind of man isn't safe to wait for. We must take our 
 own horse, Ned. Are you ready ?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 400 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 The wounded man again attempted to rise. He fell 
 back, but this time quite heavily. He had fainted. 
 
 Involuntarily and simultaneously the three women 
 rushed to his side. "He cannot go," said Kate suddenly. 
 
 "He will be better in a moment." 
 
 "But only for a moment. Will nothing induce you to 
 change your mind?" 
 
 As if in reply a sudden gust of wind brought a volley 
 of rain against the window. 
 
 "That will," said the stranger bitterly. 
 
 "The rain?" 
 
 "A mile from here it is snow; and before we could 
 reach the Summit with these horses the road would be 
 impassable." 
 
 He made a slight gesture to himself, as if accepting 
 an inevitable defeat, and turned to his companion, who 
 was slowly reviving under the active ministration of the 
 two women. The wounded man looked around with a 
 weak smile. "This is one way of going off," he said 
 faintly, "but I could do this sort of thing as well on the 
 road." 
 
 "You can do nothing now," said his friend, decidedly. 
 "Before we get to the Gate the road will be impassable 
 for our horses." 
 
 "For any horses?" asked Kate. 
 
 "For any horses. For any man or beast I might say. 
 Where we cannot get out, no one can get in," he added, 
 as if answering her thoughts. "I am afraid that you 
 won't see your brother to-morrow morning. But I'll 
 reconnoitre as soon as I can do so without torturing 
 him" he said, looking anxiously at the helpless man; 
 "he's got about his share of pain, I reckon, and the first 
 thing is to get him easier." It was the longest speech 
 he had made to her; it was the first time he had fairly 
 looked her in the face. His shy restlessness had suddenly 
 given way to dogged resignation, less abstracted, but 
 scarcely more flattering to his entertainers. Lifting his 
 companion gently in his arms, as if he had been a child, 
 he reascended the staircase, Mrs. Scott and the hastily- 
 summoned Molly following with overflowing solicitude.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 401 
 
 As soon as they were alone in the parlor Mrs. Hale 
 turned to her sister: "Only that our guests seemed to be 
 as anxious to go just now as you were to pack them off, 
 I should have been shocked at your inhospitality. What 
 has come over you, Kate ? These are the very people you 
 have reproached me so often with not being civil enough 
 to." 
 
 "But who are they?" 
 
 "How do I know? There is your brother's letter." 
 
 She usually spoke of her husband as "John." This 
 slight shifting of relationship and responsibility to the 
 feminine mind was significant. Kate was a little fright 
 ened and remorseful. 
 
 "I only meant you don't even know their names." 
 
 "That wasn't necessary for giving them a bed and 
 bandages. Do you suppose the good Samaritan ever 
 asked the wounded Jew's name, and that the Levite did 
 not excuse himself because the thieves had taken the 
 poor man's card-case? Do the directions, 'In case of 
 accident,' in your ambulance rules, read, 'First lay the 
 sufferer on his back and inquire his name and family 
 connections'? Besides, you can call one 'Ned' and the 
 other 'George,' if you like." 
 
 "Oh, you know what I mean," said Kate, irrelevantly. 
 "Which is George?" 
 
 "George is the wounded man," said Mrs. Hale; "not 
 the one who talked to you more than he did to any one 
 else. I suppose the poor man was frightened and read 
 dismissal in your eyes." 
 
 "I wish John were here." 
 
 "I don't think we have anything to fear in his absence 
 from men whose only wish is to get away from us. If 
 it is a question of propriety, my dear Kate, surely there is 
 the presence of mother to prevent any scandal although 
 really her Own conduct with the wounded one is not 
 above suspicion," she added, with that novel mischievous- 
 ness that seemed a return of her lost girlhood. "We 
 must try to do the best we can with them and for them," 
 she said decidedly, "and meantime' I'll see if I can't 
 arrange John's room for them."
 
 402 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 "John's room?" 
 
 "Oh, mother is perfectly satisfied; indeed, suggested 
 it. It's larger and will hold two beds, for 'Ned,' the 
 friend, must attend to him at night. And, Kate, don't 
 you think, if you're not going out again, you might 
 change your costume? It does very well while we are 
 alone " 
 
 "Well," said Kate indignantly, "as I am not going 
 into his room " 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that, if we can't get a regular 
 doctor. But he is very restless, and wanders all over the 
 house like a timid and apologetic spaniel." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Why 'Ned.' But I must go and look after the patient. 
 I suppose they've got him safe in his bed again," and with 
 a nod to her sister she tripped up-stairs. 
 
 Uncomfortable and embarrassed, she knew not why, 
 Kate sought her mother. But that good lady was already 
 in attendance on the patient, and Kate hurried past that 
 baleful centre of attraction with a feeling of loneliness 
 and strangeness she had never experienced before. 
 Entering her own room she went to the window that 
 first and last refuge of the troubled mind and gazed out. 
 Turning her eyes in the direction of her morning's walk, 
 she started back with a sense of being dazzled. She 
 rubbed first her eyes and then the rain-dimmed pane. It 
 was no illusion ! The whole landscape, so familiar to 
 her, was one vast field of dead, colorless white ! Trees, 
 rocks, even distance itself, had vanished in those few 
 hours. An even shadowless, motionless white sea filled 
 the horizon. On either side a vast wall of snow seemed 
 to shut out the world like a shroud. Only the green 
 plateau before her, with its sloping meadows and fringe 
 of pines and cottonwood, lay alone like a summer island 
 in this frozen sea. 
 
 A sudden desire to view this phenomenon more closely, 
 and to learn for herself the limits of this new tethered 
 life, completely possessed her, and, accustomed to act 
 upon her independent impulses, she seized a hooded 
 waterproof cloak, and slipped out of the house unper-
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 403 
 
 ceived. The rain was falling steadily along the descend 
 ing trail where she walked, but beyond, scarcely a mile 
 across the chasm, the wintry distance began to confuse 
 her brain with the inextricable swarming of snow. Hur 
 rying down with feverish excitement, she at last came in 
 sight of the arching granite portals of their domain. 
 But her first glance through the gateway showed it 
 closed as if with a white portcullis. Kate remembered 
 that the trail began to ascend beyond the arch, and knew 
 that what she saw was only the mountain side she had 
 partly climbed this morning. But the snow had already 
 crept down its flank, and the exit by trail was practically 
 closed. Breathlessly making her way back to the highest 
 part of the plateau the cliff behind the house that here 
 descended abruptly to the rain-dimmed valley she gazed 
 at the dizzy depths in vain for some undiscovered or 
 forgotten trail along its face. But a single glance con 
 vinced her of its inaccessibility. The gateway was indeed 
 their only outlet to the plain below. She looked back 
 at the falling snow beyond until she fancied she could 
 see in the crossing and recrossing lines the moving 
 meshes of a fateful web woven around them by viewless 
 but inexorable fingers. 
 
 Half frightened, she was turning away, when she per 
 ceived, a few paces distant, the figure of the stranger, 
 "Ned," also apparently absorbed in the gloomy prospect. 
 He was wrapped in the clinging folds of a black serape 
 braided with silver; the broad flap of a slouch hat beaten 
 back by the wind exposed the dark, glistening curls on 
 his white forehead. He was certainly very handsome 
 and picturesque, and that apparently without effort or 
 consciousness. Neither was there anything in his cos 
 tume or appearance inconsistent with his surroundings, 
 or, even with what Kate could judge were his habits or 
 position. Nevertheless, she instantly decided that he was 
 too handsome and too picturesque, without suspecting 
 that her ideas of the limits of masculine beauty were 
 merely personal experience. 
 
 As he turned away from the cliff they were brought 
 face to face. "It doesn't look very encouraging over 

 
 404 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 there," he said quietly, as if the inevitableness of the 
 situation had relieved him of his previous shyness and 
 effort ; "it's even worse than I expected. The snow must 
 have begun there last night, and it looks as if it meant 
 to stay." He stopped for a moment, and then, lifting his 
 eyes to her, said: "I suppose you know what this 
 means ?" 
 
 "I don't understand you." 
 
 "I thought not. Well ! it means that you are abso 
 lutely cut off here from any communication or intercourse 
 with any one outside of that canon. By this time the 
 snow is five feet deep over the only trail by which one 
 can pass in and out of that gateway. I am not alarming 
 you, I hope, for there is no real physical danger; a place 
 like this ought to be well garrisoned, and certainly is 
 self-supporting so far as the mere necessities and even 
 comforts are concerned. You have wood, water, cattle, 
 and game at your command, but for two weeks at least 
 you are completely isolated." 
 
 "For two weeks," said Kate, growing pale "and my 
 brother !" 
 
 "He knows all by this time, and is probably as assured 
 as I am of the safety of his family." 
 
 "For two weeks," continued Kate ; "impossible ! You 
 don't know my brother ! He will find some way to get 
 to us." 
 
 "I hope so," returned the stranger gravely, "for what 
 is possible for him is possible for us." 
 
 "Then you are anxious to get away," Kate could not 
 help saying. 
 
 "Very." 
 
 The reply was not discourteous in manner, but was so 
 far from gallant that Kate felt a new and inconsistent 
 resentment. Before she could say anything he added, 
 "And I hope you will remember, whatever may happen, 
 that I did my best to avoid staying here longer than was 
 necessary to keep my friend from bleeding to death in 
 the road." 
 
 "Certainly," said Kate; then added awkwardly, "I hope 
 he'll be better soon." She was silent, and then, quick-
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 405 
 
 ening her pace, said hurriedly, "I must tell my sister 
 this dreadful news." 
 
 "I think she is prepared for it. If there is anything I 
 can do to help you I hope you will let me know. Perhaps 
 I may be of some service. I shall begin by exploring the 
 trails to-morrow, for the best service we can do you pos 
 sibly is to take ourselves off; but I can carry a gun, and 
 the woods are full of game driven down from the 
 mountains. Let me show you something you may not 
 have noticed." He stopped, and pointed to a small knoll 
 of sheltered shrubbery and granite on the opposite moun 
 tain, which still remained black against the surrounding 
 snow. It seemed to be thickly covered with moving 
 objects. "They are wild animals driven out of the snow," 
 said the stranger. "That larger one is a grizzly ; there is 
 a panther, wolves, wild cats, a fox, and some mountain 
 goats." 
 
 "An ill-assorted party," said the young girl. 
 
 "Ill luck makes them companions. They are too fright 
 ened to hurt one another now." 
 
 "But they will eat each other later on," said Kate, 
 stealing a glance at her companion. 
 
 He lifted his long lashes and met her eyes. "Not on a 
 haven of refuge." 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 KATE found her sister, as the stranger had intimated, 
 fully prepared. A hasty inventory of provisions and 
 means of subsistence showed that they had ample re 
 sources for a much longer isolation. 
 
 "They tell me it is by no means an uncommon case, 
 Kate ; somebody over at somebody's place was snowed in 
 for four weeks, and now it appears that even the Summit 
 House is not always accessible. John ought to have 
 known it when he bought the place; in fact, I was 
 ashamed to admit that he did not. But that is like John 
 to prefer his own theories to the experience of others. 
 However, I don't suppose we should even notice the 
 privation except for the mails. It will be a lesson to
 
 406 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 John, though. As Mr. Lee says, he is on the outside, 
 and can probably go wherever he likes from the Summit 
 except to come here." 
 
 "Mr. Lee?" echoed Kate. 
 
 "Yes, the wounded one; and the other's name is 
 Falkner. I asked them in order that you might be 
 properly introduced. There were very respectable Falk- 
 ners in Charlestown, you remember; I thought you might 
 warm to the name, and perhaps trace the connection, now 
 that you are such good friends. It's providential they 
 are here, as we haven't got a horse or a man in the 
 place since Manuel disappeared, though Mr. Falkner 
 says he can't be far away, or they would have met him 
 on the trail if he had gone towards the Summit." 
 
 "Did they say anything more of Manuel ?" 
 
 "Nothing; though I am inclined to agree with you that 
 he isn't trustworthy. But that again is the result of 
 John's idea of employing native skill at the expense of 
 retaining native habits." 
 
 The evening closed early, and with no diminution in 
 the falling rain and rising wind. Falkner kept his word, 
 and unostentatiously performed the out-door work in the 
 barn and stables, assisted by the only Chinese servant 
 remaining, and under the advice and supervision of Kate. 
 Although he seemed to understand horses, she was sur 
 prised to find that he betrayed a civic ignorance of the 
 ordinary details of the farm and rustic household. It was 
 quite impossible that she should retain her distrustful 
 attitude, or he his reserve in their enforced companion 
 ship. They talked freely of subjects suggested by the 
 situation, Falkner exhibiting a general knowledge and 
 intuition of things without parade or dogmatism. Doubt 
 ful of all versatility as Kate was, she could not help ad 
 mitting to herself that his truths were none the less true 
 for their quantity or that he got at them without os 
 tentatious processes. His talk certainly was more pic 
 turesque than her brother's, and less subduing to her fac 
 ulties. John had always crushed her. 
 
 When they returned to the house he did not linger in 
 the parlor or sitting-room, but at once rejoined his friend.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 407 
 
 When dinner was ready in the dining-room, a little more 
 deliberately arranged and ornamented than usual, the two 
 women were somewhat surprised to receive an excuse 
 from Falkner, begging them to allow him for the present 
 to take his meals with the patient, and thus save the 
 necessity of another attendant. 
 
 "It is all shyness, Kate," said Mrs. Hale, confidently, 
 "and must not be permitted for a moment." 
 
 "I'm sure I should be quite willing to stay with the poor 
 boy myself," said Mrs. Scott, simply, "and take Mr. Falk- 
 ner's place while he dines." 
 
 "You are too willing, mother," said Mrs. Hale, pertly, 
 "and your 'poor boy,' as you call him, will never see 
 thirty-five again." 
 
 "He will never see any other birthday!" retorted her 
 mother, "unless you keep him more quiet. He only talks 
 when you're in the room." 
 
 "He wants some relief to his friend's long face and 
 moustachios that make him look prematurely in mourn 
 ing," said Mrs. Hale, with a slight increase of animation. 
 "I don't propose to leave them too much together. After 
 dinner we'll adjourn to their room and lighten it up a 
 little. You must come, Kate, to look at the patient, and 
 counteract the baleful effects of my frivolity." 
 
 Mrs. Hale's instincts were truer than her mother's ex 
 perience ; not only that the wounded man's eyes became 
 brighter under the provocation of her presence, but it was 
 evident that his naturally exuberant spirits were a part 
 of his vital strength, and were absolutely essential to his 
 quick recovery. Encouraged by Falkner's grave and prac 
 tical assistance, which she could not ignore, Kate ven 
 tured to make an examination of Lee's wound. Even to 
 her unpractised eye it was less serious than at first ap 
 peared. The great loss of blood had been due to the 
 laceration of certain small vessels below the knee, but 
 neither artery nor bone was injured. A recurrence of the 
 haemorrhage or fever was the only thing to be feared, 
 and these could be averted by bandaging, repose, and sim 
 ple nursing. 
 
 The Unfailing good humor of the patient under this
 
 408 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 manipulation, the quaint originality of his speech, the 
 freedom of his fancy, which was, however, always con 
 trolled by a certain instinctive tact, began to affect Kate 
 nearly as it had the others. She found herself laughing 
 over the work she had undertaken in a pure sense of 
 duty; she joined in the hilarity produced by Lee's affected 
 terror of her surgical mania, and offered to undo the 
 bandages in search of the thimble he declared she had left 
 in the wound with a view to further experiments. 
 
 "You ought to broaden your practice," he suggested. 
 "A good deal might be made out of Ned and a piece of 
 soap left carelessly on the first step of the staircase, 
 while mountains of surgical opportunities lie in a humble 
 orange peel judiciously exposed. Only I warn you that 
 you wouldn't find him as docile as I am. Decoyed into a 
 snow-drift and frozen, you might get some valuable ex 
 periences in resuscitation by thawing him." 
 
 "I fancied you had done that already, Kate," whispered 
 Mrs. Hale. 
 
 "Freezing is the new suggestion for painless surgery," 
 said Lee, coming to Kate's relief with ready tact, "only 
 the knowledge should be more generally spread. There 
 was a man up at Strawberry fell under a sledge-load of 
 wood in the snow. Stunned by the shock, he was slowly 
 freezing to death, when, with a tremendous effort, he 
 succeeded in freeing himself all but his right leg, pinned 
 down by a small log. His axe happened to have fallen 
 within reach, and a few blows on the log freed him." 
 
 "And saved the poor fellow's life," said Mrs. Scott, 
 who was listening with sympathizing intensity. 
 
 "At the expense of his left leg, which he had unknow 
 ingly cut off under the pleasing supposition that it was a 
 log," returned Lee demurely. 
 
 Nevertheless, in a few moments he managed to divert 
 the slightly shocked susceptibilities of the old lady with 
 some raillery of himself, and did not again interrupt the 
 even good-humored communion of the party. The rain 
 beating against the windows and the fire sparkling on the 
 hearth seemed to lend a charm to their peculiar isolation, 
 and it was not until Mrs. Scott rose with a warning that
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 409 
 
 they were trespassing upon the rest of their patient that 
 they discovered that the evening had slipped by unnoticed. 
 When the door at last closed on the bright, sympathetic 
 eyes of the two young women and the motherly benedic 
 tion of the elder, Falkner walked to the window, and 
 remained silent, looking into the darkness. Suddenly he 
 turned bitterly to his companion. 
 
 "This is just h 11, George." 
 
 George Lee, with a smile on his boyish face, lazily 
 moved his head. 
 
 "I don't know! If it wasn't for the old woman, who 
 is the one solid chunk of absolute goodness here, expect 
 ing nothing, wanting nothing, it would be good fun 
 enough ! These two women, cooped up in this house, 
 wanted excitement. They've got it ! That man Hale 
 wanted to show off by going for us ; he's had his chance, 
 and will have it again before I've done with him. That 
 d d fool of a messenger wanted to go out of his way 
 to exchange shots with me; I reckon he's the most satis 
 fied of the lot! I don't know why you should growl. 
 You did your level best to get away from here, and the 
 result is, that little Puritan is ready to worship you." 
 
 "Yes but this playing it on them George this " 
 
 "Who's playing it? Not you; I see you've given away 
 our names already." 
 
 "I couldn't lie, and they know nothing by that." 
 
 "Do you think they would be happier by knowing it? 
 Do you think that soft little creature would be as happy 
 as she was to-night if she knew that her husband had 
 been indirectly the means of laying me by the heels here? 
 Where is the swindle? This hole in my leg? If you 
 had been five minutes under that girl's d d sympathetic 
 fingers you'd have thought it was genuine. Is it in our 
 trying to get away? Do you call that ten-feet drift in 
 the pass a swindle ? Is it in the chance of Hale getting 
 back while we're here? That's real enough, isn't it? 
 I say, Ned, did you ever give your unfettered intellect to 
 the contemplation of that?" 
 
 Falkner did not reply. There was an interval of si 
 lence, but he could see from the movement of George's 

 
 410 SNOW-BOUXD AT EAGLE'S 
 
 shoulders that he was shaking with suppressed laughter. 
 
 "Fancy Mrs. Hale archly introducing her husband ! 
 My offering him a chair, but being all the time obliged 
 to cover him with a derringer under the bedclothes. 
 Your rushing in from your peaceful pastoral pursuits 
 in the barn, with a pitchfork in one hand and the girl 
 in the other, and dear old mammy sympathizing all round 
 and trying to make everything comfortable." 
 
 "I should not be alive to see it, George," said Falkner 
 gloomily. 
 
 "You'd manage to pitchfork me and those two women 
 on Hale's horse and ride away; that's what you'd do, 
 or I don't know you ! Look here, Ned," he added more 
 seriously, "the only swindling was our bringing that note 
 here. That was your idea. You thought it would remove 
 suspicion, and as you believed I was bleeding to death 
 you played that game for all it was worth to save me. 
 You might have done what I asked you to do propped 
 me up in the bushes, and got away yourself. I was 
 good for a couple of shots yet, and after that what 
 mattered ? That night, the next day, the next time I take 
 the road, or a year hence? It will come when it will 
 come, all the same !" 
 
 He did not speak bitterly, nor relax his smile. Falkner, 
 without speaking, slid his hand along the coverlet. Lee 
 grasped it, and their hands remained clasped together 
 for a few minutes in silence. 
 
 "How is this to end? We cannot go on here in this 
 way," said Falkner suddenly. 
 
 "If we cannot get away it must go on. Look here, 
 Ned. I don't reckon to take anything out of this house 
 that I didn't bring in it, or isn't freely offered to me ; yet 
 I don't otherwise, you understand, intend making myself 
 out a d d bit better than I am. That's the only excuse 
 I have for not making myself out just what I am. I 
 don't know the fellow who's obliged to tell every one 
 the last company he was in, or the last thing he did ! 
 Do you suppose even these pretty little women tell us 
 their whole story? Do you fancy that this St. John in 
 the wilderness is canonized in his family? Perhaps,
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 411 
 
 when I take the liberty to intrude in his affairs, as he 
 has in mine, he'd see he isn't. I don't blame you for 
 being sensitive, Ned. It's natural. When a man lives 
 outside the revised statutes of his own State he is apt 
 to be awfully fine on points of etiquette in his own house 
 hold. As for me, I find it rather comfortable here. The 
 beds of other people's making strike me as being more 
 satisfactory than my own. Good-night." 
 
 In a few moments he was sleeping the peaceful sleep 
 of that youth which seemed to be his own dominant 
 quality. Falkner stood for a little space and watched 
 him, following the boyish lines of his cheek on the pillow, 
 from the shadow of the light brown lashes under his 
 closed lids to the lifting of his short upper lip over his 
 white teeth, with his regular respiration. Only a sharp 
 accenting of the line of nostril and jaw and a faint de 
 pression of the temple betrayed his already tried man 
 hood. 
 
 The house had long sunk to repose when Falkner 
 returned to the window, and remained looking out upon 
 the storm. Sudenly he extinguished the light, and pass 
 ing quickly to the bed laid his hand upon the sleeper. 
 Lee opened his eyes instantly. 
 
 "Are you awake?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "Somebody is trying to get into the house !" 
 
 "Not him, eh ?" said Lee gayly. 
 
 "No; two men. Mexicans, I think. One looks like 
 Manuel." 
 
 "Ah," said Lee, drawing himself up to a sitting posture. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Don't you see? He believes the women are alone." 
 
 "The dog d d hound !" 
 
 "Speak respectfully of one of my people, if you please, 
 and hand me my derringer. Light the candle again, and 
 open the door. Let them get in quietly. They'll come 
 here first. It's his room, you understand, and if there's 
 any money it's here. Anyway, they must pass here to 
 get to the women's rooms. Leave Manuel to me, and 
 you take care of the other."
 
 412 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "Manuel knows the house, and will come first. When 
 he's fairly in the room shut the door and go for the 
 other. But no noise. This is just one of the sw-eetest 
 things out if it's done properly." 
 
 "But you, George?" 
 
 "If I couldn't manage that fellow without turning down 
 the bedclothes I'd kick myself. Hush. Steady now." 
 
 He lay down and shut his eyes as if in natural repose. 
 Only his right hand, carelessly placed under his pillow, 
 closed on the handle of his pistol. Falkner quietly slipped 
 into the passage. The light of the candle faintly illu 
 minated the floor and opposite wall, but left it on either 
 side in pitchy obscurity. 
 
 For some moments the silence was broken only by the 
 sound of the rain without. The recumbent figure in bed 
 seemed to have actually succumbed to sleep. The multi 
 tudinous small noises of a house in repose might have 
 been misinterpreted by ears less keen than the sleeper's; 
 but when the apparent creaking of a far-off shutter was 
 followed by the sliding apparition of a dark head of 
 tangled hair at the door, Lee had not been deceived, and 
 was as prepared as if he had seen it. Another step, and 
 the figure entered the room. The door closed instantly 
 behind it. The sound of a heavy body struggling against 
 the partition outside followed, and then suddenly ceased. 
 
 The intruder turned, and violently grasped the handle 
 of the door, but recoiled at a quiet voice from the bed. 
 
 "Drop that, and come here." 
 
 He started back with an exclamation. The sleeper's 
 eyes were wide open; the sleeper's extended arm and 
 pistol covered him. 
 
 "Silence ! or I'll let that candle shine through you !" 
 
 "Yes, captain !" growled the astounded and frightened 
 half-breed. "I. didn't know you were here." 
 
 Lee raised himself, and grasped the long whip in his 
 left hand and whirled it round his head. 
 
 "Will you dry up?" 
 
 The man sank back against the wall in silent terror. 
 
 "Open that door now softly."
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 413 
 
 Manuel obeyed with trembling fingers. 
 
 "Ned," said Lee in a low voice, "bring him in here 
 quick." 
 
 There was a slight rustle, and Falkner appeared, back 
 ing in another gasping figure, whose eyes were starting 
 under the strong grasp of the captor at his throat. 
 
 "Silence," said Lee, "all of you." 
 
 There was a breathless pause. The sound of a door 
 hesitatingly opened in the passage broke the stillness, 
 followed by the gentle voice of Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" 
 
 Lee made a slight gesture of warning to Falkner, of 
 menace to the others. "Everything's the matter," he called 
 out cheerily. "Ned's managed to half pull down the 
 house trying to get at something from my saddle-bags." 
 
 "I hope he has not hurt himself," broke in another 
 voice mischievously. 
 
 "Answer, you clumsy villain," whispered Lee, with 
 twinkling eyes. 
 
 "I'm all right, thank you," responded Falkner, with 
 unaffected awkwardness. 
 
 There was a slight murmuring of voices, and then the 
 door was heard to close. Lee turned to Falkner. 
 
 "Disarm that hound and turn him loose outside, and 
 make no noise. And you, Manuel ! tell him what his and 
 your chances are if he shows his black face here again." 
 
 Manuel cast a single, terrified, supplicating glance, 
 more suggestive than words, at his confederate, as Falk 
 ner shoved him before him from the room. The next 
 moment they were silently descending the stairs. 
 
 "May I go too, captain?" entreated Manuel. "I swear 
 to God" 
 
 "Shut the door !" The man obeyed. 
 
 "Now, then," said Lee, with a broad, gratified smile, 
 laying down his whip and pistol within reach, and com 
 fortably settling the pillows behind his back, "we'll have 
 a quiet confab. A sort of old-fashioned talk, eh ? You're 
 not looking well, Manuel. You're drinking too much 
 again. It spoils your complexion." 
 
 "Let me go, captain," pleaded the man, emboldened
 
 414 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 by the good-humored voice, but not near enough to 
 notice a peculiar light in the speaker's eye. 
 
 "You've only just come, Manuel; and at considerable 
 trouble, too. Well, what have you got to say? What's 
 all this about? What are you doing here?" 
 
 The captured man shuffled his feet nervously, and only 
 uttered an uneasy laugh of coarse discomfiture. 
 
 "I see. You're bashful. Well, I'll help you along. 
 Come ! You knew that Hale was away and these women 
 were here without a man to help them. You thought 
 you'd find some money here, and have your own way 
 generally, eh?" 
 
 The tone of Lee's voice inspired him to confidence ; 
 unfortunately, it inspired him with familiarity also. 
 
 "I reckoned I had the right to a little fun on my own 
 account, cap. I reckoned ez one gentleman in the pro 
 fession wouldn't interfere with another gentleman's little 
 game," he continued coarsely. 
 
 "Stand up." 
 
 "Wot for?" 
 
 "Up, I say !" 
 
 Manuel stood up and glanced at him. 
 
 "Utter a cry that might frighten these women, and by 
 the living God they'll rush in here only to find you lying 
 dead on the floor of the house you'd have polluted." 
 
 He grasped the whip and laid the lash of it heavily 
 twice over the ruffian's shoulders. Writhing in sup 
 pressed agony, the man fell imploringly on his knees. 
 
 "Now, listen !" said Lee, softly twirling the whip in 
 the air. "I want to refresh your memory. Did you ever 
 learn, when you were with me before I was obliged to 
 kick you out of gentlemen's company to break into a 
 private house? Answer!" 
 
 "No," stammered the wretch. 
 
 "Did you ever learn to rob a woman, a child, or any 
 but a man, and that face to face?" 
 
 "No," repeated Manuel. 
 
 "Did you ever learn from me to lay a finger upon a 
 woman, old or young, in anger or kindness?" 
 
 "No."
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 415 
 
 "Then, my poor Manuel, it's as I feared; civilization 
 has ruined you. Farming and a simple, bucolic life have 
 perverted your morals. So you were running off with the 
 stock and that mustang, when you got stuck in the snow; 
 and the luminous idea of this little game struck you? 
 Eh? That was another mistake, Manuel; I never 
 allowed you to think when you were with me." 
 
 "No, captain." 
 
 "Who's your friend?" 
 
 "A d d cowardly nigger from the Summit." 
 
 "I agree with you for once; but he hasn't had a very 
 brilliant example. Where's he gone now?" 
 
 "To h 11, for all I care !" 
 
 "Then I want you to go with him. Listen. If there's 
 a way out of the place, you know it or can find it. I 
 give you two days to do it you and he. At the end 
 of that time the order will be to shoot you on sight. 
 Now take off your boots." 
 
 The man's dark face visibly whitened, his teeth chat 
 tered in superstitious terror. 
 
 "I'm not going to shoot you now," said Lee, smiling, 
 "so you will have a chanc i to die with your boots on, 1 
 if you are superstitious. I only want you to exchange 
 them for that pair of Hale's in the corner. The fact is 
 I have taken a fancy to yours. That fashion of wearing 
 the stockings outside strikes me as one of the neatest 
 things out." 
 
 Manuel suddenly drew off his boots with their muffled 
 covering, and put on the ones designated. 
 
 "Now open the door." 
 
 He did so. Falkner was already waiting at the 
 threshold. "Turn Manuel loose with the other, Ned, but 
 disarm him first. They might quarrel. The habit of 
 carrying arms, Manuel," added Lee, as Falkner took a 
 pistol and bowie-knife from the half-breed, "is of itself 
 provocative of violence, and inconsistent with a bucolic 
 and pastoral life." 
 
 i " To die with one's boots on." A synonym for death by violence, 
 popular among Southwestern desperadoes, and the subject of superstitious 
 dread.
 
 416 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 When Falkner returned he said hurriedly to his com 
 panion, "Do you think it wise, George, to let those 
 hell-hounds loose ? Good God ! I could scarcely let my 
 grip of his throat go, when I thought of what they were 
 hunting." 
 
 "My dear Ned," said Lee, luxuriously ensconcing him 
 self under the bedclothes again with a slight shiver of 
 delicious warmth, "I must warn you against allowing the 
 natural pride of a higher walk to prejudice you against 
 the general level of our profession. Indeed, I was quite 
 struck with the justice of Manuel's protest that I was 
 interfering with certain rude processes of his own 
 towards results aimed at by others." 
 
 "George !" interrupted Falkner, almost savagely. 
 
 "Well. I admit it's getting rather late in the evening 
 for pure philosophical inquiry, and you are tired. Prac 
 tically, then, it was wise to let them get away before 
 . they discovered two things. One, our exact relations 
 here with these women ; and the other, how many of us 
 were here. At present they think we are three or four in 
 possession and with the consent of the women." 
 
 "The dogs !" 
 
 "They are paying us the highest compliment they can 
 conceive of by supposing us cleverer scoundrels than 
 themselves. You are very unjust, Ned." 
 
 "If they escape and tell their story?" 
 
 "We shall have the rare pleasure of knowing we are 
 better than people believe us. And now put those boots 
 away somewhere where we can produce them if neces 
 sary, as evidence of Manuel's evening call. At present 
 we'll keep the thing quiet, and in the early morning you 
 can find out where they got in and remove any traces 
 they have left. It is no use to frighten the women. 
 There's no fear of their returning." 
 
 "And if they get away?" 
 
 "We can follow in their tracks." 
 
 "If Manuel gives the alarm?" 
 
 "With his burglarious boots left behind in the house? 
 Not much ! Good-night, Ned. Go to bed." 
 
 With these words Lee turned on his side and quietly
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 417 
 
 resumed his interrupted slumber. Falkner did not, how 
 ever, follow this sensible advice. When he was satisfied 
 that his friend was sleeping he opened the door softly 
 and looked out. He did not appear to be listening, for 
 his eyes were fixed upon a small pencil of light that 
 stole across the passage from the foot of Kate's door. 
 He watched it until it suddenly disappeared, when, leav 
 ing the door partly open, he threw himself on his couch 
 without removing his clothes. The slight movement 
 awakened the sleeper, who was beginning to feel the 
 accession of fever. He moved restlessly. 
 
 "George," said Falkner, softly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where was it we passed that old Mission Church on 
 the road one dark night, and saw the light burning be 
 fore the figure of the Virgin through the window?" 
 
 There was a moment of crushing silence. "Does that 
 mean you're wanting to light the candle again?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then don't lie there inventing sacrilegious conun 
 drums, but go to sleep." 
 
 Nevertheless, in the morning his fever was slightly 
 worse. Mrs. Hale, offering her condolence, said, "I know 
 that you have not been resting well, for even after your 
 friend met with that mishap in the hall, I heard your 
 voices, and Kate says your door was open all night. You 
 have a little fever too, Mr. Falkner." 
 
 George looked curiously at Falkner's pale face it was 
 burning. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE speed and fury with which Clinch's cavalcade 
 swept on in the direction of the mysterious shot left Hale 
 no chance for reflection. He was conscious of shouting 
 incoherently with the others, of urging his horse irresist 
 ibly forward, of momentarily expecting to meet or over 
 take something, but without any further thought. The 
 figures of Clinch and Rawlins immediately before him 
 shut out the prospect of the narrowing trail. Once only, 
 
 14 v. 2
 
 418 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 taking advantage of a sudden halt that threw them con 
 fusedly together, he managed to ask a question. 
 
 "Lost their track found it again!" shouted the ostler, 
 as Clinch, with a cry like the baying of a hound, again 
 darted forward. Their horses were panting and trembling 
 under them, the ascent seemed to be growing steeper, a 
 singular darkness, which even the density of the wood did 
 not sufficiently account for, surrounded them, but still 
 their leader madly urged them on. To Hale's returning 
 senses they did not seem in a condition to engage a single 
 resolute man, who might have ambushed in the woods or 
 beaten them in detail in the narrow gorge, but in another 
 instant the reason of their furious haste was manifest. 
 Spurring his horse ahead, Clinch dashed out into the open 
 with a cheering shout a shout that as quickly changed 
 to a yell of imprecation. They were on the Ridge in a 
 blinding snow-storm ! The road had already vanished 
 under their feet, and with it the fresh trail they had so 
 closely followed ! They stood helplessly on the shore 
 of a trackless white sea, blank and spotless of any trace 
 or sign of the fugitives. 
 
 " 'Pears to me, boys," said the ostler, suddenly ranging 
 before them, "ef you're not kalkilatin' on gittin' another 
 party to dig ye out, ye'd better be huntin' fodder and cover 
 instead of road agents. 'Skuse me, gentlemen, but I'm 
 responsible for the bosses, and this ain't no time for 
 circus-ridin'. We're a matter o' six miles from the sta 
 tion in a bee line." 
 
 "Back to the trail, then," said Clinch, wheeling his 
 horse towards the road they had just quitted. 
 
 " 'Skuse me, Kernel," said the ostler, laying his hand 
 on Clinch's rein, "but that way only brings us back the 
 road we kem the stage road three miles further from 
 home. That three miles is on the divide, and by the time 
 we get there it will be snowed up worse nor this. The 
 shortest cut is along the Ridge. If we hump ourselves 
 we ken cross the divide afore the road is blocked. And 
 that, 'skuse me, gentlemen, is my road." 
 
 There was no time for discussion. The road was al 
 ready palpably thickening under their feet. Hale's arm
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 419 
 
 was stiffened to his side by a wet, clinging snow- 
 wreath. The figures of the others were almost obliterated 
 and shapeless. It was not snowing it was snowballing! 
 The huge flakes, shaken like enormous feathers out of 
 a vast blue-black could, commingled and fell in sprays 
 and patches. All idea of their former pursuit was for 
 gotten; the blind rage and enthusiasm that had possessed 
 them was gone. They dashed after their new leader 
 with only an instinct for shelter and succor. 
 
 They had not ridden long when fortunately, as it 
 seemed to Hale, the character of the storm changed. 
 The snow no longer fell in such large flakes, nor as 
 heavily. A bitter wind succeeded; the soft snow began 
 to stiffen and crackle under the horses' hoofs; they were 
 no longer weighted and encumbered by the drifts upon 
 their bodies; the smaller flakes now rustled and rasped 
 against them like sand, or bounded from them like hail. 
 They seemed to be moving more easily and rapidly, their 
 spirits were rising with the stimulus of cold and motion, 
 when suddenly their leader halted. 
 
 "It's no use, boys. It can't be done ! This is no bliz 
 zard, but a regular two days' snifter ! It's no longer 
 meltin', but packin' and driftin' now. Even if we get 
 over the divide, we're sure to be blocked up in the pass." 
 
 It was true ! To their bitter disappointment they could 
 now see that the snow had not really diminished in 
 quantity, but that the now finely-powdered particles were 
 rapidly filling all inequalities of the surface, packing 
 closely against projections, and swirling in long furrows 
 across the levels. They looked with anxiety at their 
 self-constituted leader. 
 
 "We must make a break to get down in the woods 
 again before it's too late," he said briefly. 
 
 But they had already drifted away from the fringe of 
 larches and dwarf pines that marked the sides of the 
 Ridge, and lower down merged into the dense forest that 
 clothed the flank of the mountain they had lately climbed, 
 and it was with the greatest difficulty that they again 
 reached it, only to find that at that point it was too 
 precipitous for the descent of their horses. Benumbed
 
 420 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 and speechless, they continued to toil on, opposed to the 
 full fury of the stinging snow, and at times obliged to 
 turn their horses to the blast to keep from being blown 
 over the Ridge. At the end of half an hour the ostler 
 dismounted, and, beckoning to the others, took his 
 horse by the bridle, and began the descent. When it 
 came to Hale's turn to dismount he could not help at 
 first recoiling from the prospect before him. The trail 
 if it could be so called was merely the track or furrow 
 of some fallen tree dragged, by accident or design, 
 diagonally across the sides of the mountain. At times it 
 appeared scarcely a foot in width ; at other times a mere 
 crumbling gully, or a narrow shelf made by the projec 
 tions of dead boughs and collected debris. It seemed 
 perilous for a foot passenger, it appeared impossible for a 
 horse. Nevertheless, he had taken a step forward when 
 Clinch laid his hand on his arm. 
 
 "You'll bring up the rear," he said not unkindly, "ez 
 you're a stranger here. Wait until we sing out to you." 
 
 "But if I prefer to take the same risks as you all?" 
 said Hale stiffly. 
 
 "You kin," said Clinch grimly. "But I reckoned, as 
 you wern't familiar with this sort o' thing, you wouldn't 
 keer, by any foolishness o' yours, to stampede the rocks 
 ahead of us, and break down the trail, or send down an 
 avalanche on top of us. But just ez you like." 
 
 "I will wait, then," said Hale hastily. 
 
 The rebuke, however, did him good service. It pre 
 occupied his mind, so that it remained unaffected by the 
 dizzy depths, and enabled him to abandon himself me 
 chanically to the sagacity of his horse, who was con 
 tented simply to follow the hoofprints of the preceding 
 animal, and in a few moments they reached the broader 
 trail without a mishap. A discussion regarding their 
 future movements was already taking place. The impos 
 sibility of regaining the station at the Summit was 
 admitted ; the way down the mountain to the next settle 
 ment was still left to them, or the adjacent woods, if they 
 wished for an encampment. The ostler once more 
 assumed authority.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 421 
 
 " 'Skuse me, gentlemen, but them horses don't take no 
 pascar down the mountain to-night. The stage-road 
 ain't a mile off, and I kalkilate to wait here till the up 
 stage comes. She's bound to stop on account of the 
 snow; and I've done my dooty when I hand the horses 
 over to the driver." 
 
 "But if she hears of the block up yer, and waits at the 
 lower station?" said Rawlins. 
 
 "Then I've done my dooty all the same. 'Skuse me, 
 gentlemen, but them ez hez their own horses kin do ez 
 they like." 
 
 As this clearly pointed to Hale, he briefly assured 
 his companions that he had no intention of deserting 
 them. "If I cannot reach Eagle's Court, I shall at least 
 keep as near it as possible. I suppose any messenger 
 from my house to the Summit will learn where I am and 
 why I am delayed?" 
 
 "Messenger from your house !" gasped Rawlins. "Are 
 you crazy, stranger? Only a bird would get outer 
 Eagle's now ; and it would hev to be an eagle at that ! 
 Between your house and the Summit the snow must be 
 ten feet by this time, to say nothing of the drift in the 
 pass." 
 
 Hale felt it was the truth. At any other time he would 
 have worried over this unexpected situation, and utter 
 violation of all his traditions. He was past that now, 
 and even felt a certain relief. He knew his family were 
 safe ; it was enough. That they were locked up securely, 
 and incapable of interfering with him, seemed to enhance 
 his new, half-conscious, half-shy enjoyment of an ad 
 venturous existence. 
 
 The ostler, who had been apparently lost in contempla 
 tion of the steep trail he had just descended, suddenly 
 clapped his hand to his leg with an ejaculation of grati 
 fied astonishment. 
 
 "Waal, darn my skin ef that ain't Hennicker's 'slide' 
 all the time ! I heard it was somewhat about here." 
 
 Rawlins briefly explained to Hale that a slide was a 
 rude incline for the transit of heavy goods that could 
 not be carried down a trail.
 
 422 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 "And Hennicker's," continued the man, "ain't more 
 nor a mile away. Ye might try Hennicker's at a push, 
 eh?" 
 
 By a common instinct the whole party looked dubi 
 ously at Hale. "Who's Hennicker?" he felt compelled 
 to ask. 
 
 The ostler hesitated, and glanced at the others to 
 reply. "There are folks," he said lazily, at last, "ez 
 beleeves that Hennicker ain't much better nor the crowd 
 we're hunting; but they don't say it to Hennicker. We 
 needn't let on what we're after." 
 
 "I for one," said Hale stoutly, "decidedly object to 
 any concealment of our purpose." 
 
 "It don't follow," said Rawlins carelessly, "that Hen 
 nicker even knows of this yer robbery. It's his gineral 
 gait we refer to. Ef yer think it more polite, and it 
 makes it more sociable to discuss this matter afore him, 
 I'm agreed." 
 
 "Hale means," said Clinch, "that it wouldn't be on 
 the square to take and make use of any points we might 
 pick up there agin the road agents." 
 
 "Certainly," said Hale. It was not at all what he 
 had meant, but he felt singularly relieved at the com 
 promise. 
 
 "And ez I reckon Hennicker ain't such a fool ez not 
 to know who we are and what we're out for," continued 
 Clinch, "I reckon there ain't any concealment." 
 
 "Then it's Hennicker's?" said the ostler, with swift 
 deduction. 
 
 "Hennicker's it is ! Lead on." 
 
 The ostler remounted his horse, and the others fol 
 lowed. The trail presently turned into a broader track, 
 that bore some signs of approaching habitations, and at 
 the end of five minutes they came upon a clearing. It 
 was part of one of the fragmentary mountain terraces, 
 and formed by itself a vast niche, or bracketed shelf, in 
 the hollow flank of the mountain that, to Hale's first 
 glance, bore a rude resemblance to Eagle's Court. But 
 there was neither meadow nor open field; the few acres 
 of ground had been wrested from the forest by axe and
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 423 
 
 fire, and unsightly stumps everywhere marked the rude 
 and difficult attempts at cultivation. Two or three rough 
 buildings of unplaned and unpainted boards, connected 
 by rambling sheds, stood in the centre of the amphi 
 theatre. Far from being protected by the encircling ram 
 part, it seemed to be the selected arena for the combating 
 elements. A whirlwind from the outer abyss continually 
 filled this cave of yEolus with driving snow, which, how 
 ever, melted as it fell, or was quickly whirled away 
 again. 
 
 A few dogs barked and ran out to meet the cavalcade, 
 but there was no other sign of any life disturbed or 
 concerned at their approach. 
 
 "I reckon Hennicker ain't home, or he'd hev been on 
 the lookout afore this," said the ostler, dismounting and 
 rapping on the door. 
 
 After a silence, a female voice, unintelligibly to the 
 others, apparently had some colloquy with the ostler, 
 who returned to the party. 
 
 "Must go in through the kitchin can't open the door 
 for the wind." 
 
 Leaving their horses in the shed, they entered the 
 kitchen, which communicated, and presently came upon 
 a square room filled with smoke from a fire of green pine 
 logs. The doors and windows were tightly fastened; 
 the only air came in through the large-throated chimney 
 in voluminous gusts, which seemed to make the hollow 
 shell of the apartment swell and expand to the point of 
 bursting. Despite the stinging of the resinous smoke, the 
 temperature was grateful to the benumbed travellers. 
 Several cushionless arm-chairs, such as were used in 
 bar-rooms, two tables, a sideboard, half bar and half 
 cupboard, and a rocking-chair comprised the furniture, 
 and a few bear and buffalo skins covered the floor. Hale 
 sank into one of the arm-chairs, and, with a lazy satis 
 faction, partly born of his fatigue and partly from some 
 newly-discovered appreciative faculty, gazed around the 
 room, and then at the mistress of the house, with whom 
 the others were talking. 
 
 She was tall, gaunt, and withered; in spite of her
 
 424 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 evident years, her twisted hair was still dark and full, 
 and her eyes bright and piercing; her complexion and 
 teeth had long since succumbed to the vitiating effects 
 of frontier cookery, and her lips were stained with the 
 yellow juice of a brier-wood pipe she held in her mouth. 
 The ostler had explained their intrusion, and veiled their 
 character under the vague epithet of a "hunting party," 
 and was now evidently describing them personally. In 
 his new-found philosophy the fact that the interest of 
 his hostess seemed to be excited only by the names of his 
 companions, that he himself was carelessly, and even 
 deprecatingly, alluded to as the "stranger from Eagle's" 
 by the ostler, and completely overlooked by the old 
 woman, gave him no concern. 
 
 "You'll have to talk to Zenobia yourself. Dod rot ef 
 I'm gine to interfere. She knows Hennicker's ways, and 
 if she chooses to take in transients it ain't no funeral o' 
 mine. Zeenie ! You, Zeenie ! Look yer !" 
 
 A tall, lazy-looking, handsome girl appeared on the 
 threshold of the next room, and with a hand on each 
 door-post slowly swung herself backwards and forwards, 
 without entering. "Well, Maw?" 
 
 The old woman briefly and unalluringly pictured the 
 condition of the travellers. 
 
 "Paw ain't here," began the girl doubtfully, "and 
 How dy, Dick ! is that you ?" The interruption was 
 caused by her recognition of the ostler, and she lounged 
 into the room. In spite of a skimp, slatternly gown, 
 whose straight skirt clung to her lower limbs, there was 
 a quaint, nymph-like contour to her figure. Whether 
 from languor, ill-health, or more probably from a morbid 
 consciousness of her own height, she moved with a 
 slightly affected stoop that had become a habit. It 
 did not seem ungraceful to Hale, already attracted by 
 her delicate profile, her large dark eyes, and a certain 
 weird resemblance she had to some half-domesticated 
 dryad. 
 
 "That'll do, Maw," she said, dismissing her parent 
 with a nod. "I'll talk to Dick." 
 
 As the door closed on the old woman, Zenobia leaned
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 425 
 
 her hands on the back of a chair, and confronted the 
 admiring eyes of Dick with a goddess-like indifference. 
 
 "Now wot's the use of your playin' this yer game on 
 me, Dick? Wot's the good of your ladlin' out that hog- 
 wash about huntin'? Huntin' ! I'll tell yer the huntin' 
 you-uns hev been at ! You've been huntin' George Lee 
 and his boys since an hour before sun up. You've been 
 followin' a blind trail up to the Ridge, until the snow got 
 up and hunted you right here ! You've been whoopin' 
 and yellin' and circus-ridin' on the roads like ez yer wos 
 Comanches, and frightening all the women folk within 
 miles that's your huntin' ! You've been climbin' down 
 Paw's old slide at last, and makin' tracks for here to save 
 the skins of them condemned government horses of the 
 Kempany ! And that's your huntin' !" 
 
 To Hale's surprise, a burst of laughter from the party 
 followed this speech. He tried to join in, but this ridicu 
 lous summary of the result of his enthusiastic sense of 
 duty left him the only earnest believer mortified and em 
 barrassed. Nor was he the less concerned as he found 
 the girl's dark eyes had rested pjftt or twice upon him 
 curiously. Zenobia laughed too, and, lazily turning the 
 chair around, dropped into it. "And by this time George 
 Lee's loungin' back in his chyar and smokin' his cigyar 
 somewhar in Sacramento," she added, stretching her feet 
 out to the fire, and suiting the action to the word with an 
 imaginary cigar between the long fingers of a thin and 
 not over-clean hand. 
 
 "We cave, Zeenie!" said Rawlins, when their hilarity 
 had subsided to a more subdued and scarcely less flat 
 tering admiration of the unconcerned goddess before them. 
 "That's about the size of it. You kin rake down the pile. 
 I forgot you're an old friend of George's." 
 
 "He's a white man!" said the girl decidedly. 
 
 "Ye used to know him?" continued Rawlins. 
 
 "Once. Paw ain't in that line now," she said simply. 
 
 There was such a sublime unconsciousness of any moral 
 degradation involved in this allusion that even Hale ac 
 cepted it without a shock. She rose presently, and, going 
 to the little sideboard, brought out a number of glasses;
 
 426 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 these she handed to each of the party, and then, producing 
 a demijohn of whiskey, slung it dexterously and grace 
 fully over her arm, so that it rested on her elbow like a 
 cradle, and, going to each one in succession, filled their 
 glasses. It obliged each one to rise to accept the libation, 
 and as Hale did so in his turn he met the dark eyes of 
 the girl full on his own. There was a pleased curiosity 
 in her glance that made this married man of thirty-five 
 color as awkwardly as a boy. 
 
 The tender of refreshment being understood as a tacit 
 recognition of their claims to a larger hospitality, all 
 further restraint was removed. Zenobia resumed her seat, 
 and placing her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her 
 small round chin in her hand, looked thoughtfully in the 
 fire. "When I say George Lee's a white man, it ain't 
 because I know him. It's his general gait. Wot's he 
 ever done that's underhanded or mean? Nothin'! You 
 kant show the poor man he's ever took a picayune from. 
 When he's helped himself to a pile it's been outer them 
 banks or them express companies, that think it mighty 
 fine to bust up themselves, and swindle the poor folks o' 
 their last cent, and nobody talks o' huntin' them I And 
 does he keep their money ? No ; he passes it round among 
 the boys that help him, and they put it in circulation. He 
 -don't keep it for himself; he ain't got fine houses in 
 Frisco; he don't keep fast horses for show. Like ez 
 not the critter he did that job with ef it was him none 
 of you boys would have rid ! And he takes all the risks 
 himself; you ken bet your life that every man with him 
 was safe and away afore he turned his back on you-uns." 
 
 "He certainly drops a little of his money at draw poker, 
 Zeenie," said Clinch, laughing. "He lost five thousand 
 dollars to Sheriff Kelly last week." 
 
 "Well, I don't hear of the sheriff huntin' him to give it 
 back, nor do I reckon Kelly handed it over to the Express 
 it was taken from. I heard you won suthin' from him a 
 spell ago. I reckon you've been huntin' him to find out 
 whar you should return it." The laugh was clearly against 
 Clinch. He was about to make some rallying rejoinder 
 when the young girl suddenly interrupted him. "Ef
 
 SNOW-BOUXD AT EAGLE'S 427 
 
 you're wantin' to hunt somebody, why don't you take 
 higher game? Thar's that Jim Harkins: go for him, 
 and I'll join you." 
 
 "Harkins!" exclaimed Clinch and Hale simultaneously. 
 
 "Yes, Jim Harkins; do you know him?" she said, 
 glancing from one io the other. 
 
 "One of my friends do," said Clinch laughing; "but 
 don't let that stop you." 
 
 "And you over there," continued Zenobia, bending her 
 head and eyes towards Hale. 
 
 "The fact is I believe he was my banker," said Hale, 
 with a smile. "I don't know^ him personally." 
 
 "Then you'd better hunt him before he does you." 
 
 "What's he done, Zeenie?" asked Rawlins, keenly en 
 joying the discomfiture of the others. 
 
 "What?" She stopped, threw her long black braids 
 over her shoulder, clasped her knee wtih her hajids, and 
 rocking backwards and forwards, sublimely unconscious 
 of the apparition of a slim ankle and half-dropped-off 
 slipper from under her shortened gown, continued, "It 
 mightn't please him," she said slyly, nodding towards 
 Hale. 
 
 "Pray don't mind me," said Hale, with unnecessary 
 eagerness. 
 
 "Well," said Zenobia, "I reckon you all know Ned 
 Falkner and the Excelsior Ditch?" 
 
 "Yes, Falkner's the superintendent of it," said Rawlins. 
 "And a square man too. Thar ain't anything mean about 
 him." 
 
 "Shake," said Zenobia, extending her hand. Rawlins 
 shook the proffered hand with eager spontaneousness, and 
 the girl resumed: "He's about ez good ez they make 'em 
 you bet Well, you know Ned has put all his money, 
 and all his strength, and all his sabe, and " 
 
 "His good looks," added Clinch mischievously. 
 
 "Into that Ditch," continued Zenobia, ignoring the in 
 terruption. "It's his mother, it's his sweetheart, it's his 
 everything! When other chaps of his age was cavortin' 
 round Frisco, and havin* high jinks, Ned was in his 
 Ditch. '.Wait till the Ditch is done,' he used to say.
 
 428 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 'Wait till she begins to boom, and then you just stand 
 round.' Mor'n that, he got all the boys to put in their 
 last cent for they loved Ned, and love him new, like ez 
 ef he wos a woman." 
 
 "That's so," said Clinch and Rawlins simultaneously, 
 "and he's worth it." 
 
 "Well," continued Zenobia, "the Ditch didn't boom ez 
 soon ez they kalkilated. And then the boys kept gettin' 
 poorer and poorer, and Ned he kept gettin' poorer and 
 poorer in everything but his hopefulness and grit. Then 
 he looks around for more capital. And about this time, 
 that coyote Harkins smelt suthin' nice up there, and he 
 gits Ned to give him control of it, and he'll lend him his 
 name and fix up a company. Soon ez he gets control, the 
 first thing he does is to say that it wants half a million o' 
 money to make it pay, and levies an assessment of two 
 hundred dollars a share. That's nothin' for them rich 
 fellows to pay, or pretend to pay, but for boys on grub 
 wages it meant only ruin. They couldn't pay, and had to 
 forfeit their shares for next to nothing. And Ned made 
 one more desperate attempt to save them and himself by 
 borrowing money on his shares ; when that hound 
 Harkins got wind of it, and let it be buzzed around that 
 the Ditch is a failure, and that he was goin' out of it; 
 that brought the shares down to nothing. As Ned couldn't 
 raise a dollar, the new company swooped down on his 
 shares for the debts they had put up. and left him and 
 the boys to help themselves. Ned couldn't bear to face 
 the boys that he'd helped to ruin, and put out, and ain't 
 been heard from since. After Harkins had got rid of 
 Ned and the boys he manages to pay off that wonderful 
 debt, and sells out for a hundred thousand dollars. That 
 money Ned's money he sends to Sacramento, for he 
 don't dare to travel with it himself, and is kalkilatin' to 
 leave the kentry, for some of the boys allow to kill him 
 on sight. So ef you're wantin' to hunt suthin', thar's 
 yer chance, and you needn't go inter the snow to do it." 
 
 "But surely the law can recover this money?" said 
 Hale indignantly. "It is as infamous a robbery as " 
 He stopped as he caught Zenobia's eye.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 429 
 
 "Ez last night's, you were goin' to say. I'll call it 
 more. Them road agents don't pretend to be your friend 
 but take yer money and run their risks. For ez to the 
 law that can't help yer." 
 
 "It's a skin game, and you might ez well expect to 
 recover a gambling debt from a short-card sharp," ex 
 plained Clinch; "Falkner oughter shot him on sight." 
 
 "Or the boys lynched him," suggested Rawlins. 
 
 "I think," said Hale, more reflectively, "that in the 
 absence of legal remedy a man of that kind should have 
 been forced under strong physical menace to give up his 
 ill-gotten gains. The money was the primary object, and 
 if that could be got without bloodshed which seems to 
 me a useless crime it would be quite as effective. Of 
 course, if there was resistance or retaliation, it might be 
 necessary to kill him." 
 
 He had unconsciously fallen into his old didactic and 
 dogmatic habit of speech, and perhaps, under the spur of 
 Zenobia's eyes, he had given it some natural emphasis. A 
 dead silence followed, in which the others regarded him 
 with amused and gratified surprise, and it was broken only 
 by Zenobia rising and holding out her hand. "Shake!" 
 
 Hale raised it gallantly, and pressed his lips on the one 
 spotless finger. 
 
 "That's gospel truth. And you ain't the first white 
 man to say it." 
 
 "Indeed," laughed Hale. "Who was the other?" 
 
 "George Lee !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE laughter that followed was interrupted by a sud 
 den barking of the dogs in the outer clearing. Zenobia 
 rose lazily and strode to the window. It relieved Hale 
 of certain embarrassing reflections suggested by her com 
 ment. 
 
 "Ef it ain't that God-forsaken fool Dick bringing up 
 passengers from the snow-bound up stage in the road ! I 
 reckon I've got suthin' to say to that !" But the later 
 appearance of the apologetic Dick, with the assurance that
 
 430 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 the party carried a permission from her father, granted 
 at the lower station in view of such an emergency, 
 checked her active opposition. "That's like Paw," she 
 soliloquized aggrievedly ; "shuttin' us up and settin' dogs 
 on everybody for a week, and then lettin' the whole stage 
 service pass through one door and out at another. Well, 
 it's his house and his jwhiskey, and they kin take it, but 
 they don't get me to nelp 'em." 
 
 They certainly were not a prepossessing or good- 
 natured acquisition to the party. Apart from the natural 
 antagonism which, on such occasions, those in possession 
 always feel towards the new-comer, they were strongly 
 inclined to resist the dissatisfied querulousness and ag 
 gressive attitude of these fresh applicants for hospitality. 
 The most offensive one was a person who appeared to ex 
 ercise some authority over the others. He was loud, 
 assuming, and dressed with vulgar pretension. He 
 quickly disposed himself in the chair vacated by. Zenobia, 
 and called for some liquor. 
 
 "I reckon you'll hev to help yourself," said Rawlins 
 dryly, as the summons met with no response. "There are 
 only two women in the house, and I reckon their hands 
 are full already." 
 
 "I call it d d uncivil treatment," said the man, raising 
 his voice ; "and Hennicker had better sing smaller if 
 he don't want his old den pulled down some day. He 
 ain't any better than men that hev been picked up afore 
 now." 
 
 "You oughter told him that, and mebbe he'd hev come 
 over with yer," returned Rawlins. "He's a mild, 
 soft, easy-going man, is Hennicker ! Ain't he, Colonel 
 Clinch?" 
 
 The casual mention of Clinch's name produced the effect 
 which the speaker probably intended. The stranger stared 
 at Clinch, who, apparently oblivious of the conversation, 
 was blinking his cold gray eyes at the fire. Dropping his 
 aggressive tone to mere querulousness, the man sought 
 the whiskey demijohn, and helped himself and his com 
 panions. Fortified by liquor he returned to the fire. 
 
 "I reckon you've heard about this yer robbery, Colonel,"
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 431 
 
 he said, addressing Clinch, with an attempt at easy 
 familiarity. 
 
 Without raising his eyes from the fire, Clinch briefly 
 assented, "I reckon." 
 
 "I'm up yer, examining into it, for the Express." 
 
 "Lost much?" asked Rawlins. 
 
 "Not so much ez they might hev. That fool Harkins 
 had a hundred thousand dollars in greenbacks sealed up 
 like an ordinary package of a thousand dollars, and gave 
 it to a friend, Bill Guthrie, in the bank to pick out some 
 unlikely chap among the passengers to take charge of it 
 to Reno. He wouldn't trust the Express. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 The dead, oppressive silence that followed his empty 
 laughter made it seem almost artificial. Rawlins held his 
 breath and looked at Clinch. Hale, with the instincts of 
 a refined, sensitive man, turned hot with the embarrass 
 ment Clinch should have shown. For that gentleman, 
 without lifting his eyes from the fire, and with no ap 
 parent change in his demeanor, lazily asked 
 
 "Ye didn't ketch the name o' that passenger?" 
 
 "Naturally, no ! For when Guthrie heard what was 
 said agin him he wouldn't give his name until he heard 
 from him." 
 
 "And what was said agin him ?" asked Clinch musingly. 
 
 "What would be said agin a man that give up that sum 
 o' money, like a chaw of tobacco, for the asking? Why, 
 there were but three men, as far ez we kin hear, that 
 did the job. And there were four passengers inside, 
 armed, and the driver and express messenger on the box. 
 Six were robbed by three! they were a sweet-scented 
 lot ! Reckon they must hev felt mighty small, for I hear 
 they got up and skedaddled from the station under the 
 pretext of lookin' for the robbers." He laughed again, 
 and the laugh was noisily repeated by his five companions 
 at the other end of the room. 
 
 Hale, who had forgotten that the stranger was only 
 echoing a part of his own criticism of eight hours before, 
 was on the point of rising with burning cheeks and angry 
 indignation, when the lazily uplifted eye of Clinch caught 
 his, and absolutely held him down with its paralyzing and
 
 432 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 deadly significance. Murder itself seemed to look from 
 those cruelly quiet and remorseless gray pupils. For a 
 moment he forgot his own rage in this glimpse of Clinch's 
 implacable resentment; for a moment he felt a thrill of 
 pity for the wretch who had provoked it. He remained 
 motionless and fascinated in his chair as the lazy lids 
 closed like a sheath over Clinch's eyes again. Rawlins, 
 who had probably received the same glance of warning, 
 remained equally still. 
 
 "They haven't heard the last of it yet, you bet," con 
 tinued the infatuated stranger. "I've got a little state 
 ment here for the newspaper," he added, drawing some 
 papers from his pocket; "suthin' I just run off in the 
 coach as I came along. I reckon it'll show things up in 
 a new light. It's time there should be some change. All 
 the cussin' that's been usually done hez been by the pas 
 sengers agin the express and stage companies. I propose 
 that the Company should do a little cussin' themselves. 
 See? P'r'aps you don't mind my readin' it to ye? It's 
 just spicy enough to suit them newspaper chaps." 
 
 "Go on," said Colonel Clinch quietly. 
 
 The man cleared his throat, with the preliminary pose 
 of authorship, and his five friends, to whom the compo 
 sition was evidently not unfamiliar, assumed anticipatory 
 smiles. 
 
 "I call it 'Prize Pusillanimous Passengers.' Sort of 
 runs easy off the tongue, you know. 
 
 " Tt now appears that the success of the late stage 
 coach robbery near the Summit was largely due to the 
 pusillanimity not to use a more serious word' " He 
 stopped, and looked explanatorily towards Clinch : "Ye'll 
 see in a minit what I'm gettin' at by that pusillanimity of 
 the passengers themselves. 'It now transpires that there 
 were only three robbers who attacked the coach, and that 
 although passengers, driver, and express messenger were 
 fully armed, and were double the number of their assail 
 ants, not a shot was fired. We mean no reflections upon 
 the well-known courage of Yuba Bill, nor the experience 
 and coolness of Bracy Tibbetts, the courteous express 
 messenger, both of whom have since confessed to have
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 433 
 
 been more than astonished at the Christian and lamb-like 
 submission of the insiders. Amusing stories of some 
 laughable yet sickening incidents of the occasion such as 
 grown men kneeling in the road, and offering to strip 
 themselves completely, if their lives were only spared; of 
 one of the passengers hiding under the seat, and only 
 being dislodged by pulling his coat-tails; of incredible 
 sums promised, and even offers of menial service, for the 
 preservation of their wretched carcases are received 
 with the greatest gusto; but we are in possession of facts 
 which may lead to more serious accusations. Although 
 one of the passengers is said to have lost a large sum of 
 money intrusted to him, while attempting with barefaced 
 effrontery to establish a rival "carrying" business in one 
 of the Express Company's own coaches ' I call that a 
 good point." He interrupted himself to allow the unre 
 strained applause of his own party. "Don't you?" 
 
 "It's just h 11," said Clinch musingly. 
 
 " 'Yet the affair," resumed the stranger from his man 
 uscript, " 'is locked up in great and suspicious mystery. 
 The presence of Jackson N. Stanner, Esq.' (that's me), 
 "special detective agent to the Company, and his staff in 
 town, is a guaranty that the mystery will be thoroughly 
 probed.' Hed to put that in to please the Company," 
 he again deprecatingly explained. " 'We are indebted to 
 this gentleman for the facts.' " 
 
 "The pint you want to make in that article," said 
 Clinch, rising, but still directing his face and his conver 
 sation to the fire, "ez far ez I ken see ez that no three 
 men kin back down six unless they be cowards, or are 
 willing to be backed down." 
 
 "That's the point what I start from," rejoined Stanner, 
 "and work up. I leave it to you ef it ain't so." 
 
 "I can't say ez I agree with you," said the Colonel dryly. 
 He turned, and still without lifting his eyes walked 
 towards the door of the room which Zenobia had entered. 
 The key was on the inside, but Clinch gently opened the 
 door, removed the key, and closing the door again locked 
 it from his side. Hale and Rawlins felt their hearts beat 
 quickly; the others followed Clinch's slow movements and
 
 434 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 downcast mien with amused curiosity. After locking the 
 other outlet from the room, and putting the keys in his 
 pocket, Clinch returned to the fire. For the first time he 
 lifted his eyes ; the man nearest him shrank back in terror. 
 
 "I am the man," he said slowly, taking deliberate breath 
 between his sentences, "who gave up those greenbacks to 
 the robbers. I am one of the three passengers you have 
 lampooned in that paper, and these gentlemen beside me 
 are the other two." He stopped and looked around him. 
 "You don't believe that three men can back down six! 
 Well, I'll show you how it can be done. More than that, 
 I'll show you how ONE man can do it; for, by the living 
 G d, if you don't hand over that paper I'll kill you where 
 you sit ! I'll give you until I count ten ; if one of you 
 moves he and you are dead men but you first !" 
 
 Before he had finished speaking Hale and Rawlins had 
 both risen, as if in concert, with their weapons drawn. 
 Hale could not tell how or why he had done so, but he 
 was equally conscious, without knowing why, of fixing his 
 eye on one of the other party, and that he should, in the 
 event of an affray, try to kill him. He did not attempt 
 to reason; he only knew that he should do his best to 
 kill that man and perhaps others. 
 
 "One," said Clinch, lifting his derringer, "two 
 three" 
 
 "Look here, Colonel I swear I didn't know it was 
 you. Come d m it ! I say see here," stammered 
 Stanner, with white cheeks, not daring to glance for aid 
 to his stupefied party. 
 
 "Four five six " 
 
 "Wait ! Here !" He produced the paper and threw it 
 on the floor. 
 
 "Pick it up and hand it to me. Seven eight " 
 
 Stanner hastily scrambled to his feet, picked up the 
 paper, and handed it to the Colonel. "I was only joking, 
 Colonel," he said, with a forced laugh. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it. But as this joke is in black and 
 white, you wouldn't mind saying so in the same fashion. 
 Take that pen and ink and write as I dictate. 'I certify 
 that I am satisfied that the above statement is a base
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 435 
 
 calumny against the characters of Ringwood Clinch, Rob 
 ert Rawlins, and John Hale, passengers, and that I do 
 hereby apologize to the same.' Sign it. That'll do. 
 Now let the rest of your party sign as witnesses." 
 
 They complied without hesitation ; some, seizing the op 
 portunity of treating the affair as a joke, suggested a 
 drink. 
 
 "Excuse me," said Clinch quietly, "but ez this house 
 ain't big enough for me and that man, and ez I've got 
 business at Wild Cat Station with this paper, I think I'll 
 go without drinkin'." He took the keys from his pocket, 
 unlocked the doors, and taking up his overcoat and rifle 
 turned as if to go. 
 
 Rawlins rose to follow him ; Hale alone hesitated. The 
 rapid occurrences of the last half hour gave him no time 
 for reflection. But he was by no means satisfied of the 
 legality of the last act he had aided and abetted, although 
 he admitted its rude justice, and felt he would have done 
 so again. A fear of this, and an instinct that he might 
 be led into further complications if he continued to 
 identify himself with Clinch and Rawlins; the fact that 
 they had professedly abandoned their quest, and that it 
 was really supplanted by the presence of an authorized 
 party whom they had already come in conflict with afl 
 this urged him to remain behind. On the other hand, the 
 apparent desertion of his comrades at the last moment 
 was opposed both to his sense of honor and the liking 
 he had taken to them. But he reflected that he had al 
 ready shown his active partisanship, that he could be of 
 little service to them at Wild Cat Station, and would be 
 only increasing the distance from his home; and above 
 all, an impatient longing for independent action finally de 
 cided him. "I think I'll stay here," he said to Clinch, 
 "unless you want me." 
 
 Clinch cast a swift and meaning glance at the enemy, 
 but looked approval. "Keep your eyes skinned, and you're 
 good for a dozen of 'em," he said sotto voce, and then 
 turned to Stanner. "I'm going to take this paper to Wild 
 Cat. If you want to communicate with me hereafter you 
 know where I am to be found, unless " he smiled grimly
 
 436 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 "you'd like to see me outside for a few minutes before 
 I go?" 
 
 "It is a matter that concerns the Stage Company, not 
 me," said Stanner, with an attempt to appear at his ease. 
 
 Hale accompanied Clinch and Rawlins through the 
 kitchen to the stables. The ostler, Dick, had already re 
 turned to the rescue of the snow-bound coach. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to leave many men alone with that 
 crowd," said Clinch, pressing Hale's hand; "and I 
 wouldn't have allowed your staying behind ef I didn't 
 know I could bet my pile on you. Your offerin' to stay 
 just puts a clean finish on it. Look yer, Hale, I didn't 
 cotton much to you at first ; but ef you ever want a friend, 
 call on Ringwood Clinch." 
 
 "The same here, old man," said Rawlins, extending his 
 hand as he appeared from a hurried conference with the 
 old woman at the woodshed, "and trust to Zeenie to give 
 you a hint ef there's anythin' underhanded goin' on. So 
 long." 
 
 Half inclined to resent this implied suggestion of pro 
 tection, yet half pleased at the idea of a confidence with 
 the handsome girl he had seen, Hale returned to the room. 
 A whispered discussion among the party ceased on his 
 entering, and an awkward silence followed, which Hale 
 did not attempt to break as he quietly took his seat again 
 by the fire. He was presently confronted by Stanner, 
 who with an affectation of easy familiarity crossed over 
 to the hearth. 
 
 "The old Kernel's d d peppery and high toned when 
 he's got a little more than his reg'lar three fingers o' corn 
 juice, eh?" 
 
 "I must beg you to understand distinctly, Mr. Stanner," 
 said Hale, with a return of his habitual precision of state 
 ment, "that I regard any slighting allusion to the gentle 
 man who has just left not only as in exceedingly bad 
 taste coming from you, but very offensive to myself. If 
 you mean to imply that he was under the influence of 
 liquor, it is my duty to undeceive you; he was so per 
 fectly in possession of his faculties as to express not only 
 his own but my opinion of your conduct. You must also
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 437 
 
 admit that he was discriminating enough to show his ob 
 jection to your company by leaving it. I regret that 
 circumstances do not make it convenient for me to ex 
 ercise that privilege; but if I am obliged to put up with 
 your presence in this room, I strongly insist that it is 
 not made unendurable with the addition of your conver 
 sation." 
 
 The effect of this deliberate and passionless declara 
 tion was more discomposing to the party than Clinch's 
 fury. Utterly unaccustomed to the ideas and language 
 suddenly confronting them, they were unable to determine 
 whether it was the real expression of the speaker, or 
 whether it was a vague badinage or affectation to which 
 any reply would involve them in ridicule. In a country 
 terrorized by practical joking, they did not doubt but that 
 this was a new form of hoaxing calculated to provoke 
 some response that would constitute them as victims. 
 The immediate effect upon them was that complete silence 
 in regard to himself that Hale desired. They drew to 
 gether again and conversed in whispers, while Hale, with 
 his eyes fixed on the fire, gave himself up to somewhat 
 late and useless reflection. 
 
 He could scarcely realize his position. For however 
 he might look at it, within a space of twelve hours he 
 had not only changed some of his most cherished opinions, 
 but he had acted in accordance with that change in a way 
 that made it seem almost impossible for him ever to 
 recant. In the interests of law and order he had en 
 gaged in an unlawful and disorderly pursuit of criminals, 
 and had actually come in conflict not with the criminals, 
 but with the only party apparently authorized to pursue 
 them. More than that, he was finding himself committed 
 to a certain sympathy with the criminals. Twenty-four 
 hours ago, if anyone had told him that he would have 
 condoned an illegal act for its abstract justice, or assisted 
 to commit an illegal act for the same purpose, he would 
 have felt himself insulted. That he knew he would not 
 now feel it as an insult perplexed him still more. In 
 these circumstances the fact that he was separated from 
 his family, and as it were from all his past life and tra-
 
 438 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 ditions, by a chance accident, did not disturb him greatly; 
 indeed, he was for the first time a little doubtful of their 
 probable criticism on his inconsistency, and was by no 
 means in a hurry to subject himself to it. 
 
 Lifting his eyes, he was suddenly aware that the door 
 leading to the kitchen was slowly opening. He had 
 thought he heard it creak once or twice during his de 
 liberate reply to Stanner. It was evidently moving now 
 so as to attract his attention, without disturbing the 
 others. It presently opened sufficiently wide to show the 
 face of Zeenie, who, with a gesture of caution towards his 
 companions, beckoned him to join her. He rose care 
 lessly as if going out, and, putting on his hat, entered 
 the kitchen as the retreating figure of the young girl 
 glided lightly towards the stables. She ascended a few 
 open steps as if to a hay-loft, but stopped before a low 
 door. Pushing it open, she preceded him into a small 
 room, apparently under the roof, which scarcely allowed 
 her to stand upright. By the light of a stable lantern 
 hanging from a beam he saw that, though poorly fur 
 nished, it bore some evidence of feminine taste and hab 
 itation. Motioning to the only chair, she seated herself 
 on the edge of the bed, with her hands clasping her knees 
 in her familiar attitude. Her face bore traces of recent 
 agitation, and her eyes were shining with tears. By the 
 closer light of the lantern he was surprised to find it was 
 from laughter. 
 
 "I reckoned you'd be right lonely down there with 
 that Stanner crowd, particklerly after that little speech o' 
 your'n, so I sez to Maw I'd get you up yer for a spell. 
 Maw and I heerd you exhort 'em ! Maw allowed you woz 
 talkin' a furrin' tongue all along, but I sakes alive ! I 
 hed to hump myself to keep from bustin' into a yell when 
 yer jist drawed them Webster-unabridged sentences on 
 'em." She stopped and rocked backwards and forwards 
 with a laugh that, subdued by the proximity of the roof 
 and the fear of being overheard, was by no means un 
 musical. "I'll tell ye whot got me, though ! That part 
 commencing, 'Suckamstances over which I've no 
 controul.' "
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 439 
 
 "Oh, come ! I didn't say that," interrupted Hale, 
 laughing. 
 
 " 'Don't make it convenient for me to exercise the 
 privilege of kickin' yer out to that extent,' " she con 
 tinued ; " 'but if I cannot dispense with your room, the 
 least I can say is that it's a d d sight better than your 
 company ' or suthin' like that ! And then the way you 
 minded your stops, and let your voice rise and fall just 
 ez easy ez if you wos a First Reader in large type. Why, 
 the Kernel wasn't nowhere. His cussin' didn't come 
 within a mile o' yourn. That Stanner jist turned yaller." 
 
 "I'm afraid you are laughing at me," said Hale, not 
 knowing whether to be pleased or vexed at the girl's 
 amusement. 
 
 "I reckon I'm the only one that dare do it, then," said 
 the girl simply. "The Kernel sez the way you turned 
 round after he'd done his cussin', and said yer believed 
 you'd stay and take the responsibility of the whole thing 
 and did, in that kam, soft, did-anybody-speak-to-me style 
 was the neatest thing he'd seen yet. No ! Maw says I 
 ain't much on manners, but I know a man when I see 
 him." 
 
 For an instant Hale gave himself up to the delicious 
 flattery of unexpected, unintended, and apparently unin 
 terested compliment. Becoming at last a little em 
 barrassed under the frank curiosity of the girl's dark eyes, 
 he changed the subject. 
 
 "Do you always come up here through the stables?" 
 he asked, glancing round the room, which was evidently 
 her own. 
 
 "I reckon," she answered half abstractedly. "There's a 
 ladder down thar to Maw's room " pointing to a trap 
 door beside the broad chimney that served as a wall 
 "but it's handier the other way, and nearer the hosses if 
 you want to get away quick." 
 
 This palpable suggestion borne out by what he re 
 membered of the other domestic details that the house 
 had been planned with reference to sudden foray or escape 
 reawakened his former uneasy reflections. Zeenie, who 
 had been watching his face, added, "It's no slouch, when
 
 440 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 b'ar or painters hang round nights and stampede the 
 stock, to be able to swing yourself on to a hoss whenever 
 you hear a row going on outside." 
 
 "Do you mean that you " 
 
 "Paw used, and I do now, sense I've come into the 
 room." She pointed to a nondescript garment, half cloak, 
 half habit, hanging on the wall. "I've been outer bed and 
 on Pitchpine's back as far ez the trail five minutes arter 
 I heard the first bellow." 
 
 Hale regarded her with undisguised astonishment. 
 There was nothing at all Amazonian or horsey in her 
 manners, nor was there even the robust physical contour 
 that might have been developed through such experiences. 
 On the contrary, she seemed to be lazily effeminate in 
 body and mind. Heedless of his critical survey of her, 
 she beckoned him to draw his chair nearer, and, looking 
 into his eyes, said 
 
 "Whatever possessed you to take to huntin' men?" 
 
 Hale was staggered by the question, but nevertheless 
 endeavored to explain. But he was surprised to find that 
 his explanation appeared stilted even to himself, and, he 
 could not doubt, was utterly incomprehensible to the girl. 
 She nodded her head, however, and continued 
 
 "Then you haven't anythin' agin' George ?" 
 
 "I don't know George," said Hale, smiling. "My pro 
 ceeding was against the highwayman." 
 
 "Well, he was the highwayman." 
 
 "I mean, it was the principle I objected to a principle 
 that I consider highly dangerous." 
 
 "Well he is the principal, for the others only helped, 
 I reckon," said Zeenie with a sigh, "and I reckon he is 
 dangerous." 
 
 Hale saw it was useless to explain. The girl con 
 tinued 
 
 "What made you stay here instead of going on with 
 the Kernel? There was suthin' else besides your wanting 
 to make that Stanner take water. What is it?" 
 
 A light sense of the propinquity of beauty, of her con 
 fidence, of their isolation, of the eloquence of her dark 
 eyes, at first tempted Hale to a reply of simple gallantry ;
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 441 
 
 a graver consideration of the same circumstances froze it 
 upon his lips. 
 
 "I don't know," he returned awkwardly. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you," she said. "You didn't cotton 
 to the Kernel and Rawlins much more than you did to 
 Stanner. They ain't your kind." 
 
 In his embarrassment Hale blundered upon the. thought 
 he had honorably avoided. 
 
 "Suppose," he said, with a constrained laugh, "I had 
 stayed to see you." 
 
 "I reckon 7 ain't your kind, neither," she replied 
 promptly. There was a momentary pause when she rose 
 and walked to the chimney. "It's very quiet down there," 
 she said, stooping and listening over the roughly-boarded 
 floor that formed the ceiling of the room below. "I won 
 der what's going on." 
 
 In the belief that this was a delicate hint for his return 
 to the party he had left, Hale rose, but the girl passed him 
 hurriedly, and, opening the door, cast a quick glance into 
 the stable beyond. 
 
 "Just as I reckoned the horses are gone too. They've 
 skedaddled," she said blankly. 
 
 Hale did not reply. In his embarrassment a moment 
 ago the idea of taking an equally sudden departure had 
 flashed upon him. Should he take this as a justification 
 of that impulse, or how? He stood irresolutely gazing 
 at the girl, who turned and began to descend the stairs 
 silently. He followed. When they reached the lower 
 room they found it as they had expected deserted. 
 
 "I hope I didn't drive them away," said Hale, with an 
 uneasy look at the troubled face of the girl. "For I really 
 had an idea of going myself a moment ago." 
 
 She remained silent, gazing out of the window. Then, 
 turning with a slight shrug of her shoulders, said half 
 defiantly : "What's the use now ? Oh, Maw ! the Stanner 
 crowd has vamosed the ranch, and this yer stranger kalki- 
 lates to stay!"
 
 442 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 A WEEK had passed at Eagle's Court a week of mingled 
 clouds and sunshine by day, of rain over the green 
 plateau and snow on the mountain by night. Each morn 
 ing had brought its fresh greenness to the winter-girt 
 domain, and a fresh coat of dazzling white to the barrier 
 that separated its dwellers from the world beyond. There 
 was little change in the encompassing wall of their prison ; 
 if anything, the snowy circle round them seemed to have 
 drawn its lines nearer day by day. The immediate result 
 of this restricted limit had been to confine the range of 
 cattle to the meadows nearer the house, and at a safe dis 
 tance from the fringe of wilderness now invaded by the 
 prowling tread of predatory animals. 
 
 Nevertheless, the two figures lounging on the slope at 
 sunset gave very little indication of any serious quality 
 in the situation. Indeed, so far as appearances were con 
 cerned, Kate, who was returning from an afternoon stroll 
 with Falkner, exhibited, with feminine inconsistency, a 
 decided return to the world of fashion and conventionality 
 apparently just as she was effectually excluded from it. 
 She had not only discarded her white dress as a concession 
 to the practical evidence of the surrounding winter, but 
 she had also brought out a feather hat and sable muff 
 which had once graced a fashionable suburb of Boston. 
 Even Falkner had exchanged his slouch hat and pic 
 turesque serape for a beaver overcoat and fur cap of 
 Hale's which had been pressed upon him by Kate, under 
 the excuse of the exigencies of the season. Within a 
 stone's throw of the thicket, turbulent with the savage 
 forces of nature, they walked with the abstraction of peo 
 ple hearing only their own voices; in the face of the 
 solemn peaks clothed with white austerity they talked 
 gravely of dress. 
 
 "I don't mean to say," said Kate demurely, "that you're 
 to give up the scrape entirely; you can wear it on rainy 
 nights and when you ride over here from your friend's
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 443 
 
 house to spend the evening for the sake of old times," 
 she added, with an unconscious air of referring to an al 
 ready antiquated friendship; "but you must admit it's a 
 little too gorgeous and theatrical for the sunlight of day 
 and the public highway." 
 
 "But why should that make it wrong, if the experience 
 of a people has shown it to be a garment best fitted for 
 their wants and requirements?" said Falkner argumenta- 
 tively. 
 
 "But you are not one of those people," said Kate, "and 
 that makes all the difference. You look differently and 
 act differently, so that there is something irreconcilable 
 between your clothes and you that makes you look odd." 
 
 "And to look odd, according to your civilized prejudices, 
 is to be wrong," said Falkner bitterly. 
 
 "It is to seem different from what one really is which 
 is wrong. Now, you are a mining superintendent, you 
 tell me. Then you don't want to look like a Spanish 
 brigand, as you do in that scrape. I am sure if you had 
 ridden up to a stage-coach while I was in it, I'd have 
 handed you my watch and purse without a word. There ! 
 you are not offended ?" she added, with a laugh, which did 
 not, however, conceal a certain earnestness. "I suppose 
 I ought to have said I would have given it gladly to such 
 a romantic figure, and perhaps have got out and danced a 
 saraband or bolero with you if that is the thing to do 
 nowadays. Well !" she said, after a dangerous pause, 
 "consider that I've said it." 
 
 He had been walking a little before her, with his 
 face turned towards the distant mountain. Suddenly he 
 stopped and faced her. "You would have given enough of 
 your time to the highwayman, Miss Scott, as would have 
 enabled you to identify him for the police and no more. 
 Like your brother, you would have been willing to sac 
 rifice yourself for the benefit of the laws of civilization 
 and good order." 
 
 If a denial to this assertion could have been expressed 
 without the use of speech, it was certainly transparent in 
 the face and eyes of the young girl at that moment. If 
 Falkner had been less self-conscious he would have seen
 
 444 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 it plainly. But Kate only buried her face in her lifted 
 muff, slightly raised her pretty shoulders, and, dropping 
 her tremulous eyelids, walked on. "It seems a pity," 
 she said, after a pause, "that we cannot preserve our own 
 miserable existence without taking something from others 
 sometimes even a life !" He started. "And it's horrid 
 to have to remind you that you have yet to kill something 
 for the invalid's supper/' she continued. "I saw a hare in 
 the field yonder." 
 
 "You mean that jackass rabbit?" he said, abstractedly. 
 
 "What you please. It's a pity you didn't take your gun 
 instead of your rifle." 
 
 "I brought the rifle for protection." 
 
 "And a shot gun is only aggressive, I suppose?" 
 
 Falkner looked at her for a moment, and then, as the 
 hare suddenly started across the open a hundred yards 
 away, brought the rifle to his shoulder. A long interval 
 as it seemed to Kate elapsed ; the animal appeared to be 
 already safely out of range, when the rifle suddenly 
 cracked; the hare bounded in the air like a ball, and 
 dropped motionless. The girl looked at the marksman 
 in undisguised admiration. "Is it quite dead?" she said 
 timidly. 
 
 "It never knew what struck it." 
 
 "It certainly looks less brutal than shooting it with a 
 shot gun, as John does, and then not killing it outright," 
 said Kate. "I hate what is called sport and sportsmen, 
 but a rifle seems " 
 
 "What?" said Falkner. 
 
 "More gentlemanly." 
 
 She had raised her pretty head in the air, and, with 
 her hand shading her eyes, was looking around the clear 
 ether, and said meditatively, "I wonder no matter." 
 
 "What is it ?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing." 
 
 "It is something," said Falkner, with an amused smile, 
 reloading his rifle. 
 
 "Well, you once promised me an eagle's feather for my 
 hat. Isn't that thing an eagle?" 
 
 "I am afraid it's only a hawk."
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 445 
 
 "Well, that will do. Shoot that !" 
 
 Her eyes were sparkling. Falkner withdrew his own 
 with a slight smile, and raised his rifle with provoking 
 deliberation. 
 
 "Are you quite sure it's what you want?" he asked 
 demurely. 
 
 "Yes quick !" 
 
 Nevertheless, it was some minutes before the rifle 
 cracked again. The wheeling bird suddenly struck the 
 wind with its wings aslant, and then fell like a plummet 
 at a distance which showed the difficulty of the feat. 
 Falkner started from her side before the bird reached the 
 ground. He returned to her after a lapse of a few mo 
 ments, bearing a trailing wing in his hand. "You shall 
 make your choice," he said gayly. 
 
 "Are you sure it was killed outright?" 
 
 "Head shot off," said Falkner briefly. 
 
 "And besides, the fall would have killed it," said Kate 
 conclusively. "It's lovely. I suppose they call you a 
 very good shot?" 
 
 "They who ?" 
 
 "Oh ! the people you know your friends, and their 
 sisters." 
 
 "George shoots better than I do, and has had more 
 experience. I've seen him do that with a pistol. Of 
 course not such a long shot, but a more difficult one." 
 
 Kate did not reply, but her face showed a conviction 
 that as an artistic and gentlemanly performance it was 
 probably inferior to the one she had witnessed. Falkner, 
 who had picked up the hare also, again took his place by 
 her side, as they turned towards the house. 
 
 "Do you remember the day you came, when we were 
 walking here, you pointed out that rock on the mountain 
 where the poor animals had taken refuge from the snow ?" 
 said Kate suddenly. 
 
 "Yes," answered Falkner; "they seem to have dimin 
 ished. I am afraid you were right ; they have either eaten 
 each other or escaped. Let us hope the latter." 
 
 "I looked at them with a glass every day," said Kate, 
 "and they've got down to only four. There's a bear and
 
 446 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 that shabby, over-grown cat you call a California lion, and 
 a wolf, and a creature like a fox or a squirrel." 
 
 "It's a pity they're not all of a kind," said Falkner. 
 
 "Why ?" 
 
 "There'd be nothing to keep them from being comfort 
 able together." 
 
 "On the contrary, / should think it would be simply 
 awful to be shut up entirely with one's own kind." 
 
 "Then you believe it is possible for them, with their 
 different natures and habits, to be happy together?" said 
 Falkner, with sudden earnestness. 
 
 "I believe," said Kate hurriedly, "that the bear and the 
 lion find the fox and the wolf very amusing, and that the 
 fox and the wolf " 
 
 "Well?" said Falkner, stopping short. 
 
 "Well, the fox and the wolf will carry away a much 
 better opinion of the lion and bear than they had before." 
 
 They had reached the house by this time, and for some 
 occult reason Kate did not immediately enter the parlor, 
 where she had left her sister and the invalid, who had 
 already been promoted to a sofa and a cushion by the 
 window, but proceeded directly to her own room. As a 
 manoeuvre to avoid meeting Mrs. Hale, it was scarcely 
 necessary, for that lady was already in advance of her 
 on the staircase, as if she had left the parlor for a moment 
 before they entered the house. Falkner, too, would have 
 preferred the company of his own thoughts, but Lee, ap 
 parently the only unpreoccupied, all-pervading, and boy 
 ishly alert spirit in the party, hailed him from within, and 
 obliged him to present himself on the threshold of the 
 parlor with the hare and hawk's wing he was still carry 
 ing. Eying the latter with affected concern, Lee said 
 gravely: "Of course, I can eat it, Ned, and I dare say 
 it's the best part of the fowl, and the hare isn't more than 
 enough for the women, but I had no idea we were so re 
 duced. Three hours and a half gunning, and only one 
 hare and a hawk's wing. It's terrible." 
 
 Perceiving that his friend was alone, Falkner dropped 
 his burden in the hall and strod^ rapidly to his side. 
 "Look here, George, we must, / must, leave this place at
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 447 
 
 once. It's no use talking; I can stand this sort of thing 
 no longer." 
 
 "Nor can I, with the door open. Shut it, and say what 
 you want quick, before Mrs. Hale comes back. Have you 
 found a trail?" 
 
 "No, no; that's not what I mean." 
 
 "Well, it strikes me it ought to be, if you expect to get 
 away. Have you proposed to Beacon Street, and she 
 thinks it rather premature on a week's acquaintance?" 
 
 "No; but" 
 ."But you -will, you mean? Don't, just yet." 
 
 "But I cannot live this perpetual lie." 
 
 "That depends. I don't know how you're lying when 
 I'm not with you. If you're walking round with that 
 girl, singing hymns and talking of your class in Sunday- 
 school, or if you're insinuating that you're a millionaire, 
 and think of buying the place for a summer hotel, I should 
 say you'd better quit that kind of lying. But, on the other 
 hand, I don't see the necessity of your dancing round here 
 with a shot gun, and yelling for Harkins's blood, or count 
 ing that package of greenbacks in the lap of Miss Scott, 
 to be truthful. It seems to me there ought to be some 
 thing between the two." 
 
 "But, George, don't you think you are on such good 
 terms with Mrs. Hale and her mother that you might 
 tell them the whole story? That is, tell it in your own 
 way ; they will hear anything from you, and believe it." 
 
 "Thank you; but suppose I don't believe in lying, 
 either?" 
 
 "You know what I mean ! You have a way, d n it, of 
 making everything seem like a matter of course, and the 
 most natural thing going." 
 
 "Well, suppose I did. Are you prepared for the worst?" 
 
 Falkner was silent for a moment, and then replied, "Yes, 
 anything would be better than this suspense." 
 
 "I don't agree with you. Then you would be willing 
 to have them forgive us?" 
 
 "I don't understand you." 
 
 "I mean that their forgiveness would be the worst thing 
 that could happen. Look here, Ned. Stop a moment;
 
 448 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 listen at that door. Mrs. Hale has the tread of an angel, 
 with the pervading capacity of a cat. Now listen ! 7 
 don't pretend to be in love with anybody here, but if I 
 were I should hardly take advantage of a woman's help 
 lessness and solitude with a sensational story about my 
 self. It's not giving her a fair show. You know she 
 won't turn you out of the house." 
 
 "No," said Falkner, reddening); "but I should expect to 
 go at once, and that would be my only excuse for telling 
 her." 
 
 "Go! where? In your preoccupation with that girl you 
 haven't even found the trail by which Manuel escaped. 
 Do you intend to camp outside the house, and make eyes 
 at her when she comes to the window?" 
 
 "Because you think nothing of flirting with Mrs. Hale," 
 said Falkner bitterly, "you care little " 
 
 "My dear Ned," said Lee, "the fact that Mrs. Hale has 
 a husband, and knows that she can't marry me, puts us 
 on equal terms. Nothing that she could learn about 
 me hereafter would make a flirtation with me any less 
 wrong than it would be now, or make her seem more 
 a victim. Can you say the same of yourself and that 
 Puritan girl?" 
 
 "But you did not advise me to keep aloof from her; on 
 the contrary, you " 
 
 "I thought you might make the best of the situation, 
 and pay her some attention, because you could not go any 
 further." 
 
 "You thought I was utterly heartless and selfish, like " 
 
 "Ned !" 
 
 Falkner walked rapidly to the fireplace, and returned. 
 
 "Forgive me, George I'm a fool and an ungrateful 
 one." 
 
 Lee did not reply at once, although he took and retained 
 the hand Falkner had impulsively extended. "Promise 
 me," he said slowly, after a pause, "that you will say 
 nothing yet to either of these women. I ask it for your 
 own sake, and this girl's, not for mine. If, on the con 
 trary, you are tempted to do so from any Quixotic idea 
 of honor, remember that you will only precipitate some-
 
 " 
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 449 
 
 thing that will oblige you, from that same sense of honor, 
 to separate from the girl forever." 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "Enough !" said he, with a quick return of his old reck 
 less gayety. "Shoot-Off-His-Mouth the Beardless Boy 
 Chief of the Sierras has spoken ! Let the Pale Face 
 with the black moustache ponder and beware how he talks 
 hereafter to the Rippling Cochituate Water! Go!" 
 
 Nevertheless, as soon as the door had closed upon 
 Falkner, Lee's smile vanished. With his colorless face 
 turned to the fading light at the window, the hollows in 
 his temples and the lines in the corners of his eyes seemed 
 to have grown more profound. He remained motionless 
 and absorbed in thought so deep that the light rustle of a 
 skirt, that would at other times have thrilled his sensitive 
 ear, passed unheeded. At last, throwing off his reverie 
 with the full and unrestrained sigh of a man who believes 
 himself alone, he was startled by the soft laugh of Mrs. 
 Hale, who had entered the room unperceived. 
 
 "Dear me ! How portentous ! Really, I almost feel as 
 if I were interrupting a tcte-a-tete between yourself and 
 some old flame. I haven't heard anything so old-fash 
 ioned and conservative as that sigh since I have been in 
 California. I thought you never had any Past out here?" 
 
 Fortunately his face was between her and the light, and 
 the unmistakable expression of annoyance and impatience 
 which was passed over it was spared her. There was, 
 however, still enough dissonance in his manner to affect 
 her quick feminine sense, and when she drew nearer to 
 him it was with a certain maiden-like timidity. 
 
 "You are not worse, Mr. Lee, I hope? You have not 
 over-exerted yourself?" 
 
 "There's little chance of that with one leg if not in 
 the grave at least mummified with bandages," he replied, 
 with a bitterness new to him. 
 
 "Shall I loosen them? Perhaps they are too tight. 
 There is nothing so irritating to one as the sensation of 
 being tightly bound." 
 
 The light touch of her hand upon the rug that covered 
 his knees, the thoughtful tenderness of the blue-veined 
 
 IS v. 2
 
 450 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 lids, and the delicate atmosphere that seemed to surround 
 her like a perfume cleared his face of its shadow and 
 brought back the reckless fire into his blue eyes. 
 
 "I suppose I'm intolerant of all bonds," he said, looking 
 at her intently, "in others as well as myself !" 
 
 Whether or not she detected any double meaning in his 
 words, she was obliged to accept the challenge of his direct 
 gaze, and, raising her eyes to his, drew back a little from 
 him with a slight increase of color. "I was afraid you 
 had heard bad news just now." 
 
 "What would you call bad news?" asked Lee, clasping 
 his hands behind his head, and leaning back on the sofa, 
 but without withdrawing his eyes from her face. 
 
 "Oh, any news that would interrupt your convalesence, 
 or break up our little family party," said Mrs. Hale. 
 "You have been getting on so well that really it would 
 seem cruel to have anything interfere with our life of for 
 getting and being forgotten. But," she added with appre 
 hensive quickness, "has anything happened? Is there 
 really any news from from the trails ? Yesterday Mr. 
 Falkner said the snow had recommenced in the pass. Has 
 he seen anything, noticed anything different?" 
 
 She looked so very pretty, with the rare, genuine, and 
 youthful excitement that transfigured her wearied and 
 wearying regularity of feature, that Lee contented himself 
 with drinking in her prettiness as he would have inhaled 
 the perfume of some flower. 
 
 "Why do you look at me so, Mr. Lee?" she asked, with 
 a slight smile. "I believe something has happened. Mr. 
 Falkner has brought you some intelligence." 
 
 "He has certainly found out something I did not 
 foresee." 
 
 "And that troubles you?" 
 
 "It does." 
 
 "Is it a secret?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then I suppose you will tell it to me at dinner," she 
 said, with a little tone of relief. 
 
 "I am afraid, if I tell it at all, I must tell it now," he 
 said, glancing at the door.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 451 
 
 "You must do. as you think best," she said coldly, "as it 
 seems to be a secret, after all." She hesitated. "Kate is 
 dressing, and will not be down for some time." 
 
 "So much the better. For I'm afraid that Ned has 
 made a poor return to your hospitality by falling in love 
 with her." 
 
 "Impossible ! He has known her for scarcely a week." 
 
 "I am afraid we won't agree as to the length of time 
 necessary to appreciate and love a woman. I think it 
 can be done in seven days and four hours, the exact time 
 we have been here." 
 
 "Yes; but as Kate was not in when you arrived, and 
 did not come until later, you must take off at least one 
 hour," said Mrs. Hale gayly. 
 
 "Ned can. / shall not abate a second." 
 
 "But are you not mistaken in his feelings?" she con 
 tinued hurriedly. "He certainly has not said anything 
 to her." 
 
 "That is his last hold on honor and reason. And to 
 preserve that little intact he wants to run away at once." 
 
 "But that would be very silly." 
 
 "Do you think so?" he said, looking at her fixedly. 
 
 "Why not ?" she asked in her turn, but rather faintly. 
 
 "I'll tell you why," he said, lowering his voice with a 
 certain intensity of passion unlike his usual boyish light- 
 heartedness. "Think of a man whose life has been one 
 of alternate hardness and aggression, of savage disap 
 pointment and equally savage successes, who has known 
 no other relaxation than dissipation and extravagance ; a 
 man to whom the idea of the domestic hearth and fam 
 ily ties only meant weakness, effeminacy, or worse ; who 
 had looked for loyalty and devotion only in the man who 
 battled for him at his right hand in danger, or shared his 
 privations and sufferings. Think of such a man, and 
 imagine that an accident has suddenly placed him in an 
 atmosphere of purity, gentleness, and peace, surrounded 
 him by the refinements of a higher life than he had ever 
 known, and that he found himself as in a dream, on terms 
 of equality with a pure woman who had never known any 
 other life, and yet would understand and pity his. Im-
 
 452 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 agine his loving her ! Imagine that the first effect of that 
 love was to show him his own inferiority and the im 
 measurable gulf that lay between his life and hers ! 
 Would he not fly rather than brave the disgrace of her 
 awakening to the truth? Would he not fly rather than 
 accept even the pity that might tempt her to a sacrifice ?" 
 
 "But is Mr. Falkner all that?" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, I assure you !" said he demurely. 
 "But that's the way a man in love feels." 
 
 "Really ! Mr. Falkner should get you to plead his 
 cause with Kate," said Mrs. Hale with a faint laugh. 
 
 "I need all my persuasive powers in that way for my 
 self," said Lee boldly. 
 
 Mrs. Hale rose. "I think I hear Kate coming," she 
 said. Nevertheless, she did not move away. "It is Kate 
 coming," she added hurriedly, stooping to pick up her 
 work-basket, which had slipped with Lee's hand from her 
 own. 
 
 It was Kate, who at once flew to her sister's assistance, 
 Lee deploring from the sofa his own utter inability to aid 
 her. "It's all my fault, too," he said to Kate, but looking 
 at Mrs. Hale. "It seems I have a faculty of upsetting 
 existing arrangements without the power of improving 
 them, or even putting them back in their places. What 
 shall I do? I am willing to hold any number of skeins 
 or rewind any quantity of spools. I am even willing to 
 forgive Ned for spending the whole day with you, and 
 only bringing me the wing of a hawk for supper." 
 
 "That was all my folly, Mr. Lee," said Kate, with 
 swift mendacity; "he was all the time looking after some 
 thing for you, when I begged him to shoot a bird to get 
 a feather for my hat. And that wing is so pretty." 
 
 "It is a pity that mere beauty is not edible," said Lee, 
 gravely, "and that if the worst comes to the worst here 
 you would probably prefer me to Ned and his moustachios, 
 merely because I've been tied by the leg to this sofa and 
 slowly fattened like a Strasbourg goose." 
 
 Nevertheless, his badinage failed somehow to amuse 
 Kate, and she presently excused herself to rejoin her sis 
 ter, who had already slipped from the room. For the first
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 453 
 
 time during their enforced seclusion a sense of restraint 
 and uneasiness affected Mrs. Hale, her sister, and Falkner 
 at dinner. The latter addressed himself to Mrs. Scott, 
 almost entirely. Mrs. Hale was fain to bestow an ex 
 ceptional and marked tenderness on her little daughter 
 Minnie, who, however, by some occult childish instinct, 
 insisted upon sharing it with Lee her great friend to 
 Mrs. Hale's uneasy consciousness. Nor was Lee slow to 
 profit by the child's suggestion, but responded with certain 
 vicarious caresses that increased the mother's embarrass 
 ment. That evening they retired early, but in the in 
 tervals of a restless night Kate was aware, from the 
 sound of voices in the opposite room, that the friends were 
 equally wakeful. 
 
 A morning of bright sunshine and soft warm air did 
 not, however, bring any change to their new and con 
 strained relations. It only seemed to offer a reason for 
 Falkner to leave the house very early for his daily 
 rounds, and gave Lee that occasion for unaided exercise 
 with an extempore crutch on the veranda which allowed 
 Mrs. Hale to pursue her manifold duties without the ne 
 cessity of keeping him company. Kate also, as if to avoid 
 an accidental meeting with Falkner, had remained at home 
 with her sister. With one exception, they did not make 
 their guests the subject of their usual playful comments, 
 nor, after the fashion of their sex, quote their ideas and 
 opinions. That exception was made by Mrs. Hale. 
 
 "You have had no difference with Mr. Falkner?" she 
 said carelessly. 
 
 "No," said Kate quickly. "Why?" 
 
 "I only thought he seemed rather put out at dinner last 
 night, and you didn't propose to go and meet him to-day." 
 
 "He must be bored with my company at times, I dare 
 say," said Kate, with an indifference quite inconsistent 
 with her rising color. "I shouldn't wonder if he was a 
 little vexed with Mr. Lee's chaffing him about his sport 
 yesterday, and probably intends to go further to-day, and 
 bring home larger game. I think Mr. Lee very amusing 
 always, but I sometimes fancy he lacks feeling." 
 "Feeling! You don't know him, Kate," said Mrs. Hale
 
 454 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 quickly. She stopped herself, but with a half-smiling 
 recollection in her dropped eyelids. 
 
 "Well, he doesn't look very amiable now, stamping up 
 and down the veranda. Perhaps you'd better go and 
 soothe him." 
 
 "I'm really so busy just now," said Mrs. Hale, with 
 sudden and inconsequent energy; "things have got dread 
 fully behind in the last week. You had better go, Kate, 
 and make him sit down, or he'll be overdoing it. These 
 men never know any medium in anything." 
 
 Contrary to Kate's expectation, Falkner returned earlier 
 than usual, and, taking the invalid's arm, supported him in 
 a more ambitious walk along the terrace before the house. 
 They were apparently absorbed in conversation, but the 
 two women who observed them from the window could 
 not help noticing the almost feminine tenderness of Falk- 
 ner's manner towards his wounded friend, and the thought 
 ful tenderness of his ministering care. 
 
 "I wonder," said Mrs. Hale, following them with softly 
 appreciative eyes, "if women are capable of as disinter 
 ested friendship as men? I never saw anything like the 
 devotion of these two creatures. Look ! if Mr. Falkner 
 hasn't got his arm round Mr. Lee's waist, and Lee, with 
 his own arm over Falkner's neck, is looking up in his eyes. 
 I declare, Kate, it almost seems an indiscretion to look at 
 them." 
 
 Kate, however, to Mrs. Hale's indignation, threw her 
 pretty head back and sniffed the air contemptuously. "I 
 really don't see anything but some absurd sentimentalism 
 of their own, or some mannish wickedness they're con 
 cocting by themselves. I am by no means certain, Joseph 
 ine, that Lee's influence over that young man is the best 
 thing for him." 
 
 "On the contrary ! Lee's influence seems the only thing 
 that checks his waywardness," said Mrs. Hale quickly. 
 "Im sure, if anyone makes sacrifices, it is Lee ; I shouldn't 
 wonder that even now he is making some concession to 
 Falkner, and all those caressing ways of your friend are 
 for a purpose. They're not much different from us, dear." 
 
 "Well, 7 wouldn't stand there and let them see me look-
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 455 
 
 ing at them as if I couldn't bear them out of my sight 
 for a moment," said Kate, whisking herself out of 
 the room. "They're conceited enough, Heaven knows, 
 already." 
 
 That evening, at dinner, however, the two men exhibited 
 no trace of the restraint or uneasiness of the previous day. 
 If they were less impulsive and exuberant, they were still 
 frank and interested, and if the term could be used in 
 connection with men apparently trained to neither self- 
 control nor repose, there was a certain gentle dignity in 
 their manner which for the time had the effect of lifting 
 them a little above the social level of their entertainers. 
 For even with all their predisposition to the strangers, 
 Kate and Mrs. Hale had always retained a conscious atti 
 tude of gentle condescension and superiority towards them 
 an attitude not inconsistent with a stronger feeling, nor 
 altogether unprovocative of it ; yet this evening they found 
 themselves impressed with something more than an equal 
 ity in the men who had amused and interested them, and 
 they were perhaps a little more critical and doubtful of 
 their own power. Mrs. Hale's little girl, who had ap 
 preciated only the seriousness of the situation, had made 
 her own application of it. "Are you dow'in' away from 
 aunt Kate and mamma ?" she asked, in an interval of 
 silence. 
 
 "How else can I get you the red snow we saw at sun 
 set, the other day, on the peak yonder?" said Lee gayly. 
 "I'll have to get up some morning very early, and catch 
 it when it comes at sunrise." 
 
 "What is this wonderful snow, Minnie, that you are 
 tormenting Mr. Lee for?" asked Mrs. Hale. 
 
 "Oh ! it's a fairy snow that he told me all about ; it 
 only comes when the sun comes up and goes down, and 
 if you catch ever so little of it in your hand it makes 
 all you fink you want come true ! Wouldn't that be nice?" 
 But to the child's astonishment her little circle of auditors, 
 even while assenting, sighed. 
 
 The red snow was there plain enough the next morning 
 before the valley was warm with light, and while Minnie, 
 her mother, and aunt Kate were still peacefully sleeping.
 
 456 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 And Mr. Lee had kept his word, and was evidently seeking 
 it, for he and Falkner were already urging their horses 
 through the pass, with their faces towards and lit up by 
 its glow. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 KATE was stirring early, but not as early as her sister, 
 who met her on the threshold of her room. Her face was 
 quite pale, and she held a letter in her hand. "What does 
 this mean, Kate?" 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Kate, her own color fad 
 ing from her cheek. 
 
 "They are gone with their horses. Left before day, 
 and left this." 
 
 She handed Kate an open letter. The girl took it 
 hurriedly, and read 
 
 "When you get this we shall be no more; perhaps not 
 even as much. Ned found the trail yesterday, and we are 
 taking the first advantage of it before day. We dared not 
 trust ourselves to say 'Good-by !' last evening; we were 
 too cowardly to face you this morning; we must go as 
 we came, without warning, but not without regret. We 
 leave a package and a letter for your husband. It is 
 not only our poor return for your gentleness and 
 hospitality, but, since it was accidentally the means of 
 giving us the pleasure of your society, we beg you to 
 keep it in safety until his return. We kiss your mother's 
 hands. Ned wants to say something more, but time 
 presses, and I only allow him to send his love to Minnie, 
 and to tell her that he is trying to find the red snow. 
 
 "GEORGE LEE." 
 
 "But he is not fit to travel," said Mrs. Hale. "And the 
 trail it may not be passable." 
 
 "It was passable the day before yesterday," said Kate 
 drearily, "for I discovered it, and went as far as the 
 buck-eyes." 
 
 "Then it was you who told them about it," said Mrs. 
 Hale reproachfully.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 457 
 
 "No," said Kate indignantly. "Of course I didn't." 
 She stopped, and, reading the significance of her speech 
 in the glistening eyes of her sister, she blushed. Joseph 
 ine kissed her, and said 
 
 "It was treating us like children, Kate, but we must 
 make them pay for it hereafter. For that package and 
 letter to John means something, and we shall probably see 
 them before long. I wonder what the letter is about, and 
 what is in the package?" 
 
 "Probably one of Mr. Lee's jokes. He is quite capable 
 of turning the whole thing into ridicule. I dare say he 
 considers his visit here a prolonged jest." 
 
 "With his poor leg, Kate? You are as unfair to him 
 as you were to Falkner when they first came." 
 
 Kate, however, kept her dark eyebrows knitted in a 
 piquant frown. 
 
 "To think of his intimating what he would allow Falk 
 ner to say ! And yet you believe he has no evil influence 
 over the young man." 
 
 Mrs. Hale laughed. "Where are you going so fast, 
 Kate?" she called mischievously, as the young lady 
 flounced out of the room. 
 
 "Where ? Why, to tidy John's room. He may be com 
 ing at any moment now. Or do you want to do it your 
 self?" 
 
 "No, no," returned Mrs. Hale hurriedly; "you do it. 
 I'll look in a little later on." 
 
 She turned away with a sigh. The sun was shining 
 brilliantly outside. Through the half-open blinds its long 
 shafts seemed to be searching the house for the lost guests, 
 and making the hollow shell appear doubly empty. What 
 a contrast to the dear dark days of mysterious seclusion 
 and delicious security, lit by Lee's laughter and the spark 
 ling hearth, which had passed so quickly! The forgot 
 ten outer world seemed to have returned to the house 
 through those open windows and awakened its dwellers 
 from a dream. 
 
 The morning seemed interminable, and it was past noon, 
 while they were deep in a sympathetic conference with 
 Mrs. Scott, who had drawn a pathetic word-picture of
 
 458 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 the two friends perishing in the snow-drift, without flan 
 nels, brandy, smelling-salts, or jelly, which they had for 
 gotten, when they were startled by the loud barking of 
 "Spot" on the lawn before the house. The women looked 
 hurriedly at each other. 
 
 "They have returned," said Mrs. Hale. 
 
 Kate ran to the window. A horseman was approach 
 ing the house. A single glance showed her that it was 
 neither Falkner, Lee, nor Hale, but a stranger. 
 
 "Perhaps he brings some news of them," said Mrs. Scott 
 quickly. So complete had been their preoccupation with 
 the loss of their guests that they could not yet conceive 
 of anything that did not pertain to it. 
 
 The stranger, who was at once ushered into the parlor, 
 was evidently disconcerted by the presence of the three 
 women. 
 
 "I reckoned to see John Hale yer," he began, awk 
 wardly. 
 
 A slight look of disappointment passed over their faces. 
 "He has not yet returned," said Mrs. Hale briefly. 
 
 "Sho ! I wanter know. He's hed time to do it, I 
 reckon," said the stranger. 
 
 "I suppose he hasn't been able to get over from the 
 Summit," returned Mrs. Hale. "The trail is closed." 
 
 "It ain't now, for I kem over it this mornin' myself." 
 
 "You didn't meet anyone?" asked Mrs. Hale timidly, 
 with a glance at the others. 
 
 "No." 
 
 A long silence ensued. The unfortunate visitor plainly 
 perceived an evident abatement of interest in himself, yet 
 he still struggled politely to say something. "Then I 
 reckon you know what kept Hale away?" he said du 
 biously. 
 
 "Oh, certainly the stage robbery." 
 
 "I wish I'd known that," said the stranger reflectively, 
 "for I ez good ez rode over jist to tell it to ye. Ye see 
 John Hale, he sent a note to ye 'splainin' matters by a 
 gentleman ; but the road agents tackled that man, and left 
 him for dead in the road." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Hale impatiently.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 459 
 
 "Luckily he didn't die, but kem to, and managed to 
 crawl inter the brush, whar I found him when I was 
 lookin' for stock, and brought him to my house " 
 
 "You found him ? Your house ?" interrupted Mrs. Hale. 
 
 "Inter my house," continued the man doggedly. "I'm 
 Thompson of Thompson's Pass over yon; mebbe it ain't 
 much of a house; but I brought him thar. Well, ez he 
 couldn't find the note that Hale had guv him, and like ez 
 not the road agents had gone through him and got it, ez 
 soon ez the weather let up I made a break over yer to 
 tell ye." 
 
 "You say Mr. Lee came to your house," repeated Mrs. 
 Hale, "and is there now?" 
 
 "Not much/' said the man grimly; "and I never said 
 Lee was thar. I mean that Bilson waz shot by Lee and 
 kem" 
 
 "Certainly, Josephine !" said Kate, suddenly stepping 
 between her sister and Thompson, and turning upon her 
 a white face and eyes of silencing significance ; "certainly 
 don't you remember? that's the story we got from the 
 Chinaman, you know, only muddled. Go on sir," she 
 continued, turning to Thompson calmly; "you say that 
 the man who brought the note from my brother was shot 
 by Lee?" 
 
 "And another fellow they call Falkner. Yes, that's 
 about the size of it." 
 
 "Thank you; it's nearly the same story that we heard. 
 But you have had a long ride, Mr. Thompson ; let me offer 
 you a glass of whiskey in the dining-room. This way, 
 please." 
 
 The door closed upon them none too soon. For Mrs. 
 Hale already felt the room whirling around her, and sank 
 back into her chair with a hysterical laugh. Old Mrs. 
 Scott did not move from her seat, but, with her eyes fixed 
 on the door, impatiently waited Kate's return. Neither 
 spoke, but each felt that the young, untried girl was equal 
 to the emergency, and would get at the truth. 
 
 The sound of Thompson's feet in the hall and the 
 closing of the front door was followed by Kate's reappear 
 ance. Her face was still pale, but calm.
 
 460 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 "Well ?" said the two women in a breath. 
 
 "Well," returned Kate slowly ; "Mr. Lee and Mr. Falk- 
 ner were undoubtedly the two men who took the paper 
 from John's messenger and brought it here." 
 
 "You are sure?" said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "There can be no mistake, mother." 
 
 "Then" said Mrs. Scott, with triumphant feminine 
 logic, "I don't want anything more to satisfy me that 
 they are perfectly innocent!" 
 
 More convincing than the most perfect masculine de 
 duction, this single expression of their common nature 
 sent a thrill of sympathy and understanding through each. 
 They cried for a few moments on each other's shoulders. 
 "To think/' said Mrs. Scott, "what that poor boy must 
 have suffered to have been obliged to do that to 
 to Bilson isn't that the creature's name ? I suppose we 
 ought to send over there and inquire after him, with some 
 chicken and jelly, Kate. It's only common humanity, and 
 we must be just, my dear; for even if he shot Mr. Lee 
 and provoked the poor boy to shoot him, he may have 
 thought it his duty. And then, it will avert suspicions." 
 
 "To think," murmured Mrs. Hale, "what they must have 
 gone through while they were here momentarily expect 
 ing John to come, and yet keeping up such a light heart." 
 
 "I belieye, if they had stayed any longer, they would 
 have told us everything," said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 Both the younger women were silent. Kate was think 
 ing of Falkner's significant speech as they neared the 
 house on their last walk ; Josephine was recalling the re 
 morseful picture drawn by Lee, which she knew was his 
 own portrait. Suddenly she started. 
 
 "But John will be here soon ; what are we to tell him ? 
 And then that package and that letter." 
 
 "Don't be in a hurry to tell him anything at present, 
 my child," said Mrs. Scott gently. "It is unfortunate 
 this Mr. Thompson called here, but we are not obliged 
 to understand what he says now about John's message, or 
 to connect our visitors with his story. I'm sure, Kate, I 
 should have treated them exactly as we did if they had 
 come without any message from John; so I do not know
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 461 
 
 why we should lay any stress on that, or even speak of 
 it. The simple fact is that we have opened our house to 
 two strangers in distress. Your husband," continued Mr. 
 Hale's mother-in-law, "does not require to know more. 
 As to the letter and package, we will keep that for further 
 consideration. It cannot be of much importance, or they 
 would have spoken of it before; it is probably some 
 trifling present as a return for your hospitality. I should 
 use no indecorous haste in having it opened." 
 
 The two women kissed Mrs. Scott with a feeling of 
 relief, and fell back into the monotony of their household 
 duties. It is to be feared, however, that the absence of 
 their outlawed guests was nearly as dangerous as their 
 presence in the opportunity it afforded for uninterrupted 
 and imaginative reflection. Both Kate and Josephine 
 were at first shocked and wounded by the discovery of the 
 real character of the two men with whom they had as 
 sociated so familiarly, but it was no disparagement to 
 their sense of propriety to say that the shock did not last 
 long, and was accompanied with the fascination of danger. 
 This was succeeded by a consciousness of the delicate 
 flattery implied in their indirect influence over the men 
 who had undoubtedly risked their lives for the sake of re 
 maining with them. The best woman is not above being 
 touched by the effect of her power over the worst man, 
 and Kate at first allowed herself to think of Falkner in 
 that light. But if in her later reflections he suffered as a 
 heroic experience to be forgotten, he gained something as 
 an actual man to be remembered. Now that the proposed 
 rides from "his friend's house" were a part of the illusion, 
 would he ever dare to visit them again ? Would she dare 
 to see him? She held her breath with a sudden pain of 
 parting that was new to her; she tried to think of some 
 thing else, to pick up the scattered threads of her life be 
 fore that eventful day. But in vain ; that one week had 
 filled the place with implacable memories, or more terrible, 
 as it seemed to her and her sister, they had both lost their 
 feeble, alien hold upon Eagle's Court in the sudden 
 presence of the real genii of these solitudes, and hence 
 forth they alone would be the strangers there. They
 
 462 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 scarcely dared to confess it to each other, but this return 
 to the dazzling sunlight and cloudless skies of the past 
 appeared to them to be the one unreal experience; they 
 had never known the true wild flavor of their home, ex 
 cept in that week of delicious isolation. Without breath 
 ing it aloud, they longed for some vague denoument to 
 this experience that should take them from Eagle's Court 
 forever. 
 
 It was noon the next day when the little household be 
 held the last shred of their illusion vanish like the melting 
 snow in the strong sunlight of John Hale's return. He 
 was accompanied by Colonel Clinch and Rawlins, two 
 strangers to the women. Was it fancy, or the avenging 
 spirit of their absent companions? but he too looked a 
 stranger, and as the little cavalcade wound its way up 
 the slope he appeared to sit his horse and wear his hat 
 with a certain slouch and absence of his usual restraint 
 that strangely shocked them. Even the old half-conde 
 scending, half-punctilious gallantry of his greeting of his 
 wife and family was changed, as he introduced his com 
 panions with a mingling of familiarity and shyness that 
 was new to him. Did Mrs. Hale regret it, or feel a sense 
 of relief in the absence of his usual seignorial formality? 
 She only knew that she was grateful for the presence of 
 the strangers, which for the moment postponed a matri 
 monial confidence from which she shrank. 
 
 "Proud to know you," said Colonel Clinch, with a sud 
 den outbreak of the antique gallantry of some remote 
 Huguenot ancestor. "My friend, Judge Hale, must be a 
 regular Roman citizen to leave such a family and such 
 a house at the call of public duty. Eh, Rawlins ?" 
 
 "You bet," said Rawlins, looking from Kate to her 
 sister in undisguised admiration. 
 
 "And I suppose the duty could not have been a very 
 pleasant one/' said Mrs. Hale, timidly, without looking 
 at her husband. 
 
 "Gad, madam, that's just it," said the gallant Colonel, 
 seating himself with a comfortable air, and an easy, 
 though by no means disrespectful, familiarity. "We went 
 into this fight a little more than a week ago. The only
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 463 
 
 scrimmage we've had has been with the detectives that 
 were on the robbers' track. Ha ! ha ! The best people 
 we've met have been the friends of the men we were 
 huntin', and we've generally come to the conclusion to 
 vote the other ticket ! Ez Judge Hale and me agreed ez 
 we came along, the two men ez we'd most like to see 
 just now and shake hands with are George Lee and 
 Ned Falkner." 
 
 "The two leaders of the party who robbed the coach," 
 explained Mr. Hale, with a slight return of his usual pre- 
 .cision of statement. 
 
 The three women looked at each other with a blaze of 
 thanksgiving in their grateful eyes. Without compre 
 hending all that Colonel Clinch had said, they understood 
 enough to know that their late guests were safe from the 
 pursuit of that party, and that their own conduct was 
 spared criticism. I hardly dare write it, but they instantly 
 assumed the appearance of aggrieved martyrs, and felt as 
 if they were ! 
 
 "Yes, ladies !" continued the Colonel, inspired by the 
 bright eyes fixed upon him. "We haven't taken the road 
 ourselves yet, but pohn honor we wouldn't mind doing 
 it in a case like this." Then with the fluent, but some 
 what exaggerated, phraseology of a man trained to 
 "stump" speaking, he gave an account of the robbery and 
 his own connection with it. He spoke of the swindling 
 and treachery which had undoubtedly provoked Falkner 
 to obtain restitution of his property by an overt act of 
 violence under the leadership of Lee. He added that he 
 had learned since at Wild Cat Station that Harkins had 
 fled the country, that a suit had been commenced by the 
 Excelsior Ditch Company, and that all available property 
 of Harkins had been seized by the sheriff. 
 
 "Of course it can't be proved yet, but there's no doubt 
 in my mind that Lee, who is an old friend of Ned Falk- 
 ner's, got up that job to help him, and that. Ned's off 
 with the money by this time and I'm right glad of it. 
 I can't say ez we've done much towards it, except to keep 
 tumbling in the way of that detective party of Stanner's, 
 and so throw them off the trail ha, ha ! The Judge here,
 
 464: SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 I reckon, has had his share of fun, for while he was at 
 Hennicker's trying to get some facts from Hennicker's 
 pretty daughter, Stanner tried to get up some sort of vig 
 ilance committee of the stage passengers to burn down 
 Hennicker's ranch out of spite, but the Judge here stepped 
 in and stopped that." 
 
 "It was really a high-handed proceeding, Josephine, but 
 I managed to check it," said Hale, meeting somewhat con 
 sciously the first direct look his wife had cast upon him, 
 and falling back for support on his old manner. "In its 
 way, I think it was worse than the robbery by Lee and 
 Falkner, for it was done in the name of law and order; 
 while, as far as I can judge from the facts, the affair that 
 we were following up was simply a rude and irregular 
 restitution of property that had been morally stolen." 
 
 "I have no doubt you did quite right, though I don't un 
 derstand it," said Mrs. Hale languidly; "but I trust these 
 gentlemen will stay to luncheon, and in the meantime 
 excuse us for running away, as we are short of servants, 
 and Manuel seems to have followed the example of the 
 head of the house and left us, in pursuit of somebody or 
 something." 
 
 When the three women had gained the vantage-ground 
 of the drawing-room, Kate said, earnestly, "As it's all 
 right, hadn't we better tell him now?" 
 
 "Decidedly not, child," said Mrs. Scott, imperatively. 
 "Do you suppose they are in a hurry to tell us their whole 
 story? Who are those Hennicker people? and they were 
 there a week ago !" 
 
 "And did you notice John's hat when he came in, and 
 the vulgar familiarity of calling him 'Judge'?" said Mrs. 
 Hale. 
 
 "Well, certainly anything like the familiarity of this 
 man Clinch 7 never saw," said Kate. "Contrast his man 
 ner with Mr. Falkner's." 
 
 At luncheon the three suffering martyrs finally suc 
 ceeded in reducing Hale and his two friends to an attitude 
 of vague apology. But their triumph was short-lived. 
 At the end of the meal they were startled by the trampling 
 of hoofs without, followed by loud knocking, In another
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 465 
 
 moment the door was opened, and Mr. Stanner strode into 
 the room. Hale rose with a look of indignation. 
 
 "I thought, as Mr. Stanner understood that I had no 
 desire for his company elsewhere, he would hardly venture 
 to intrude upon me in my house, and certainly not 
 after" 
 
 "Ef you're alluding to the Vigilantes shakin' you and 
 Zeenie up at Hennicker's, you can't make me responsible 
 for that. I'm here now on business you understand 
 reg'lar business. Ef you want to see the papers yer ken. 
 I suppose you know what a warrant is?" 
 
 "I know what you are," said Hale hotly; "and if you 
 don't leave my house " 
 
 "Steady, boys," interrupted Stanner, as his five hench 
 men filed into the hall. "There's no backin' down here, 
 Colonel Clinch, unless you and Hale kalkilate to back 
 down the State of Californy ! The matter stands like 
 this. There's a half-breed Mexican, called Manuel, ar 
 rested over at the Summit, who swears he saw George 
 Lee and Edward Falkner in this house the night after 
 the robbery. He says that they were makin' themselves 
 at home here, as if they were among friends, and con- 
 siderin' the kind of help we've had from Mr. John Hale, 
 it looks ez if it might be true." 
 
 "It's an infamous lie !" said Hale. 
 
 "It may be true, John," said Mrs. Scott, suddenly step 
 ping in front of her pale-cheeked daughters. "A wounded 
 man was brought here out of the storm by his friend, who 
 claimed the shelter of your roof. As your mother I should 
 have been unworthy to stay beneath it and have denied 
 that shelter or withheld it until I knew his name and what 
 he was. He stayed here until he could be removed. He 
 left a letter for you. It will probably tell you if he was 
 the man this person is seeking." 
 
 "Thank you, mother," said Hale, lifting her hand to 
 his lips quietly; "and perhaps you will kindly tell these 
 gentlemen that, as your son does not care to know who or 
 what the stranger was, there is no necessity for opening 
 the letter, or keeping Mr. Stanner a moment longer." 
 
 "But you will oblige me, John, by opening it before 
 16 VOL. 2
 
 466 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 these gentlemen," said Mrs. Hale recovering her voice 
 and color. "Please to follow me," she said preceding 
 them to the staircase. 
 
 They entered Mr. Hale's room, now restored to its 
 original condition. On the table lay a letter and a small 
 package. The eyes of Mr. Stanner, a little abashed by 
 the attitude of the two women, fastened upon it and 
 glistened. 
 
 Josephine handed her husband the letter. He opened it 
 in breathless silence and read 
 
 "JOHN HALE, 
 
 "We owe you no return for voluntarily making yourself 
 a champion of justice and pursuing us, except it was to 
 offer you a fair field and no favor. We didn't get that 
 much from you, but accident brought us into your house 
 and into your family, where we did get it, and were fairly 
 vanquished. To the victors belong the spoils. We leave 
 the package of greenbacks which we took from Colonel 
 Clinch in the Sierra coach, but which was first stolen by 
 Harkins from forty-four shareholders of the Excelsior 
 Ditch. We have no right to say what you should do with 
 it, but if you aren't tired of following the same line of 
 justice that induced you to run after us, you will try to 
 restore it to its rightful owners. 
 
 "We leave you another trifle as an evidence that our 
 intrusion into your affairs was not without some service 
 to you, even if the service was as accidental as the in 
 trusion. You will find a pair of boots in the corner of 
 your closet. They were taken from the burglarious feet 
 of Manuel, your peon, who, believing the three ladies were 
 alone and at his mercy, entered your house with an ac 
 complice at two o'clock on the morning of the 21 st, and 
 was kicked out by 
 
 "Your obedient servants, 
 
 "GEORGE LEE & EDWARD FALKNER." 
 
 Hale's voice and color changed on reading this last 
 paragraph. He turned quickly towards his wife; Kate 
 flew to the closet, where the muffled boots of Manuel con-
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 467 
 
 fronted them. "We never knew it. I always suspected 
 something that night," said Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Scott in 
 the same breath. 
 
 "That's all very well, and like George Lee's high 
 falutin'," said Stanner, approaching the table, "but as 
 long ez the greenbacks are here he can make what capital 
 he likes outer Manuel. I'll trouble you to pass over that 
 package." 
 
 "Excuse me," said Hale, "but I believe this is the pack 
 age taken from Colonel Clinch. Is it not?" he added, ap 
 pealing to the Colonel. 
 
 "It is," said Clinch. 
 
 "Then take it," said Hale, handing him the package. 
 "The first restitution is to you, but I believe you will fulfil 
 Lee's instructions as well as myself." 
 
 "But," said Stanner, furiously interposing, "I've a war 
 rant to seize that wherever found, and I dare you to dis 
 obey the law." 
 
 "Mr. Stanner," said Clinch, slowly, "there are ladies 
 present. If you insist upon having that package I must 
 ask them to withdraw, and I'm afraid you'll find me better 
 prepared to resist a second robbery than I was the first. 
 Your warrant, which was taken out by the Express Com 
 pany, is supplanted by civil proceedings taken the day 
 before yesterday against the property of the fugitive 
 swindler Harkins ! You should have consulted the sheriff 
 before you came here." 
 
 Stanner saw his mistake. But in the faces of his grin 
 ning followers he was obliged to keep up his bluster. 
 "You shall hear from me again, sir," he said, turning on 
 his heel. 
 
 "I 'beg your pardon," said Clinch grimly, "but do I un 
 derstand that at last I am to have the honor " 
 
 "You shall hear from the Company's lawyers, sir," said 
 Stanner, turning red, and noisily leaving the room. 
 
 "And so, my dear ladies," said Colonel Clinch, "you have 
 spent a week with a highwayman. I say a highwayman, 
 for it would be hard to call my young friend Falkner by 
 that name for his first offence, committed under great 
 provocation, and undoubtedly instigated by Lee, who was
 
 468 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 
 
 an old friend of his, and to whom he came, no doubt, in 
 desperation." 
 
 Kate stole a triumphant glance at her sister, who 
 dropped her lids over her glistening eyes. "And this Mr. 
 Lee," she continued more gently, "is he really a high 
 wayman ?" 
 
 "George Lee," said Clinch, settling himself back orator- 
 ically in his chair, "my dear young lady, is a highway 
 man, but not of the common sort. He is a gentleman 
 born, madam, comes from one of the oldest families of the 
 Eastern Shore of Maryland. He never mixes himself up 
 with anything but some of the biggest strikes, and he's an 
 educated man. He is very popular with ladies and chil 
 dren; he was never known to do or say anything that 
 could bring a blush to the cheek of beauty or a tear to the 
 eye of innocence. I think I may say I'm sure you found 
 him so." 
 
 "I shall never believe him anything but a gentleman," 
 said Mrs. Scott, firmly. 
 
 "If he has a defect, it is perhaps a too reckless in 
 dulgence in draw poker," said the Colonel, musingly ; "not 
 unbecoming a gentleman, understand me, Mrs. Scott, but 
 perhaps too reckless for his own good. George played a 
 grand game, a glittering game, but pardon me if I say an 
 uncertain game. I've told him so ; it's the only point on 
 which we ever differed." 
 
 "Then you know him ?" said Mrs. Hale, lifting her soft 
 eyes to the Colonel. 
 
 "I have that honor." 
 
 "Did his appearance, Josephine," broke in Hale, some 
 what ostentatiously, "appear to er er correspond with 
 these qualities? You know what I mean." 
 
 "He certainly seemed very simple and natural," said 
 Mrs. Hale, slightly drawing her pretty lips together. "He 
 did not wear his trousers rolled up over his boots in 
 the company of ladies, as you're doing now, nor did he 
 make his first appearance in this house with such a hat 
 as you wore this morning, or I should not have admitted 
 him." 
 
 There were a few moments of embarrassing silence.
 
 SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S 469 
 
 "Do you intend to give that package to Mr. Falkner 
 yourself, Colonel?" asked Mrs. Scott. 
 
 "I shall hand it over to the Excelsior Company," said 
 the Colonel, "but I shall inform Ned of what I have done." 
 
 "Then," said Mrs. Scott, "will you kindly take a mes 
 sage from us to him?" 
 
 "If you wish it." 
 
 "You will be doing me a great favor, Colonel," said 
 Hale, politely. 
 
 Whatever the message was, six months later it brought 
 Edward Falkner, the reestablished superintendent of the 
 Excelsior Ditch, to Eagle's Court. As he and Kate stood 
 again on the plateau, looking towards the distant slopes 
 once more green with verdure, Falkner said 
 
 "Everything here looks as it did the first day I saw it, 
 except your sister." 
 
 "The place does not agree with her," said Kate hur 
 riedly. "That is why my brother thinks of leaving it 
 before the winter sets in." 
 
 "It seems so sad," said Falkner, "for the last words poor 
 George said to me, as he left to join his cousin's corps at 
 Richmond, were : 'If I'm not killed, Ned, I hope some day 
 to stand again beside Mrs. Hale, at the window in Eagle's 
 Court, and watch you and Kate coming home !' "
 
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