5i .F. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SANTA CRUZ 
 
. 
 
BRET HARTE'S 
 WRITINGS 
 
 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP 
 AND OTHER SKETCHES 
 
 SPECIAL EDITION 
 
 MADE FOR REVIEW OF REVIEWS" 
 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 ftitoer?ifte press, Cambridge, 
 
COPYRIGHT 1871 BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO, 
 COPYRIGHT 1899 BY BRET HARTE 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
K 
 
 l* 
 ff) 
 
 SKETCHES. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A SERIES of designs suggested, I think, by 
 Hogarth's familiar cartoons of the Industrious 
 and Idle Apprentices I remember as among the 
 earliest efforts at moral teaching in California. They 
 represented the respective careers of The Honest and 
 Dissolute Miners : the one, as I recall him, retrograd- 
 ing through successive planes of dirt, drunkenness, 
 disease, and death; the other advancing by corre- 
 sponding stages to affluence and a white shirt. What- 
 ever may have been the artistic defects of these 
 drawings, the moral at least was obvious and distinct. 
 That it failed, however, as it did, to produce the 
 desired reform in mining morality may have been 
 owing to the fact that the average miner refused to 
 recognize himself in either of these positive char- 
 acters ; and that even he who might have sat 
 for the model of the Dissolute Miner was perhaps 
 dimly conscious of some limitations and circumstances 
 which partly relieved him from responsibility. " Yer 
 see," remarked such a critic to the writer, in the un- 
 translatable poetry of his class, "it ain't no square 
 game. They 've just put up the keerds on that chap 
 from the start." 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 With this lamentable example before me, I trust 
 that in the following sketches I have abstained from 
 any positive moral. I might have painted my villains 
 of the blackest dye, so black, indeed, that the origi- 
 nals thereof would have contemplated them with the 
 glow of comparative virtue. I might have made it 
 impossible for them to have performed a virtuous or 
 generous action, and have thus avoided that moral 
 confusion which is apt to arise in the contemplation 
 of mixed motives and qualities. But I should have 
 burdened myself with the responsibility of their 
 creation, which, as a humble writer of romance and 
 entitled to no particular reverence, I did not care 
 to do. 
 
 I fear I cannot claim, therefore, any higher motive 
 than to illustrate an era of which Californian history 
 has preserved the incidents more often than the char- 
 acter of the actors, an era which the panegyrist was 
 too often content to bridge over with a general com- 
 pliment to its survivors, an era still so recent that in 
 attempting to revive its poetry, I am conscious also 
 of awakening the more prosaic recollections of these 
 same survivors, and yet an era replete with a certain 
 heroic Greek poetry, of which perhaps none were more 
 unconscious than the heroes themselves. And I shall 
 be quite content to have collected here merely the 
 materials for the Iliad that is yet to be sung. 
 
 SAN F HAS Cisco, December 24, 1868. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP . . . 1 
 
 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT . . 19 
 
 HIGGLES . . . ...... 37 
 
 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER ..* 56 
 
 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH 72 
 
 BROWN OF CALAVERAS 89 
 
 HIGH-WATER MARK 107 
 
 A LONELY RIDE 121 
 
 THE MAN OF No ACCOUNT . . . . .131 
 
 STORIES. 
 
 MLISS 141 
 
 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER . . . 184 
 
 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD 198 
 
 BOHEMIAN PAPERS. 
 
 MISSION DOLORES 237 
 
 JOHN CHINAMAN ....... 242 
 
 FROM A BACK WINDOW 248 
 
 BOONDIR . . t 253 
 
F. B, SCHWJCHTENBERG 
 
 THE LUCK OF ROARING- CAMP. 
 
 was commotion in Roaring Camp. It 
 J- could not have been a fight, for in 1850 that 
 was not novel enough to have called together the 
 entire settlement. The ditches and claims were 
 not only deserted, but " Tuttle's grocery " had con- 
 tributed its gamblers, who, it will be remembered, 
 calmly continued their game the day that French 
 Pete and Kanaka Joe shot each other to death over 
 the bar in the front room. The whole camp was 
 collected before a rude cabin on the outer edge of 
 the clearing. Conversation was carried on in a low 
 tone, but the name of a woman was frequently 
 repeated. It was a name familiar enough in the 
 camp, " Cherokee Sal." 
 
 Perhaps the less said of her the better. She 
 was a coarse, and, it is to be feared, a very sinful 
 woman. But at that time she was the only wo- 
 man in Roaring Camp, and was just then lying in 
 sore extremity, when she most needed the minis- 
 tration of her own sex. Dissolute, abandoned, 
 and irreclaimable, she was yet suffering a martyr- 
 dom hard enough to bear even when veiled by 
 
2 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 sympathizing womanhood, but now terrible in 
 her loneliness. The primal curse had come to 
 her in that original isolation which must have 
 made the punishment of the first transgression 
 so dreadful. It was, perhaps, part of the expia- 
 tion of her sin, that, at a moment when she most 
 lacked her sex's intuitive tenderness and care, she 
 met only the half-contemptuous faces of her mas- 
 culine associates. Yet a few of the spectators 
 were, I think, touched by her sufferings. Sandy 
 Tipton thought it was " rough on Sal," and, in the 
 contemplation of her condition, for a moment rose 
 superior to the fact that he had an ace and two 
 bowers in his sleeve. 
 
 It will be seen, also, that the situation was novel. 
 Deaths were by no means uncommon in Roaring 
 Camp, but a, birth was a new thing. People had 
 been dismissed the camp effectively, finally, and 
 with no possibility of return ; but this was the first 
 time that anybody had been introduced db initio. 
 Hence the excitement. 
 
 "You go in there, Stumpy," said a prominent 
 citizen known as " Kentuck," addressing one of 
 the loungers. " Go in there, and see what you kin 
 do. You Ve had experience in them things." 
 
 Perhaps there was a fitness in the selection. 
 Stumpy, in other climes, had been the putative 
 head of two families ; in fact, it was owing to some 
 legal informality in these proceedings that Roaring 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 3 
 
 Camp a city of refuge was indebted to his 
 company. The crowd approved the choice, and 
 Stumpy was wise enough to bow to the majority. 
 The door closed on the extempore surgeon and 
 midwife, and Eoaring Camp sat down outside, 
 smoked its pipe, and awaited the issue. 
 
 The assemblage numbered about a hundred men. 
 One or two of these were actual fugitives from 
 justice, some were criminal, and all were reckless. 
 Physically, they exhibited no indication of their 
 past lives and character. The greatest scamp had 
 a Eaphael face, with a profusion of blond hair ; 
 Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melancholy air and 
 intellectual abstraction of a Hamlet; the coolest 
 and most courageous man was scarcely over five 
 feet in height, with a soft voice and an embarrassed, 
 timid manner. The term "roughs" applied to 
 them was a distinction rather than a definition. 
 Perhaps in the minor details of fingers, toes, ears, 
 etc., the camp may have been deficient, but these 
 slight omissions did not detract from their ag- 
 gregate force. The strongest man had but three 
 fingers on his right hand ; the best shot had but 
 one eye. 
 
 Such was the physical aspect of the men that 
 were dispersed around the cabin. The camp lay 
 in a triangular valley, between two hills and a 
 liver. The only outlet was a steep trail over the 
 summit of a hill that faced the cabin, now illumi- 
 
4 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 nated by the rising moon. The suffering woman 
 might have seen it from the rude bunk whereon 
 she lay, seen it winding like a silver thread 
 until it was lost in the stars above. 
 
 A fire of withered pine-boughs added sociability 
 to the gathering. By degrees the natural levity 
 of Koaring Camp returned. Bets were freely offered 
 and taken regarding the result. Three to five that 
 " Sal would get through with it " ; even, that the 
 child would survive ; side bets as to the sex and 
 complexion of the coming stranger. In the midst 
 of an excited discussion an exclamation came 
 from those nearest the door, and the camp stopped 
 to listen. Above the swaying and moaning of the 
 pines, the swift rush of the river, and the crack- 
 ling of the fire, rose a sharp, querulous cry, a cry 
 unlike anything heard before in the camp. The 
 pines stopped moaning, the river ceased to rush, 
 and the fire to crackle. It seemed as if Nature 
 had stopped to listen too. 
 
 The camp rose to its feet as one man ! It was 
 proposed to explode a barrel of gunpowder, but, in 
 consideration of the situation of the mother, bet- 
 ter counsels prevailed, and only a few revolvers 
 were discharged ; for, whether owing to the rude 
 surgery of the camp, or some other reason, Chero- 
 kee Sal was sinking fast. Within an houi she had 
 climbed, as it were, that rugged road that led to 
 the stars, and so passed out of Roaring Camp, its 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 5 
 
 sin and shame forever. I do not think that the an- 
 nouncement disturbed them much, except in spec- 
 ulation as to the fate of the child. " Can he live 
 now ? " was asked of Stumpy. The answer was 
 doubtful. The only other being of Cherokee Sal's 
 sex and maternal condition in the settlement was 
 an ass. There was some conjecture as to fitness, 
 but the experiment was tried. It was less prob- 
 lematical than the ancient treatment of Eomulus 
 and Kemus, and apparently as successful 
 
 When these details were completed, which ex- 
 hausted another hour, the door was opened, and the 
 anxious crowd of men who had already formed 
 themselves into a queue, entered in single file. 
 Beside the low bunk or shelf, on which the figure 
 of the mother was starkly outlined below the 
 blankets stood a pine table. On this a candle-box 
 was placed, and within it, swathed in staring red 
 flannel, lay the last arrival at Eoaring Camp. Be- 
 side the candle-box was placed a hat. Its use was 
 soon indicated. " Gentlemen," said Stumpy, with 
 a singular mixture of authority and ex officio com- 
 placency, " Gentlemen will please pass in at the 
 front door, round the table, and out at the back 
 door. Them as wishes to contribute anything to- 
 ward the orphan will find a hat handy." The first 
 man entered with his hat on ; he uncovered, how- 
 ever, as he looked about him, and so, unconscious- 
 ly, set an example to the next. In such commu- 
 
6 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 nities good and bad actions are catching. As the 
 procession filed in, comments were audible, crit- 
 icisms addressed, perhaps, rather to Stumpy, in 
 the character of showman, " Is that him ? " 
 " mighty small specimen " ; " has n't mor'n got the 
 color " ; " ain't bigger nor a derringer." The con- 
 tributions were as characteristic : A silver tobacco- 
 box ; a doubloon ; a navy revolver, silver mounted ; 
 a gold specimen ; a very beautifully embroidered 
 lady's handkerchief (from Oakhurst the gambler) ; 
 a diamond breastpin ; a diamond ring (suggested 
 by the pin, with the remark from the giver that he 
 " saw that pin and went two diamonds better ") ; 
 a slung shot ; a Bible (contributor not detected) ; 
 a golden spur ; a silver teaspoon (the initials, I re- 
 gret to say, were not the giver's) ; a pair of sur- 
 geon's shears ; a lancet ; a Bank of England note 
 for 5 ; and about $ 200 in loose gold and silver 
 coin. During these proceedings Stumpy maintained 
 a silence as impassive as the dead on his left, a 
 gravity as inscrutable as that of the newly born on 
 his right. Only one incident occurred to break 
 the monotony of the curious procession. As Ken- 
 tuck bent over the candle-box half curiously, the 
 child turned, and, in a spasm of pain, caught at 
 his groping finger, and held it fast for a moment. 
 Kentuck looked foolish and embarrassed. Some- 
 thing like a blush tried to assert itself in his 
 weather-beaten cheek. "The d d little cuss I" 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 7 
 
 he said, as he extricated his finger, with, perhaps, 
 more tenderness and care than he might have been 
 deemed capable of showing. He held that finger 
 a little apart from its fellows as he went out, and 
 examined it curiously. The examination provoked 
 the same original remark in regard to the child. 
 In fact, he seemed to enjoy repeating it. " He 
 rastled with my finger," he remarked to Tipton, 
 holding up the member, " the d d little cuss ! " 
 
 It was four o'clock before the camp sought re- 
 pose. A light burnt in the cabin where the 
 watchers sat, for Stumpy did not go to bed that 
 night. Nor did Kentuck. He drank quite freely, 
 and related with great gusto his experience, inva- 
 riably ending with his characteristic condemnation 
 of the new-comer. It seemed to relieve him of 
 any unjust implication of sentiment, and Kentuck 
 had the weaknesses of the nobler sex. When 
 everybody else had gone to bed, he walked down 
 to the river, and whistled reflectingly. Then he 
 walked up the gulch, past the cabin, still whistling 
 with demonstrative unconcern. At a large red- 
 wood tree he paused and retraced his steps, and 
 again passed the cabin. Half-way down to the 
 river's bank he again paused, and then returned 
 and knocked at the door. It was opened by 
 Stumpy. " How goes it ? " said Kentuck, looking 
 past Stumpy toward the candle-box. " All serene," 
 replied Stumpy. " Anything up ? " " Nothing." 
 
8 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 There was a pause an embarrassing one -^ 
 Stumpy still holding the door. Then Kentuck 
 had recourse to his finger, which he held up to 
 Stumpy. " Eastled with it, the d d little cuss," 
 he said, and retired. 
 
 The next day Cherokee Sal had such rude se- 
 pulture as Eoaring Camp afforded. After her 
 body had been committed to the hillside, there 
 was a formal meeting of the camp to discuss what 
 should be done with her infant. A resolution to 
 adopt it was unanimous and enthusiastic. But an 
 animated discussion in regard to the manner and 
 feasibility of providing for its wants at once sprung 
 up. It was remarkable that the argument partook 
 of none of those fierce personalities with which 
 discussions were usually conducted at Eoaring 
 Camp. Tipton proposed that they should send the 
 child to Eed Dog, a distance of forty miles, 
 where female attention could be procured. But 
 the unlucky suggestion met with fierce and unan- 
 imous opposition. It was evident that no plan 
 which entailed parting from their new acquisition 
 would for a moment be entertained. " Besides," 
 said Tom Eyder, " them fellows at Eed Dog would 
 swap it, and ring in somebody else on us." A dis- 
 belief in the honesty of other camps prevailed at 
 Eoaring Camp as in other places. 
 
 The introduction of a female nurse in the camp 
 also met with objection. It was argued that no 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 9 
 
 decent woman could be prevailed to accept Boar* 
 ing Camp as her home, and the speaker urged 
 that " they did n't want any more of the other 
 kind." This unkind allusion to the defunct moth- 
 er, harsh as it may seem, was the first spasm of 
 propriety, the first symptom of the camp's re- 
 generation. Stumpy advanced nothing. Perhaps 
 he felt a certain delicacy in interfering with the 
 selection of a possible successor in office. But 
 when questioned, he averred stoutly that he and 
 " Jinny " the mammal before alluded to could 
 manage to rear the child. There was something 
 original, independent, and heroic about the plan 
 that pleased the camp. Stumpy was retained. 
 Certain articles were sent for to Sacramento. 
 " Mind," said the treasurer, as he pressed a bag of 
 gold-dust into the expressman's hand, "the best 
 that can be got, lace, you know, and filigree- work 
 and frills, d m the cost ! " 
 
 Strange to say, the child thrived. Perhaps the 
 invigorating climate of the mountain camp was 
 compensation for material deficiencies. Nature 
 took the foundling to her broader breast. In that 
 rare atmosphere of the Sierra foot-hills, that air 
 pungent with balsamic odor, that ethereal cordial 
 at once bracing and exhilarating, he may have 
 found food and nourishment, or a subtle chemistry 
 that transmuted asses' milk to lime and phospho- 
 rus. Stumpy inclined to the belief that it was the 
 i* 
 
10 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 latter and good nursing. " Me and that ass," he 
 would say, " has been father and mother to him ! 
 Don't you," he would add, apostrophizing the help- 
 less bundle before him, " never go back on us." 
 
 By the time he was a month old, the necessity 
 of giving him a name became apparent. He had 
 generally been known as " the Kid," " Stumpy's 
 boy," "the Cayote" (an allusion to his vocal 
 powers), and even by Kentuck's endearing di- 
 minutive of "the d d little cuss." But these 
 were felt to be vague and unsatisfactory, and were 
 at last dismissed under another influence. Gam- 
 blers and adventurers are generally superstitious, 
 and Oakhurst one day declared that the baby had 
 brought "the luck" to Eoaring Camp. It was 
 certain that of late they had been successful. 
 " Luck " was the name agreed upon, with the pre- 
 fix of Tommy for greater convenience. No allu- 
 sion was made to the mother, and the father was 
 unknown. "It's better," said the philosophical 
 Oakhurst, " to take a fresh deal all round. Call 
 him Luck, and start him fair." A day was accord- 
 ingly set apart for the christening. What was 
 meant by this ceremony the reader may imagine, 
 who has already gathered some idea of the reck- 
 less irreverence of Eoaring Camp. The master of 
 ceremonies was one "Boston," a noted wag, and 
 the occasion seemed to promise the greatest face- 
 tiousness. This ingenious satirist had spent two 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 11 
 
 days in preparing a burlesque of the church ser- 
 vice, with pointed local allusions. The choir was 
 properly trained, and Sandy Tipton was to stand 
 godfather. But after the procession had marched 
 to the grove with music and banners, and the child 
 had been deposited before a mock altar, Stumpy 
 stepped before the expectant crowd. " It ain't my 
 style to spoil fun, boys," said the little man, stout- 
 ly, eying the faces around him, " but it strikes me 
 that this thing ain't exactly on the squar. It 's 
 playing it pretty low down on this yer baby to ring 
 in fun on him that he ain't going to understand. 
 And ef there 's going to be any godfathers round, 
 I 'd like to see who 's got any better rights than 
 me." A silence followed Stumpy's speech. To 
 the credit of all humorists be it said, that the first 
 man to acknowledge its justice was the satirist, 
 thus stopped of his fun. " But," said Stumpy, 
 quickly, following up his advantage, " we 're here 
 for a christening, and we '11 have it. I proclaim 
 you Thomas Luck, according to the laws of the 
 United States and the State of California, so help 
 me God." It was the first time that the name of 
 the Deity had been uttered otherwise than pro- 
 fanely in the camp. The form of christening was 
 perhaps even more ludicrous than the satirist had 
 conceived; but, strangely enough, nobody saw it 
 and nobody laughed. " Tommy " was christened 
 as seriously as he would have been under a Chris- 
 
12 THE LUCK OF BOABING CAMP. 
 
 tian roof, and cried and was comforted in as ortho* 
 dox fashion. 
 
 And so the work of regeneration began in Roar- 
 ing Camp. Almost imperceptibly a change came 
 over the settlement. The cabin assigned to " Tom- 
 my Luck" or "The Luck/' as he was more 
 frequently called first showed signs of improve- 
 ment. It was kept scrupulously clean and white- 
 washed. Then it was boarded, clothed, and papered. 
 The rosewood cradle packed eighty miles by 
 mule had, in Stumpy's way of putting it, " sorter 
 killed the rest of the furniture." So the rehabili- 
 tation of the cabin became a necessity. The men 
 who were in the habit of lounging in at Stumpy's 
 to see " how The Luck got on " seemed to appre- 
 ciate the change, and, in self-defence, the rival es- 
 tablishment of " Tuttle's grocery " bestirred itself, 
 and imported a carpet and mirrors. The reflections 
 of the latter on the appearance of Eoaring Camp 
 tended to produce stricter habits of personal clean- 
 liness. Again, Stumpy imposed a kind of quaran- 
 tine upon those who aspired to the honor and 
 privilege of holding " The Luck." It was a cruel 
 mortification to Kentuck who, in the careless- 
 ness of a large nature and the habits of frontier 
 life, had begun to regard all garments as a second 
 cuticle, which, like a snake's, only sloughed off 
 through decay to be debarred this privilege 
 from certain prudential reasons. Yet such was the 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 13 
 
 subtle influence of innovation that he thereafter 
 appeared regularly every afternoon in a clean shirt, 
 and face still shining from his ablutions. Nor 
 were moral and social sanitary laws neglected. 
 " Tommy," who was supposed to spend his whole 
 existence in a persistent attempt to repose, must 
 not be disturbed by noise. The shouting and yell- 
 ing which had gained the camp its infelicitous 
 title were not permitted within hearing distance 
 of Stumpy's. The men conversed in whispers, or 
 smoked with Indian gravity. Profanity was tacitly 
 given up in these sacred precincts, and throughout 
 the camp a popular form of expletive, known as 
 "D n the luck!" and "Curse the luck!" was 
 abandoned, as having a new personal bearing. Vo- 
 cal music was not interdicted, being supposed to 
 have a soothing, tranquillizing quality, and one 
 song, sung by "Man-o'-War Jack," an English 
 sailor, from her Majesty's Australian colonies, 
 was quite popular as a lullaby. It was a lugu- 
 brious recital of the exploits of "the Arethusa, 
 Seventy-four," in a muffled minor, ending with a 
 prolonged dying fall at the burden of each verse, 
 " On b-o-o-o-ard of the Arethusa." It was a fine 
 sight to see Jack holding The Luck, rocking from 
 side to side as if with the motion of a ship, and 
 crooning forth this naval ditty. Either through 
 the peculiar rocking of Jack or the length of his 
 song, it contained ninety stanzas, and was con- 
 
14 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 tinued with conscientious deliberation to the bitter 
 end, the lullaby generally had the desired effect. 
 At such times the men would lie at full length 
 under the trees, in the soft summer twilight, smok- 
 ing their pipes and drinking in the melodious 
 utterances. An indistinct idea that this was pas- 
 toral happiness pervaded the camp. "This 'ere 
 kind o' think," said the Cockney Simmons, medi- 
 tatively reclining on his elbow, "is 'evingly." It 
 reminded him of Greenwich. 
 
 On the long summer days The Luck was usually 
 carried to the gulch, from whence the golden store 
 of Roaring Camp was taken. There, on a blanket 
 spread over pine-boughs, he would lie while the 
 men were working in the ditches below. Latterly, 
 there was a rude attempt to decorate this bower 
 with flowers and sweet-smelling shrubs, and gen- 
 erally some one would bring him a cluster of wild 
 honeysuckles, azaleas, or the painted blossoms of 
 Las Mariposas. The men had suddenly awakened 
 to the fact that there were beauty and signifi' 
 cance in these trifles, which they had so long trod- 
 den carelessly beneath their feet. A flake of glit- 
 tering mica, a fragment of variegated quartz, *> 
 bright pebble from the bed of the creek, became 
 beautiful to eyes thus cleared and strengthened, 
 and were invariably put aside for " The Luck." It 
 was wonderful how many treasures the woods and 
 hillsides yielded that " would do for Tommy." Sur- 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 15 
 
 rounded by playthings such as never child out of 
 fairy-land had before, it is to be hoped that Tommy 
 was content. He appeared to be securely happy- 
 albeit there was an infantine gravity about hin>- 
 a contemplative light in his round gray eyes, 
 that sometimes worried Stumpy. He was always 
 tractable and quiet, and it is recorded that once, 
 having crept beyond his "corral," a hedge of 
 tessellated pine-boughs, which surrounded his bed, 
 he dropped over the bank, on his head in the 
 soft earth, and remained with his mottled legs in 
 the air in that position for at least five minutea 
 with unflinching gravity. He was extricated with- 
 out a murmur. I hesitate to record the many 
 other instances of his sagacity, which rest, unfor- 
 tunately, upon the statements of prejudiced friends. 
 Some of them were not without a tinge of super- 
 stition. " I crep' up the bank just now," said Ken- 
 tuck one day, in a breathless state of excitement, 
 " and dern my skin if he was n't a talking to a jay- 
 bird as was a sittin' on his lap. There they was, 
 just as free and sociable as anything you please, 
 a jawin' at each other just like two cherry-bums." 
 Howbeit, whether creeping over the pine-boughs 
 or lying lazily on his back blinking at the leaves 
 above him, to him the birds sang, the squirrels 
 chattered, and the flowers bloomed. Nature was 
 his nurse and playfellow. For him she would let 
 slip between the leaves golden shafts of sunlight 
 
16 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 that fell just within his grasp; she would send 
 wandering breezes to visit him with the balm of 
 bay and resinous gums ; to him the tall red-woods 
 nodded familiarly and sleepily, the bumble-bees 
 buzzed, and the rooks cawed a slumbrous accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Such was the golden summer of Koaring Camp. 
 They were " flush times," and the Luck was with 
 them. The claims had yielded enormously. The 
 camp was jealous of its privileges and looked sus- 
 piciously on strangers. No encouragement was 
 given to immigration, and, to make their seclusion 
 more perfect, the land on either side of the moun- 
 tain wall that surrounded the camp they duly pre- 
 empted. This, and a reputation for singular pro- 
 ficiency with the revolver, kept the reserve of 
 Roaring Camp inviolate. The expressman their 
 only connecting link with the surrounding world 
 sometimes told wonderful stories of the camp, 
 He would say, "They Ve a street up there in 
 ' Roaring/ that would lay over any street in Red 
 Dog. They Ve got vines and flowers round their 
 houses, and they wash themselves twice a day. 
 But they 're mighty rough on strangers, and they 
 worship an Ingin baby." 
 
 With the prosperity of the camp came a desire 
 for further improvement. It was proposed to build 
 a hotel in the following spring, and to invite one 
 or two decent families to reside there for the sake 
 
THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 1? 
 
 if "The Luck," who might perhaps profit by fe- 
 male companionship. The sacrifice that this con- 
 cession to the sex cost these men, who were 
 fiercely sceptical in regard to its general virtue 
 and usefulness, can only be accounted for by their 
 affection for Tommy. A few still held out. But 
 the resolve could not be carried into effect for three 
 months, and the minority meekly yielded in the 
 hope that something might turn up to prevent it. 
 And it did. 
 
 The winter of 1851 will long be remembered in 
 the foot-hills. The snow lay deep on the Sierras, 
 and every mountain creek became a river, and 
 every river a lake. Each gorge and gulch was 
 transformed into a tumultuous watercourse that 
 descended the hillsides, tearing down giant trees 
 and scattering its drift and debris along the 
 plain. Eed Dog had been twice under water, and 
 Roaring Camp had been forewarned. " Water put 
 the gold into them gulches," said Stumpy. " It 's 
 been here once and will be here again ! " And that 
 night the North Fork suddenly leaped over its' 
 banks, and swept up the triangular valley of Eoar - 
 jng Camp. 
 
 In the confusion of rushing water, crushing trees, 
 and crackling timber, and the darkness which 
 seemed to flow with the water and blot out the fair 
 valley, but little could be done to collect the scat- 
 tered camp. When the morning broke, the cabin of 
 
18 THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. 
 
 Stumpy nearest the river-bank was gone. Highei 
 up the gulch they found the body of its unlucky 
 owner; but the pride, the hope, the joy, the 
 Luck, of Eoaring Camp had disappeared. They 
 were returning with sad hearts, when a shout from 
 the bank recalled them. 
 
 It was a relief-boat from down the river. They 
 had picked up, they said, a man and an infant, 
 nearly exhausted, about two miles below. Did 
 anybody know them, and did they belong here ? 
 
 It needed but a glance to show them Kentuck 
 lying there, cruelly crushed and bruised, but still 
 holding the Luck of Koaring Camp in his arms. 
 As they bent over the strangely assorted pair, they 
 saw that the child was cold and pulseless. " He 
 is dead," said one. Kentuck opened his eyes. 
 " Dead ? " he repeated feebly. " Yes, my man, and 
 you are dying too." A smile lit the eyes of the 
 expiring Kentuck. " Dying," he repeated, " he 's a 
 taking me with him, tell the boys I 've got the 
 Luck with me now " ; and the strong man, cling- 
 ing to the frail babe as a drowning man is said to 
 cling to a straw, drifted away into the shadowy 
 river that flows forever to the unknown sea. 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKEK FLAT. 
 
 AS Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into 
 the main street of Poker Flat on the morning 
 of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was 
 conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere 
 since the preceding night. Two or three men, 
 conversing earnestly together, ceased as he 
 approached, and exchanged significant glances. 
 There was a Sabbath lull in the air, which, in 
 a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked 
 ominous. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed 
 small concern in these indications. Whether he 
 was conscious of any predisposing cause, was an- 
 other question. "I reckon they're after some- 
 body," he reflected ; " likely it 's me." He returned 
 to his pocket the handkerchief with which he had 
 been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat 
 from his neat boots, and quietly discharged his 
 mind of any further conjecture. 
 
 In point of fact, Poker Flat was " after some- 
 body." It had lately suffered the loss of several 
 thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and a promi- 
 nent citizen. It was experiencing a spasm of vir- 
 
20 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 tuous reaction, quite as lawless and ungovernable 
 as any of the acts that had provoked it. A secret 
 committee had determined to rid the town of all 
 improper persons. This was done permanently in 
 regard of two men who were then hanging from 
 the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and tempo- 
 rarily in the banishment of certain other objec- 
 tionable characters. I regret to say that some of 
 these were ladies. It is but due to the sex, how- 
 ever, to state that their impropriety was profes- 
 sional, and it was only in such easily established 
 standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to sit 
 in judgment. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he 
 was included in this category. A few of the com- 
 mittee had urged hanging him as a possible exam- 
 ple, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves 
 from his pockets of the sums he had won from 
 them. " It 's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, " to 
 let this yer young man from Bearing Camp an 
 entire stranger carry away our money." But a 
 crude sentiment of equity residing in the breasts 
 of those who had been fortunate enough to win 
 from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local 
 prejudice. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with phil- 
 osophic calmness, none the less coolly that he 
 was aware of the hesitation of his judges. He 
 was too much of a gambler not to accept Fate. 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKEB FLAT. 21 
 
 With him life was at best an uncertain game, and 
 he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the 
 dealer. 
 
 A body of armed men accompanied the deport- 
 ed wickedness of Poker Flat to the outskirts of 
 the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was 
 known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose 
 intimidation the armed escort was intended, the 
 expatriated party consisted of a young woman fa- 
 miliarly known as " The Duchess " ; another, who 
 had won the title of "Mother Shipton"; and 
 " Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and con- 
 firmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no 
 comments from the spectators, nor was any word 
 uttered by the escort. Only, when the gulch 
 which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat 
 was reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the 
 point. The exiles were forbidden to return at the 
 peril of their lives. 
 
 As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings 
 found vent in a few hysterical tears from the 
 Duchess, some bad language from Mother Ship- 
 ton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from 
 Uncle Billy. The philosophic Oakhurst alone 
 remained silent. He listened calmly to Mother 
 Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to 
 the repeated statements of the Duchess that 
 she would die in the road, and to the alarming 
 oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle 
 
22 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 Billy as he rode forward. With the easy good- 
 humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon 
 exchanging his own riding-horse, " Five Spot," for 
 the sorry mule which the Duchess rode. But 
 even this act did not draw the party into any 
 closer sympathy. The young woman readjusted 
 her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble, faded 
 coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of 
 " Five Spot " with malevolence, and Uncle Billy in- 
 cluded the whole party in one sweeping anathema. 
 
 The road to Sandy Bar a camp that, not hav- 
 ing as yet experienced the regenerating influences 
 of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer some 
 invitation to the emigrants lay over a steep 
 mountain range. It was distant a day's severe 
 travel. In that advanced season, the party soon 
 passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the 
 foot-hills into the dry, cold, bracing air of the 
 Sierras. The trail was narrow and difficult. At 
 noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon 
 the ground, declared her intention of going no far- 
 ther, and the party halted. 
 
 The spot was singularly wild and impressive. 
 A wooded amphitheatre, surrounded on three sides 
 by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gen- 
 tly toward the crest of another precipice that over- 
 looked the valley. It was, undoubtedly, the most 
 suitable spot for a camp, had camping been advis- 
 able. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKES FLAT. 23 
 
 the journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, and 
 the party were not equipped or provisioned for de- 
 lay. This fact he pointed out to his companions 
 curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly 
 of " throwing up their hand before the game was 
 played out." But they were furnished with liquor, 
 which in this emergency stood them in place of 
 food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In spite of his 
 remonstrances, it was not long before they were 
 more or less under its influence. Uncle Billy 
 passed rapidly from a bellicose state into one of 
 stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother 
 Shipton snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained 
 erect, leaning against a rock, calmly surveying 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with 
 a profession which required coolness, impassive- 
 ness, and presence of mind, and, in his own lan- 
 guage, he " could n't afford it." As he gazed at 
 his recumbent fellow-exiles, the loneliness begot- 
 ten of his pariah-trade, his habits of life, his very 
 vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him. 
 He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, 
 washing his hands and face, and other acts charac- 
 teristic of his studiously neat habits, and for a 
 moment forgot his annoyance. The thought of 
 deserting his weaker and more pitiable companions 
 never perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not 
 help feeling the want of that excitement which, 
 
24 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 singularly enough, was most conducive to that 
 calm equanimity for which he was notorious. He 
 looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand 
 feet sheer above the circling pines around him ; 
 at the sky, ominously clouded ; at the valley be- 
 low, already deepening into shadow. And, doing 
 so, suddenly he heard his own name called. 
 
 A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the 
 fresh, open face of the new-comer Mr. Oakhurst 
 recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as " The 
 Innocent " of Sandy Bar. He had met him some 
 months before over a " little game," and had, with 
 perfect equanimity, won the entire fortune 
 amounting to some forty dollars of that guile- 
 less youth. After the game was finished, Mr. 
 Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the 
 door and thus addressed him : " Tommy, you 're a 
 good little man, but you can't gamble worth a 
 cent. Don't try it over again." He then handed 
 fcim his money back, pushed him gently from the 
 *oom, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson. 
 
 There was a remembrance of this in his boyish 
 and enthusiastic greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He 
 had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seek his 
 fortune. " Alone ? " No, not exactly alone ; in 
 fact (a giggle), he had run away with Piney 
 Woods. Did n't Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney ? 
 She that used to wait on the table at the Tem- 
 perance House ? They had been engaged a long 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 25 
 
 time, but old Jake "Woods had objected, and so 
 they had run away, and were going to Poker Flat to 
 be married, and here they were. And they were 
 tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a 
 place to camp and company. All this the Inno- 
 icent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout, comely 
 damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine^ 
 tree, where she had been blushing unseen, and 
 rode to the side of her lover. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sen- 
 timent, still less with propriety; but he had a 
 vague idea that the situation was not fortunate. 
 He retained, however, his presence of mind suffi- 
 ciently to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say 
 something, and Uncle Billy was sober enough to 
 recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power 
 that would not bear trifling. He then endeavored 
 to dissuade Tom Simson from delaying further, 
 but in vain. He even pointed out the fact that 
 there was no provision, nor means of making a 
 camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent met this 
 objection by assuring the party that he was pro- 
 vided with an extra mule loaded with provisions, 
 nnd by the discovery of a rude attempt at a log- 
 nouse near the trail. " Piney can stay with Mrs. 
 Oakhurst," said the Innocent, pointing to the Duch- 
 ess, " and I can shift for myself." 
 
 Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot 
 saved Uncle Billy from bursting into a roar of 
 
26 THE OUTCASTS OF POKEB FLAT. 
 
 laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to retire 
 up the canon until he could recover his gravity. 
 There he confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, 
 with many slaps of his leg, contortions of his face, 
 and the usual profanity. But when he returned 
 to the party, he found them seated by a fire for 
 the air had grown strangely chill and the sky 
 overcast in apparently amicable conversation. 
 Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, girlish 
 fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an 
 interest and animation she had not shown for 
 many days. The Innocent was holding forth, ap- 
 parently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and 
 Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing into 
 amiability. " Is this yer a d d picnic ? " said 
 Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the 
 sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the teth- 
 ered animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea 
 mingled with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed 
 his brain. It was apparently of a jocular nature, 
 for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram 
 his fist ir> to his mouth. 
 
 As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, 
 a slight breeze rocked the tops of the pine-trees, 
 and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles. 
 The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine- 
 boughs, was set apart for the ladies. As the lovers 
 parted, they unaffectedly exchanged a kiss, so hon- 
 est and sincere that it might have been heard above 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 27 
 
 the swaying pines. The frail Duchess and the ma- 
 levolent Mother Shipton were probably too stunned 
 to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity, 
 and so turned without a word to the hut. The 
 fire was replenished, the men lay down before the 
 door, and in a few minutes were asleep. 
 
 Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morn- 
 ing he awoke benumbed and cold. As he stirred 
 the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing 
 strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused 
 the blood to leave it, snow ! 
 
 He started to his feet with the intention of 
 awakening the sleepers, for there was no time to 
 lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had been 
 lying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to 
 his brain and a curse to his lips. He ran to the 
 spot where the mules had been tethered ; they 
 were no longer there. The tracks were already 
 rapidly disappearing in the snow. 
 
 The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oak- 
 hurst back to the fire with his usual calm. He 
 did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent slum- 
 bered peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, 
 freckled face; the virgin Piney slept beside her 
 frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended by 
 celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his 
 blanket over his shoulders, stroked his mustaches 
 and waited for the dawn. It came slowly in a 
 whirling mist of snow-flakes, that dazzled and con- 
 
28 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 fused the eye. What could be seen of the land- 
 scape appeared magically changed. He looked over 
 the valley, and summed up the present and future 
 in two words, " snowed in ! " 
 
 A careful inventory of the provisions, which, 
 fortunately for the party, had been stored within 
 the hut, and so escaped the felonious fingers of 
 Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and 
 prudence they might last ten days longer. " That 
 is," said Mr. Oakhurst, sotto wee to the Innocent, 
 " if you 're willing to board us. If you ain't and 
 perhaps you 'd better not you can wait till Uncle 
 Billy gets back with provisions." For some occult 
 reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bring himself to 
 disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so offered the 
 hypothesis that he had wandered from the camp 
 and had accidentally stampeded the animals. He 
 dropped a warning to the Duchess and Mother 
 Shipton, who of course knew the facts of their 
 associate's defection. " They '11 find out the truth 
 about us all when they find out anything," he 
 added, significantly, " and there 's no good frighten- 
 ing them now." 
 
 Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store 
 at the disposal of Mr. Oakhurst, but seemed to 
 enjoy the prospect of their enforced seclusion. 
 " We '11 have a good camp for a week, and then 
 the snow '11 melt, and we '11 all go back together." 
 The cheerful gayety of the young man, and Mr. 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 29 
 
 Oakhurst's calm infected the others. The Inno- 
 cent, with the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a 
 thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchess di- 
 rected Piney in the rearrangement of the interior 
 with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of 
 that provincial maiden to their fullest extent. " I 
 r ckon now you 're used to fine things at Poker 
 Flat," said Piney. The Duchess turned away sharp- 
 ly to conceal something that reddened her cheeks 
 through its professional tint, and Mother Shipton 
 requested Piney not to " chatter." But when Mr. 
 Oakhurst returned from a weary search for the 
 trail, he heard the sound of happy laughter echoed 
 from the rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and 
 his thoughts first naturally reverted to the whis- 
 key, which he had prudently cached. "And yet 
 it don't somehow sound like whiskey," said the 
 gambler. It was not until he caught sight of the 
 blazing fire through the still-blinding storm and 
 the group around it that he settled to the convic- 
 tion that it was " square fun." 
 
 Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cacMd his cards 
 with the whiskey as something debarred the free 
 access of the community, I cannot say. It was 
 certain that, in Mother Shipton's words, he " did n't 
 say cards once " during that evening. Haply the 
 time was beguiled by an accordion, produced some- 
 what ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack. 
 Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the 
 
30 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods 
 managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from 
 its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent 
 on a pair of bone castinets. But the crowning 
 festivity of the evening was reached in a rude 
 camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining 
 hands, sang with great earnestness and vocifera- 
 tion. I fear that a certain defiant tone and Cove- 
 Danter's swing to it? chorus, rather than any de- 
 votional quality, caused it speedily to infect the 
 others, who at last joiiled HI the refrain : 
 
 " I 'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, 
 And I 'm bound to die in His army." 
 
 The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled 
 ebove the miserable group, and the flames of their 
 altar leaped heavenward, as if in token of the 
 
 At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds 
 Carted, and the stars glittered keenly above the 
 Sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose professional 
 habits had enabled him to live on the smallest 
 possible amount of sleep, in dividing the watch 
 with Tom Simson, somehow managed to take upon 
 himself the greater part of that duty. He excused 
 himself to the Innocent, by saying that he had 
 "often been a week without sleep." "Doing 
 what 1 " asked Tom. " Poker ! " replied Oakhurst, 
 sententiously ; " when a man gets a streak of luck, 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 31 
 
 -- nigger-luck, he don't get tired. The luck 
 gives in first. Luck/' continued the gambler, re- 
 flectively, " is a mighty queer thing. All you know 
 about it for certain is that it 's bound to change. 
 And it's finding out when it's going to change 
 that makes you. We 've had a streak of bad luck 
 since we left Poker Flat, you come along, and 
 slap you get into it, too. If you can hold your 
 cards right along you 're all right. For," added 
 the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance, 
 
 " ' I 'm proud to lire in the service of the Lord, 
 And I 'm bound to die in His army.' " 
 
 The third day came, and the sun, looking through 
 the white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide 
 their slowly decreasing store of provisions for the 
 morning meal. It was one of the peculiarities of 
 that mountain climate that its rays diffused a 
 kindly warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in 
 regretful commiseration of the past. But it re- 
 vealed drift on drift of snow piled high around 
 the hut, a hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of 
 white lying below the rocky shores to which the 
 castaways still clung. Through the marvellously 
 clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Po- 
 ker Flat rose miles away. Mother Shipton saw it, 
 and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky fastness, 
 hurled in that direction a final malediction. It 
 was her last vituperative attempt, and perhaps for 
 
32 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 that reason was invested with a certain degree of 
 sublimity. It did her good, she privately informed 
 the Duchess. " Just you go out there and cuss, 
 and see." She then set herself to the task of 
 amusing " the child," as she and the Duchess were 
 pleased to call Piney. Piney was no chicken, but 
 it was a soothing and original theory of the pair 
 thus to account for the fact that she did n't swear 
 and was n't improper. 
 
 When night crept up again through the gorges, 
 the reedy notes of the accordion rose and fell in 
 fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by the flicker- 
 ing camp-fire. But music failed to fill entirely the 
 aching void left by insufficient food, and a new 
 diversion was proposed by Piney, story-telling. 
 Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companions 
 caring to relate their personal experiences, this 
 plan would have failed, too, but for the Innocent. 
 Some months before he had chanced upon a stray 
 copy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the 
 Iliad. He now proposed to narrate the principal 
 incidents of that poem having thoroughly mas- 
 tered the argument and fairly forgotten the words 
 in the current vernacular of Sandy Bar. And 
 so for the rest of that night the Homeric demigods 
 again walked the earth. Trojan bully and wily 
 Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines 
 in the canon seemed to bow to the wrath of the 
 eon of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with quiet 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 33 
 
 satisfaction. Most especially was he interested in 
 the fate of "Ash-heels," as the Innocent persisted 
 in denominating the " swift-footed Achilles." 
 
 So with small food and much of Homer and the 
 accordion, a week passed over the heads of the 
 outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and again 
 from leaden skies the snow-flakes were sifted over 
 the land. Day by day closer around them drew 
 the snowy circle, until at last they looked from 
 their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, 
 that towered twenty feet above their heads. It 
 became more and more difficult to replenish their 
 fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now 
 half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one com- 
 plained. The lovers turned from the dreary pros- 
 pect and looked into each other's eyes, and were 
 happy. Mr. Oakhurst settled himself coolly to 
 the losing game before him. The Duchess, more 
 cheerful than she had been, assumed the care of 
 Piney. Only Mother Shipton once the strong- 
 est of the party seemed to sicken and fade. At 
 midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to 
 her side. " I 'm going," she said, in a voice of 
 querulous weakness, " but don't say anything about 
 it. Don't waken the kids. Take the bundle from 
 under my head and open it." Mr. Oakhurst did 
 so. It contained Mother Shipton's rations for the 
 last week, untouched. "Give 'em to the child," 
 she said, pointing to the sleeping Piney. " You 've 
 a* a 
 
34 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 starved yourself," said the gambler. " That 's what 
 they call it/' said the woman, querulously, as she 
 lay down again, and, turning her face to the wall, 
 passed quietly away. 
 
 The accordion and the bones were put aside that 
 day, and Homer was forgotten. When the body 
 of Mother Shipton had been committed to the 
 snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and 
 showed him a pair of snow-shoes, which he had 
 fashioned from the old pack-saddle. "There 's 
 one chance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, 
 pointing to Piney; "but it's there," he added, 
 pointing toward Poker Mat. "If you can reach 
 there in two days she 's safe." " And you ? " asked 
 Tom Simson. " I '11 stay here," was the curt reply. 
 
 The lovers parted with a long embrace. " You 
 are not going, too ? " said the Duchess, as she saw 
 Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany 
 him. "As far as the canon," he replied. He 
 turned suddenly, and kissed the Duchess, leaving 
 her pallid face aflame, and her trembling limbs 
 rigid with amazement. 
 
 Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought 
 the storm again and the whirling snow. Then the 
 Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some one had 
 quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a 
 few days longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but 
 she hid them from Piney. 
 
 The women slept but little. In the morning, 
 
THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 35 
 
 looking into each other's faces, they read their fate. 
 Neither spoke ; but Piney, accepting the position 
 of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm 
 around the Duchess's waist. They kept this atti- 
 tude for the rest of the day. That night the storm 
 reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the 
 protecting pines, invaded the very hut. 
 
 Toward morning they found themselves unable 
 to feed the fire, which gradually died away. As 
 the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept 
 closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many 
 hours : " Piney, can you pray ? " " No, dear," said 
 Piney, simply. The Duchess, without knowing 
 exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head 
 upon Piney's shoulder, spoke no more. And so 
 reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the 
 head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, 
 they fell asleep. 
 
 The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. 
 Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine- 
 boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled 
 about them as they slept. The moon through the 
 rifted clouds looked down upon what had been the 
 camp. But all human stain, all trace of earthly 
 travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle 
 mercifully flung from above. 
 
 They slept all that day and the next, nor did 
 they waken when voices and footsteps broke the 
 silence of the camp. And when pitying fingers 
 
36 THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT. 
 
 brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could 
 scarcely have told from the equal peace that dwelt 
 upon them, which was she that had sinned. Even 
 the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned 
 away, leaving them still locked in each other's 
 arms. 
 
 But at the head of the gulch, on one of the 
 largest pine-trees, they found the deuce of clubs 
 pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It boro 
 the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand : 
 
 BENEATH THIS TREE 
 
 LIES THE BODY 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN OAKHURST, 
 
 WHO STRUCK A STREAK OP BAD LUCK 
 ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, I860, 
 
 AND 
 
 HANDED IN HIS CHECKS 
 ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1860. 
 
 And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his 
 side and a bullet in his heart, though still calm as 
 in life, beneath the snow lay he who was at once 
 the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts 
 cf Poker Flat. 
 
HIGGLES, 
 
 WE were eight, including &e driver. We 
 had not spoken during the passage of the 
 last six miles, since the jolting of the heavy vehi- 
 cle over the roughening road had spoiled the 
 Judge's last poetical quotation. The tall man be- 
 side the Judge was asleep, his arm passed through 
 the swaying strap and his head resting upon it, 
 altogether a limp, helpless-looking object, as if he 
 had hanged himself and been cut down too late. 
 The French lady on the back seat was asleep, too, 
 yet in a half-conscious propriety of attitude, shown 
 even in the disposition of the handkerchief which 
 she held to her forehead and which partially veiled 
 her face. The lady from Virginia City, travelling 
 with her husband, had long since lost all indi- 
 viduality in a wild confusion of ribbons, veils, 
 furs, and shawls. There was no sound but the 
 rattling of wheels and the dash of rain upon the 
 roof. Suddenly the stage stopped and we became 
 dimly aware of voices. The driver was evidently 
 in the midst of an exciting colloquy with some 
 one in the road, a colloquy of which such frag- 
 ments as " bridge gone," " twenty feet of water," 
 
38 HIGGLES. 
 
 "can't pass," were occasionally distinguishable 
 above the storm. Then came a lull, and a myste- 
 rious voice from the road shouted the parting ad- 
 juration, 
 
 Try Higgles's." 
 
 We caught a glimpse of our leaders as the vehi- 
 cle slowly turned, of a horseman vanishing through 
 the rain, and we were evidently on our way to 
 Miggles's. 
 
 Who and where was Higgles ? The Judge, our 
 authority, did not remember the name, and he 
 knew the country thoroughly. The Washoe trav- 
 eller thought Higgles must keep a hotel. We 
 only knew that we were stopped by high water in 
 front and rear, and that Higgles was our rock of 
 refuge. A ten minutes' splashing through a tan- 
 gled by-road, scarcely wide enough for the stage, 
 and we drew up before a barred and boarded gate 
 in a wide stone wall or fence about eight feet 
 high. Evidently Higgles's, and evidently Higgles 
 did not keep a hotel. 
 
 The driver got down and tried the gate. It was 
 securely locked. 
 
 "Higgles! Higgles!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Higg-ells! You Higgles !" continued the 
 driver, with rising wrath. 
 
 " Higglesy ! " joined in the expressman, persua* 
 sively. " Higgy ! Hig ! " 
 
MIGGLES. 39 
 
 But no reply came from the apparently insen- 
 sate Higgles. The Judge, who had finally got the 
 window down, put his head out and propounded a 
 series of questions, which if answered categorically 
 would have undoubtedly elucidated the whole 
 mystery, but which the driver evaded by replying 
 that "if we didn't want to sit in the coach all 
 night, we -had better rise up and sing out for 
 Higgles." 
 
 So we rose up and called on Higgles in chorus ; 
 then separately. And when we had finished, a 
 Hibernian fellow-passenger from the roof called 
 for " Haygells ! " whereat we all laughed. While 
 we were laughing, the driver cried " Shoo !" 
 
 We listened. To our infinite amazement the 
 chorus of " Higgles " was repeated from the other 
 side of the wall, even to the final and supplemen- 
 tal Haygells." 
 
 " Extraordinary echo," said the Judge. 
 
 " Extraordinary d d skunk ! " roared the driver, 
 contemptuously. "Come out of that, Higgles, 
 and show yourself ! Be a man, Higgles ! Don't 
 hide in the dark; I would n't if I were you, 
 Higgles," continued Yuba Bill, now dancing about 
 in an excess of fury. 
 
 " Higgles ! " continued the voice, " Higgles ! " 
 
 " Hy good man ! Hr. Hyghail ! " said the Judge, 
 softening the asperities of the name as much as 
 possible. " Consider the inhospitality of refusing 
 
40 MIGGLES. 
 
 shelter from the inclemency of the weather to 
 helpless females. Keally, my dear sir " But 
 a succession of "Higgles," ending in a burst of 
 laughter, drowned his voice. 
 
 Yuba Bill hesitated no longer. Taking a heavy 
 stone from the road, he battered down the gate, 
 and with the expressman entered the enclosure. 
 We followed. Nobody was to be seen. In the 
 gathering darkness all that we could distinguish 
 was that we were in a garden from the rose- 
 bushes that scattered over us a minute spray from 
 their dripping leaves and before a long, ram- 
 bling wooden building. 
 
 " Do you know this Higgles ? " asked the Judge 
 of Yuba Bill. 
 
 " No, nor don't want to," said Bill, shortly, who 
 felt the Pioneer Stage Company insulted in his 
 person by the contumacious Higgles. 
 
 " But, my dear sir," expostulated the Judge, as 
 he thought of the barred gate. 
 
 " Lookee here," said Yuba Bill, with fine irony, 
 " had n't you better go back and sit in the coach 
 till yer introduced ? I 'm going in," and he 
 pushed open the door of the building. 
 
 A long room lighted only by the embers of a 
 fire that was dying on the large hearth at its fur- 
 ther extremity ; the walls curiously papered, and 
 the flickering firelight bringing out its grotesque 
 pattern; somebody sitting in a large arm-chaii 
 
HIGGLES. 41 
 
 by the fireplace. All this we saw as we crowded 
 together into the room, after the driver and ex- 
 pressman. 
 
 " Hello, be you Higgles ? " said Yuba Bill to 
 the solitary occupant. 
 
 The figure neither spoke nor stirred. Yuba 
 Bill walked wrathfully toward it, and turned the 
 eye of his coach-lantern upon its face. It was a 
 man's face, prematurely old and wrinkled, with 
 very large eyes, in which there was that expres- 
 sion of perfectly gratuitous solemnity which I had 
 sometimes seen in an owl's. The large eyes wan- 
 dered from Bill's face to the lantern, and finally 
 fixed their gaze on that luminous object, without 
 further recognition. 
 
 Bill restrained himself with an effort. 
 
 " Higgles ! Be you deaf ? You ain't dumb 
 anyhow, you know " ; and Yuba Bill shook the 
 insensate figure by the shoulder. 
 
 To our great dismay, as Bill removed his hand, 
 the venerable stranger apparently collapsed, 
 sinking into half his size and an undistinguish- 
 able heap of clothing. 
 
 "Well, dern my skin," said Bill, looking ap- 
 pealingly at us, and hopelessly retiring from the 
 contest. 
 
 The Judge now stepped forward, and we lifted 
 the mysterious invertebrate back into his original 
 position. Bill was dismissed with the lantern to 
 
42 MIGGLES. 
 
 reconnoitre outside, for it was evident that from 
 the helplessness of this solitary man there nmst be 
 attendants near at hand, and we all drew around 
 the fire. The Judge, who had regained his au- 
 thority, and had never lost his conversational 
 amiability, standing before us with his back to 
 the hearth, charged us, as an imaginary jury, 
 as follows : 
 
 "It is evident that either our distinguished 
 friend here has reached that condition described 
 by Shakespeare as 'the sere and yellow leaf,' or 
 has suffered some premature abatement of his 
 mental and physical faculties. Whether he is 
 really the Higgles " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by " Higgles ! O Hig- 
 gles ! Higglesy ! Hig ! " and, in fact, the whole 
 chorus of Higgles in very much the same key as 
 it had once before been delivered unto us. 
 
 We gazed at each other for a moment in some 
 alarm. The Judge, in particular, vacated his po- 
 sition quickly, as the voice seemed to come di^ 
 rectly over his shoulder. The cause, however, was 
 soon discovered in a large magpie who was 
 perched upon a shelf over the fireplace, and who 
 immediately relapsed into a sepulchral silence, 
 which contrasted singularly with his previous 
 volubility. It was, undoubtedly, his voice which 
 we had heard in the road, and our friend in the 
 chair was not responsible for the discourtesy. 
 
HIGGLES. 43 
 
 Yuba Bill, who re-entered the room after an un- 
 successful search, was loath to accept the explana- 
 tion, and still eyed the helpless sitter with suspi- 
 cion. He had found a shed in which he had put 
 up his horses, hut he came back dripping and 
 sceptical. "Thar ain't nobody but him within 
 ten mile of the shanty, and that 'ar d d old 
 skeesicks knows it." 
 
 But the faith of the majority proved to be se- 
 curely based. Bill had scarcely ceased growling 
 before we heard a quick step upon the porch, 
 the trailing of a wet skirt, the door was flung 
 open, and with a flash of white teeth, a sparkle 
 of dark eyes, and an utter absence of ceremony 
 or diffidence, a young woman entered, shut the 
 door, and, panting, leaned back against it. 
 
 " 0, if you please, I 'm Higgles ! " 
 
 And this was Higgles ! this bright-eyed, full- 
 throated young woman, whose wet gown of coarse 
 blue stuff could not hide the beauty of the femi- 
 nine curves to which it clung ; from the chestnut 
 crown of whose head, topped by a man's oil-skin 
 sou'wester, to the little feet and ankles, hid- 
 den somewhere in the recesses of her boy's bro- 
 gans, all was grace ; this was Higgles, laughing 
 at us, too, in the most airy, frank, off-hand man- 
 ner imaginable. 
 
 " You see, boys," said she, quite out of breath, 
 and holding one little hand against her side, quite 
 
44 HIGGLES. 
 
 unheeding the speechless discomfiture of our par, 
 ty, or the complete demoralization of Yuba Bill, 
 whose features had relaxed into an expression of 
 gratuitous and imbecile cheerfulness, " you see, 
 boys, I was mor'n two miles away when you 
 passed down the road. I thought you might pull 
 up here, and so I ran the whole way, knowing 
 nobody was home but Jim, and and I 'm 
 out of breath and that lets me out." 
 
 And here Higgles caught her dripping oil-skin 
 hat from her head, with a mischievous swirl that 
 scattered a shower of rain-drops over us; at- 
 tempted to put back her hair ; dropped two hair- 
 pins in the attempt ; laughed and sat down beside 
 Yuba Bill, with her hands crossed lightly on her 
 lap. 
 
 The Judge recovered himself first, and essayed 
 an extravagant compliment. 
 
 " I '11 trouble you for that thar har-pin," said 
 Higgles, gravely. Half a dozen hands were eagerly 
 stretched forward; the missing hair-pin was re- 
 stored to its fair owner ; and Higgles, crossing the 
 room, looked keenly in the face of the invalid. 
 The solemn eyes looked back at hers with an ex- 
 pression we had never seen before. Life and in- 
 telligence seemed to struggle back into the rugged 
 face. Higgles laughed again, it was a singularly 
 eloquent laugh, and turned her black eyes and 
 white teeth once more toward us. 
 
HIGGLES. 45 
 
 "This afflicted person is " hesitated the 
 Judge. 
 
 " Jim,'* said Higgles. 
 
 " Your father ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Brother ? " 
 
 "No." \ 
 
 "Husband?" 
 
 Higgles darted a quick, half-defiant glance at 
 the two lady passengers who I had noticed did 
 not participate in the general masculine admira- 
 tion of Higgles, and said, gravely, "No; it's 
 Jim." 
 
 There was an awkward pause. The lady pas- 
 sengers moved closer to each other ; the Washoe 
 husband looked abstractedly at the fire ; and the 
 tall man apparently turned his eyes inward for 
 self-support at this emergency. But Higgles's 
 laugh, which was very infectious, broke the silence. 
 " Come," she said briskly, " you must be hungry. 
 Who '11 bear a hand to help me get tea ? " 
 
 She had no lack of volunteers. In a few mo- 
 ments Yuba Bill was engaged like Caliban in 
 bearing logs for this Hiranda ; the expressman 
 was grinding coffee on the veranda ; to myself 
 the arduous duty of slicing bacon was assigned i 
 and the Judge lent each man his good-humored 
 and voluble counsel. And when Higgles, assisted 
 by the Judge and our Hibernian " deck passen- 
 
46 HIGGLES. 
 
 ger," set the table with all the available crock* 
 ery, we had become quite joyous, in spite of the 
 rain that beat against windows, the wind that 
 whirled down the chimney, the two ladies who 
 whispered together in the corner, or the magpie 
 who uttered a satirical and croaking commentary 
 on their conversation from his perch above. In 
 the now bright, blazing fire we could see that 
 the walls were papered with illustrated journals, 
 arranged with feminine taste and discrimination. 
 The furniture was extemporized, and adapted from 
 candle-boxes and packing-cases, and covered with 
 gay calico, or the skin of some animal. The 
 arm-chair of the helpless Jim was an ingenious 
 variation of a flour-barrel. There was neatness, 
 and even a taste for the picturesque, to be seen in 
 the few details of the long low room. 
 
 The meal was a culinary success. But more, it 
 was a social triumph, chiefly, I think, owing to 
 the rare tact of Higgles in guiding the conversa- 
 tion, asking all the questions herself, yet bearing 
 throughout a frankness that rejected the idea of 
 any concealment on her own part, so that we talked 
 of ourselves, of our prospects, of the journey, of 
 the weather, of each other, of everything but 
 our host and hostess. It must be confessed that 
 Miggles's conversation was never elegant, rarely 
 grammatical, and that at times she employed exple- 
 tives, the use of which had generally been yielded 
 
MIGGLES. t 
 
 fo our sex. But they were delivered with such 
 a lighting up of teeth and eyes, and were usually 
 followed by a laugh a laugh peculiar to Hig- 
 gles so frank and honest that it seemed to clear 
 the moral atmosphere. 
 
 Once, during the meal, we heard a noise like 
 the rubbing of a heavy body against the outer 
 walls of the house. This was shortly followed by a 
 scratching and sniffling at the door. " That 's Joa- 
 quin," said Higgles, in reply to our questioning 
 glances ; " would you like to see him ? " Before we 
 could answer she had opened the door, and dis- 
 closed a half-grown grizzly, who instantly raised 
 himself on his haunches, with his forepaws hang- 
 ing down in the popular attitude of mendicancy, 
 and looked admiringly at Higgles, with a very 
 singular resemblance in his manner to Yuba Bill 
 " That 's my watch-dog," said Higgles, in explana- 
 tion. " 0, he don't bite," she added, as the two 
 lady passengers fluttered into a corner. " Does he, 
 old Toppy ? " (the latter remark being addressed 
 directly to the sagacious Joaquin.) "I tell you 
 what, boys," continued Higgles, after she had fed 
 and closed the door on Ursa Minor, " you were in. 
 big luck that Joaquin was n't hanging round when 
 you dropped in to-night." " Where was he ? " 
 asked the Judge. "With me," said Higgles. 
 " Lord love you ; he trots round with me nights 
 like as if he was a man." 
 
48 HIGGLES. 
 
 We were silent for a few moments, and lis 
 tened to the wind. Perhaps we all had the sam 
 picture before us, of Higgles walking through 
 the rainy woods, with her savage guardian at her 
 side. The Judge, I remember, said something 
 about Una and her lion ; but Higgles received it 
 as she did other compliments, with quiet gravity. 
 Whether she was altogether unconscious of the 
 admiration she excited, she could hardly have 
 been oblivious of Yuba Bill's adoration, I know 
 not ; but her very frankness suggested a perfect 
 sexual equality that was cruelly humiliating to 
 the younger members of our party. 
 
 The incident of the bear did not add anything 
 in Higgles's favor to the opinions of those of her 
 own sex who were present. In fact, the repast 
 over, a dullness radiated from the two lady pas- 
 sengers that no pine-boughs brought in by Yuba 
 Bill and cast as a sacrifice upon the hearth could 
 wholly overcome. Higgles felt it ; and, suddenly 
 declaring that it was time to " turn in," offered to 
 show the ladies to their bed in an adjoining room. 
 " You, boys, will have to camp out here by the 
 fire as well as you can," she added, " for thar ain't 
 but the one room." 
 
 Our sex by which, my dear sir, I allude of 
 course to the stronger portion of humanity has 
 been generally relieved from the imputation of cu- 
 riosity, or a fondness for gossip. Yet I am con* 
 
HIGGLES. 49 
 
 strained to say, that hardly had the door closed on 
 Higgles than we crowded together, whispering, 
 snickering, smiling, and exchanging suspicions, 
 surmises, and a thousand speculations in regard to 
 our pretty hostess and her singular companion. I 
 fear that we even hustled that imbecile paralytic, 
 who sat like a voiceless Memnon in our midst, 
 gazing with the serene indifference of the Past in 
 his passionless eyes upon our wordy counsels. In 
 the midst of an exciting discussion the door opened 
 again, and Higgles re-entered. 
 
 But not, apparently, the same Higgles who a 
 few hours before had flashed upon us. Her eyes 
 were downcast, and as she hesitated for a moment 
 on the threshold, with a blanket on her arm, she 
 seemed to have left behind her the frank fearless- 
 ness which had charmed us a moment before. 
 Coming into the room, she drew a low stool beside 
 the paralytic's chair, sat down, drew the blanket 
 over her shoulders, and saying, " If it 's all the same 
 to you, boys, as we 're rather crowded, I '11 stop 
 here to-night," took the invalid's withered hand in 
 her own, and turned her eyes upon the dying fire. 
 An instinctive feeling that this was only premoni- 
 tory to more confidential relations, and perhaps 
 some shame at our previous curiosity, kept us si- 
 lent. The rain still beat upon the roof, wander- 
 ing gusts of wind stirred the embers into momen- 
 tary brightness, until, in a lull of the elements, 
 
50 HIGGLES. 
 
 Higgles suddenly lifted up her head, and, throw- 
 ing her hair over her shoulder, turned her face 
 upon the group and asked, 
 
 " Is there any of you that knows me ? " 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "Think again! I lived at Marysville in '53. 
 Everybody knew me there, and everybody had the 
 right to know me. I kept the Polka Saloon until 
 I came to live with Jim. That 's six years ago. 
 Perhaps I've changed some." 
 
 The absence of recognition may have discon- 
 certed her. She turned her head to the fire again, 
 and it was some seconds before she again spoke, 
 and then more rapidly : 
 
 " Well, you see I thought some of you must 
 have known me. There's no great harm done, 
 anyway. What I was going to say was this : Jim 
 here " she took his hand in both of hers as she 
 spoke "used to know me, if you didn't, and 
 spent a heap of money upon me. I reckon he 
 spent all he had. And one day it 's six years 
 ago this winter Jim came into my back room, 
 sat down on my sofy, like as you see him in that 
 chair, and never moved again without help. He 
 was struck all of a heap, and never seemed to 
 know what ailed him. The doctors came and said 
 as how it was caused all along of his way of life, 
 for Jim was mighty free and wild like, and 
 that he would never get better, and could n't last 
 
HIGGLES. 51 
 
 long anyway. They advised me to send him to 
 Frisco to the hospital, for he was no good to any 
 one and would be a baby all his life. Perhaps it 
 was something in Jim's eye, perhaps it was that I 
 never had a baby, but I said ' No.' I was rich 
 then, for I was popular with everybody, gentle- 
 men like yourself, sir, came to see me, and I 
 sold out my business and bought this yer place, 
 because it was sort of out of the way of travel, you 
 see, and I brought my baby here." 
 
 With a woman's intuitive tact and poetry, she 
 had, as she spoke, slowly shifted her position so as 
 to bring the mute figure of the ruined man be- 
 tween her and her audience, hiding in the shadow 
 behind it, as if she offered it as a tacit apology 
 for her actions. Silent and expressionless, it yet 
 spoke for her ; helpless, crushed, and smitten with 
 the Divine thunderbolt, it still stretched an in- 
 visible arm around her. 
 
 Hidden in the darkness, but still holding his 
 hand, she went on : 
 
 " It was a long time before I could get the hang 
 of things about yer, for I was used to company 
 and excitement. I could n't get any woman to 
 help me, and a man I dursent trust; but what 
 with the Indians hereabout, who 'd do odd jobs for 
 me, and having everything sent from the North 
 Fork, Jim and I managed to worry through. The 
 Doctor would run up from Sacramento once in a 
 
52 HIGGLES. 
 
 while. He'd ask to see 'Miggles's baby/ as he 
 called Jim, and when he'd go away, he'd say, 
 ' Higgles ; you 're a trump, God bless you ' ; and 
 it did n't seem so lonely after that. But the last 
 time he was here he said, as he opened the door to 
 go, ' Do you know, Higgles, your baby will grow 
 up to be a man yet and an honor to his mother ; 
 but not here, Higgles, not here ! ' And I thought 
 he went away sad, and and " and here Hig- 
 gles's voice and head were somehow both lost com- 
 pletely in the shadow. 
 
 " The folks about here are very kind," said Hig- 
 gles, after a pause, coming a little into the light 
 again. "The men from the fork used to hang 
 around here, until they found they was n't wanted, 
 and the women are kind, and don't call. I was 
 pretty lonely until I picked up Joaquin in the 
 woods yonder one day, when he was n't so high, 
 and taught him to beg for his dinner ; and then 
 thar 's Polly that 's the magpie she knows no 
 end of tricks, and makes it quite sociable of even- 
 ings with her talk, and so I don't feel like as I 
 was the only living being about the ranch. And 
 Jim here," said Higgles, with her old laugh again, 
 and coming out quite into the firelight, " Jim 
 why, boys, you would admire to see how much he 
 knows for a man like him. Sometimes I bring 
 him flowers, and he looks at 'em just as natural as 
 if he knew 'em; and times, when we 're sitting 
 
HIGGLES. 53 
 
 alone, I read him those things on the wall. Why, 
 Lord ! " said Higgles, with her frank laugh, " I 've 
 read him that whole side of the house this winter. 
 There never was such a man for reading as Jim." 
 
 "Why," asked the Judge, "do you not marry 
 this man to whom you have devoted your youth- 
 ful life ? " 
 
 "Well, you see," said Higgles, "it would be 
 playing it rather low down on Jim, to take advan- 
 tage of his being so helpless. And then, too, if 
 we were man and wife, now, we 'd both know that 
 I was bound to do what I do now of my own 
 accord." 
 
 " But you are young yet and attractive " 
 
 " It 's getting late," said Higgles, gravely, " and 
 you 'd better all turn in. Good-night, boys " ; and, 
 throwing the blanket over her head, Higgles laid 
 herself down beside Jim's chair, her head pillowed 
 on the low stool that held his feet, and spoke no 
 more. The fire slowly faded from the hearth ; we 
 each sought our blankets in silence ; and presently 
 there was no sound in the long room but the pat- 
 tering of the rain upon the roof, and the heavy 
 breathing of the sleepers. 
 
 It was nearly morning when I awoke from a 
 troubled dream. The storm had passed, the stars 
 were shining, and through the shutterless window 
 the full moon, lifting itself over the solemn pines 
 without, looked into the room. It touched the 
 
54 HIGGLES. 
 
 lonely figure in the chair with an infinite compas- 
 sion, and seemed to baptize with a shining flood 
 the lowly head of the woman whose hair, as in 
 the sweet old story, bathed the feet of him she 
 loved. It even lent a kindly poetry to the rugged 
 outline of Yuba Bill, half reclining on his elbow 
 between them and his passengers, with savagely 
 patient eyes keeping watch and ward. And then 
 I fell asleep and only woke at broad day, with 
 Yuba Bill standing over me, and "All aboard" 
 ringing in my ears. 
 
 Coffee was waiting for us on the table, but Hig- 
 gles was gone. We wandered about the house and 
 lingered long after the horses were harnessed, but 
 she did not return. It was evident that she wished 
 to avoid a formal leave-taking, and had so left 
 us to depart as we had come. After we had helped 
 the ladies into the coach, we returned to the house 
 and solemnly shook hands with the paralytic Jim, 
 as solemnly settling him back into position after 
 each hand-shake. Then we looked for the last 
 time around the long low room, at the stool where 
 Higgles had sat, and slowly took our seats in the 
 waiting coach. The whip cracked, and we were 
 off! 
 
 But as we reached the high-road, Bill's dexterous 
 hand laid the six horses back on their haunches, 
 and the stage stopped with a jerk. For there, on 
 a little eminence beside the road, stood Higgles, 
 
HIGGLES. 55 
 
 her hair flying, her eyes sparkling, her white hand- 
 kerchief waving, and her white teeth flashing a 
 last "good-by." We waved our hats in return. 
 And then Yuba Bill, as if fearful of further fasci- 
 nation, madly lashed his horses forward, and we 
 sank back in our seats. We exchanged not a word 
 until we reached the North Fork, and the stage 
 drew up at the Independence House. Then, the 
 Judge leading, we walked into the bar-room and 
 took our places gravely at the bar. 
 
 " Are your glasses charged, gentlemen ? " said 
 the Judge, solemnly taking off his white hat. 
 
 They were. 
 
 " Well, then, here 's to Higgles* GOD BLESS 
 HER ! " 
 
 Perhaps He had. Who kaows ? 
 
TENNESSEE'S PAKTNER 
 
 I DO not think that we ever knew his real 
 name. Our ignorance of it certainly never 
 gave us any social inconvenience, for at Sandy Bar 
 in 1854 most men were christened anew. Some- 
 times these appellatives were derived from some 
 distinctiveness of dress, as in the case of " Dunga- 
 ree Jack " ; or from some peculiarity of habit, as 
 shown in " Saleratus Bill," so called from an undue 
 proportion of that chemical in his daily bread ; or 
 from some unlucky slip, as exhibited in "The Iron 
 Pirate," a mild, inoffensive man, who earned that 
 baleful title by his unfortunate mispronunciation 
 of the term "iron pyrites." Perhaps this may 
 have been the beginning of a rude heraldry ; but 
 I am constrained to think that it was because a 
 man's real name in that day rested solely upon 
 his own unsupported statement. "Call yourself 
 Clifford, do you ? " said Boston, addressing a timid 
 new-comer with infinite scorn; "hell is full of 
 such Cliffords ! " He then introduced the unfortu- 
 nate man, whose name happened to be really Clif' 
 ford, as "Jay-bird Charley," an unhallowed inspi- 
 ration of the moment^ that clung to him ever after. 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 57 
 
 But to return to Tennessee's Partner, whom we 
 never knew by any other than this relative title ; 
 that he had ever existed as a separate and distinct 
 individuality we only learned later. It seems that 
 in 1853 he left Poker Flat to go to San Francisco, 
 ostensibly to procure a wife. He never got any 
 farther than Stockton. At that place he was at- 
 tracted by a young person who waited upon the 
 table at the hotel where he took his meals. One 
 morning he said something to her which caused her 
 to smile not unkindly, to somewhat coquettishly 
 break a plate of toast over his upturned, serious, 
 simple face, and to retreat to the kitchen. He fol- 
 lowed her, and emerged a few moments later, cov- 
 ered with more toast and victory. That day week 
 they were married by a Justice of the Peace, and 
 returned to Poker Flat. I am aware that something 
 more might be made of this episode, but I prefer 
 to tell it as it was current at Sandy Bar, in the 
 gulches and bar-rooms, where all sentiment was 
 modified by a strong sense of humor. 
 
 Of their married felicity but little is known, 
 perhaps for the reason that Tennessee, then living 
 with his partner, one day took occasion to say 
 something to the bride on his own account, at 
 which, it is said, she smiled not unkindly and 
 chastely retreated, this time as far as Marysville, 
 where Tennessee followed her, and where they 
 went to housekeeping without the aid of a Justice 
 
58 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER 
 
 of the Peace. Tennessee's Partner took the loss of 
 his wife simply and seriously, as was his fashion. 
 But to everybody's surprise, when Tennessee one 
 day returned from Marysville, without his partner's 
 wife, she having smiled and retreated with some- 
 body else, Tennessee's Partner was the first man 
 to shake his hand and greet him with affection. 
 The "boys who had gathered in the canon to see 
 the shooting were naturally indignant. Their in- 
 dignation might have found vent in sarcasm but 
 for a certain look in Tennessee's Partner's eye that 
 indicated a lack of humorous appreciation. In 
 fact, he was a grave man, with a steady applica- 
 tion to practical detail which was unpleasant in a 
 difficulty. 
 
 Meanwhile a popular feeling against Tennessee 
 had grown up on the Bar. He was known to be a 
 gambler; he was suspected to be a thief. In 
 these suspicions Tennessee's Partner was equally 
 compromised; his continued intimacy with Ten- 
 nessee after the affair above quoted could only be 
 accounted for on the hypothesis of a copartnership 
 of crime. At last Tennessee's guilt became fla- 
 grant. One day he overtook a stranger on his way 
 to Ked Dog. The stranger afterward related that 
 Tennessee beguiled the time with interesting anec- 
 dote and reminiscence, but illogically concluded 
 the interview in the following words : " And now, 
 young man, I '11 trouble you for your knife, your 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 59 
 
 pistols, and your money. You see your weppings 
 might get you into trouble at Eed Dog, and your 
 money 's a temptation to the evilly disposed. I 
 think you said your address was San Francisco. I 
 shall endeavor to call." It may he stated here 
 that Tennessee had a fine flow of humor, which 
 no business preoccupation could wholly subdue. 
 
 This exploit was his last. Ked Dog and Sandy 
 Bar made common cause against the highwayman. 
 Tennessee was hunted in very much the same fash- 
 ion as his prototype, the grizzly. As the toils closed 
 around him, he made a desperate dash through the 
 Bar, emptying his revolver at the crowd before the 
 Arcade Saloon, and so on up Grizzly Canon ; but 
 at its farther extremity he was stopped by a small 
 man on a gray horse. The men looked at each 
 other a moment in silence. Both were fearless, 
 both self-possessed and independent; and both 
 types of a civilization that in the seventeenth 
 century would have been called heroic, but, in the 
 nineteenth, simply " reckless." " What have you 
 got there ? I call," said Tennessee, quietly. " Two 
 bowers and an ace," said the stranger, as quietly, 
 showing two revolvers and a bowie-knife. " That 
 takes me," returned Tennessee ; and with this 
 gamblers' epigram, he threw away his useless pis- 
 tol, and rode back with his captor. 
 
 It was a warm night. The cool breeze which 
 
60 TENNESSEE'S PARTNEB. 
 
 usually sprang up with the going down of the sun 
 behind the chaparral-crested, mountain was that 
 evening withheld from Sandy Bar. The little 
 canon was stifling with heated resinous odors, and 
 the decaying drift-wood on the Bar sent forth faint, 
 sickening exhalations. The feverishness of day, 
 and its fierce passions, still filled the camp. Lights 
 moved restlessly along the bank of the river, strik- 
 ing no answering reflection from its tawny current. 
 Against the blackness of the pines the windows 
 of the old loft above the express-office stood out 
 staringly bright; and through their curtainless 
 panes the loungers below could see the forms of 
 those who were even then deciding the fate of 
 Tennessee. And above all this, etched on the 
 dark firmament, rose the Sierra, remote and pas- 
 sionless, crowned with remoter passionless stars. 
 
 The trial of Tennessee was conducted as fairly 
 as was consistent with a judge and jury who felt 
 themselves to some extent obliged to justify, in 
 their verdict, the previous irregularities of arrest 
 and indictment. The law of Sandy Bar was im- 
 placable, but not vengeful. The excitement and 
 personal feeling of the chase were over ; with Ten- 
 nessee safe in their hands they were ready to listen 
 patiently to any defence, which they were already 
 satisfied was insufficient There being no doubt 
 in their own minds, they were willing to give the 
 prisoner the benefit of any that might exist Se- 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER 61 
 
 cure in the hypothesis that he ought to be hanged, 
 on general principles, they indulged him with more 
 latitude of defence than his reckless hardihood 
 seemed to ask. The Judge appeared to be more 
 anxious than the prisoner, who, otherwise uncon- 
 cerned, evidently took a grim pleasure in the re- 
 sponsibility he had created. " I don't take any 
 hand in this yer game," had been his invariable, 
 but good-humored reply to all questions. The 
 Judge who was also his captor for a moment 
 vaguely regretted that he had not shot him " on 
 sight," that morning, but presently dismissed this 
 human weakness as unworthy of the judicial mind. 
 Nevertheless, when there was a tap at the door, 
 and it was said that Tennessee's Partner was 
 there on behalf of the prisoner, he was admitted at 
 once without question. Perhaps the younger mem- 
 bers of the jury, to whom the proceedings were 
 becoming irksomely thoughtful, hailed him as a 
 relief. 
 
 For he was not, certainly, an imposing figure. 
 Short and stout, with a square face, sunburned 
 into a preternatural redness, clad in a loose duck 
 "jumper," and trousers streaked and splashed 
 with red soil, his aspect under any circumstances 
 would have been quaint, and was now even ridicu- 
 lous. As he stooped to deposit at his feet a heavy 
 carpet-bag he was carrying, it became obvious, 
 from partially developed legends and inscriptions. 
 
62 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 that the material with which his trousers had been 
 patched had been originally intended for a les* 
 ambitious covering. Yet he advanced with great 
 gravity, and after having shaken the hand of each 
 person in the room with labored cordiality, he 
 wiped his serious, perplexed face on a red bandanna 
 handkerchief, a shade lighter than his complexion, 
 laid his powerful hand upon the table to steady 
 himself, and thus addressed the Judge : 
 
 " I was passin' by," he began, by way of apology, 
 " and I thought I 'd just step in and see how things 
 was gittin' on with Tennessee thar, my pardner. 
 It 's a hot night. I disremember any sich weather 
 before on the Bar." 
 
 He paused a moment, but nobody volunteering 
 any other meteorological recollection, he again had 
 recourse to his pocket-handkerchief, and for some 
 moments mopped his face diligently. 
 
 " Hav3 you anything to say in behalf of the 
 prisoner ? " said the Judge, finally. 
 
 " Thet 's it," said Tennessee's Partner, in a tone 
 of relief. " I come yar as Tennessee's pardner, 
 knowing him nigh on four year, off and on, wet 
 and dry, in luck and out o' luck His ways ain't 
 allers my ways, but thar ain't any p'ints in that 
 young man, thar ain't any liveliness as he 's been up 
 to, as I don't know. And you sez to me, sez you, 
 eonfidential-like, and between man and man, sez 
 you, ' Do you know anything in his behalf ? ' and I 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 63 
 
 eez to you, sez I, confidential-like, as between 
 man and man, ' What should a man know of his 
 pardner?'" 
 
 " Is this all you have to say ? " asked the Judge, 
 impatiently, feeling, perhaps, that a dangerous 
 sympathy of humor was beginning to humanize 
 the Court. 
 
 " Thet 's so," continued Tennessee's Partner. 
 * It ain't for me to say anything agin' him. And 
 now, what 's the case ? Here 's Tennessee wants 
 money, wants it bad, and does n't like to ask it of 
 his old pardner. Well, what does Tennessee do ? 
 He lays for a stranger, and he fetches that stranger. 
 And you lays for him, and you fetches him ; and 
 the honors is easy. And I put it to you, bein' a 
 far-minded man, and to you, gentlemen, all, as 
 far-minded men, ef this is n't so." 
 
 " Prisoner," said the Judge, interrupting, <e have 
 you any questions to ask this man ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! " continued Tennessee's Partner, 
 hastily. " I play this yer hand alone. To come 
 down to the bed-rock, it 's just this : Tennessee, 
 thar, has played it pretty rough and expensive- 
 like on a stranger, and on this yer camp. And 
 now, what 's the fair thing ? Some would say 
 more; some would say less. Here's seventeen 
 hundred dollars in coarse gold and a watch, it 's 
 about all my pile, and call it square ! " And 
 before a hand could be raised to prevent him, he 
 
64 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 had emptied the contents of the carpet-bag upon 
 the table. 
 
 For a moment his life was in jeopardy. One or 
 two men sprang to their feet, several hands groped 
 for hidden weapons, and a suggestion to " throw 
 him from the window " was only overridden by a 
 , gesture from the Judge. Tennessee laughed. And 
 apparently oblivious of the excitement, Tennes- 
 see's Partner improved the opportunity to mop his 
 face again with his handkerchief. 
 
 When order was restored, and the man was 
 made to understand, by the use of forcible figures 
 and rhetoric, that Tennessee's offence could not be 
 condoned by money, his face took a more serious 
 and sanguinary hue, and those who were nearest 
 to him noticed that his rough hand trembled 
 slightly on the table. He hesitated a moment as 
 he slowly returned the gold to the carpet-bag, as 
 if he had not yet entirely caught the elevated 
 sense of justice which swayed the tribunal, and 
 was perplexed with the belief that he had not 
 offered enough. Then he turned to the Judge, 
 and saying, " This yer is a lone hand, played alone, 
 and without my pardner," he bowed to the jury 
 and was about to withdraw, when the Judge called 
 him back. " If you have anything to say to Ten- 
 nessee, you had better say it now." For the first 
 time that evening the eyes of the prisoner and his 
 strange advocate met. Tennessee smiled, showed 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 65 
 
 his white teeth, and, saying, " Euchred, old man ! " 
 held out his hand. Tennessee's Partner took it in 
 his own, and saying, " I just dropped in as I was 
 passin' to see how things was gettin' on," let the 
 hand passively fall, and adding that " it was a 
 warm night," again mopped his face with his hand- 
 kerchief, and without another word withdrew. 
 
 The two men never again met each other alive. 
 For the unparalleled insult of a bribe offered to 
 Judge Lynch who, whether bigoted, weak, or 
 narrow, was at least incorruptible firmly fixed 
 in the mind of that mythical personage any waver- 
 ing determination of Tennessee's fate ; and at the 
 break of day he was marched, closely guarded, to 
 meet it at the top of Marley's Hill. 
 
 How he met it, how cool he was, how he refused 
 to say anything, how perfect were the arrange- 
 ments of the committee, were all duly reported, 
 with the addition of a warning moral and example 
 to all future evil-doers, in the Eed Dog Clarion, 
 by its editor, who was present, and to whose 
 vigorous English I cheerfully refer the reader. 
 But the beauty of that midsummer morning, the 
 blessed amity of earth and air and sky, the 
 awakened life of the free woods and hills, the 
 joyous renewal and promise of Nature, and above 
 all, the infinite Serenity that thrilled through each, 
 was not reported, as not being a part of the social 
 lesson. And yet, when the weak and foolish deed 
 
66 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 was done, and a life, with its possibilities and re- 
 sponsibilities, had passed out of the misshapen 
 thing that dangled between earth and sky, the 
 birds sang, the flowers bloomed, the sun shone, 
 as cheerily as before ; and possibly the Red Dog 
 Clarion was right. 
 
 Tennessee's Partner was not in the group that 
 surrounded the ominous tree. But as they turned 
 to disperse attention was drawn to the singular 
 appearance of a motionless donkey-cart halted at 
 the side of the road. As they approached, they at 
 once recognized the venerable " Jenny " and the 
 two-wheeled cart as the property of Tennessee's 
 Partner, used by him in carrying dirt from his 
 claim ; and a few paces distant the owner of the 
 equipage himself, sitting under a buckeye-tree, 
 wiping the perspiration from his glowing face. In 
 answer to an inquiry, he said he had come for 
 the body of the " diseased," " if it was all the 
 same to the committee." He did n't wish to 
 " hurry anything " ; he could " wait." He was not 
 working that day ; and when the gentlemen were 
 done with the "diseased," he would take him. 
 " Ef thar is any present," he added, in his simple, 
 serious way, " as would care to jine in the fun'l, 
 they kin come." Perhaps it was from a sense of 
 humor, which I have already intimated was a 
 feature of Sandy Bar, perhaps it was from some- 
 thing even better than that; but two thirds of 
 the loungers accepted the invitation at once. 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 67 
 
 It was noon when the body of Tennessee was 
 delivered into the hands of his partner. As the 
 cart drew up to the fatal tree, we noticed that it 
 contained a rough, oblong box, apparently made 
 from a section of sluicing, and half filled with 
 bark and the tassels of pine. The cart was fur- 
 ther decorated with slips of willow, and made 
 fragrant with buckeye-blossoms. When the body 
 was deposited in the box, Tennessee's Partner drew 
 over it a piece of tarred canvas, and gravely 
 mounting the narrow seat in front, with his feet 
 upon the shafts, urged the little donkey forward. 
 The equipage moved slowly on, at that decorous 
 pace which was habitual with " Jenny " even un- 
 der less solemn circumstances. The men half 
 curiously, half jestingly, but all good-humoredly 
 strolled along beside the cart ; some in advance, 
 some a little in the rear of the homely catafalque. 
 But, whether from the narrowing of the road or 
 some present sense of decorum, as the cart passed 
 on, the company fell to the rear in couples, keep- 
 ing step, and otherwise assuming the external show 
 of a formal procession. Jack Folinsbee, who had 
 at the outset played a funeral march in dumb 
 show upon an imaginary trombone, desisted, from 
 a lack of sympathy and appreciation, not hav- 
 ing, perhaps, your true humorist's capacity to be 
 content with the enjoyment of his own fun. 
 
 The way led through Grizzly Canon, by this 
 
68 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 time clothed in funereal drapery and shadows. 
 The redwoods, burying their moccasoned feet in 
 the red soil, stood in Indian-file along the track, 
 trailing an uncouth benediction from their bending 
 boughs upon the passing bier. A hare, surprised 
 into helpless inactivity, sat upright and pulsating 
 in the ferns by the roadside, as the cortege went 
 by. Squirrels hastened to gain a secure outlook 
 from higher boughs ; and the blue-jays, spreading 
 their wings, fluttered before them like outriders, 
 until the outskirts of Sandy Bar were reached, 
 and the solitary cabin of Tennessee's Partner. 
 
 Viewed under more favorable circumstances, it 
 would not have been a cheerful place. The un- 
 picturesque site, the rude and unlovely outlines, 
 the unsavory details, which distinguish the nest- 
 building of the California miner, were all here, 
 with the dreariness of decay superadded. A few 
 paces from the cabin there was a rough enclosure, 
 which, in the brief days of Tennessee's Partner's 
 matrimonial felicity, had been used as a garden, 
 but was now overgrown with fern. As we ap- 
 proached it we were surprised to find that what 
 we had taken for a recent attempt at cultivation 
 was the broken soil about an open grave. 
 
 The cart was halted before the enclosure ; and 
 rejecting the offers of assistance with the same air 
 of simple self-reliance he had displayed through- 
 out, Tennessee's Partner lifted the rough coffin on 
 
TENNESSEE'S PABTNEB. 69 
 
 his back, and deposited it, unaided, within the 
 shallow grave. He then nailed down the board 
 which served as a lid ; and mounting the little 
 mound of earth beside it, took off his hat, and 
 slowly mopped his face with his handkerchief. 
 This the crowd felt was a preliminary to speech ; 
 and they disposed themselves variously on stumps 
 and boulders, and sat expectant. 
 
 "When a man," began Tennessee's Partner, 
 slowly, " has been running free all day, what 's the 
 natural thing for him to do ? Why, to come 
 home. And if he ain't in a condition to go home, 
 what can his best friend do ? Why, bring him 
 home ! And here 's Tennessee has been running 
 free, and we brings him home from his wander- 
 ing." He paused, and picked up a fragment of 
 quartz, rubbed it thoughtfully on his sleeve, and 
 went on : " It ain't the first time that I 've packed 
 him on my back, as you see'd me now. It ain't 
 the first time that I brought him to this yer cabin 
 when he could n't help himself ; it ain't the first 
 time that I and ' Jinny ' have waited for him on 
 yon hill, and picked him up and so fetched him 
 home, when he could n't speak, and did n't know 
 me. And now that it 's the last time, why " he 
 paused, and rubbed the quartz gently on his sleeve 
 " you see it 's sort of rough on his pardner. 
 And now, gentlemen," he added, abruptly, picking 
 up his long-handled shovel, " the fun'l 's over ; 
 
70 TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 
 
 and my thanks, and Tennessee's thanks, to you for 
 your trouble." 
 
 Eesisting any proffers of assistance, he began to 
 fill in the grave, turning his back upon the crowd, 
 that after a few moments' hesitation gradually 
 withdrew. As they crossed the little ridge that 
 hid Sandy Bar from view, some, looking back, 
 thought they could see Tennessee's Partner, his 
 work done, sitting upon the grave, his shovel be- 
 tween his knees, and his face buried in his red 
 bandanna handkerchief. But it was argued by 
 others that you couldn't tell his face from his 
 handkerchief at that distance ; and this point re- 
 mained undecided. 
 
 In the reaction that followed the feverish ex- 
 citement of that day, Tennessee's Partner was not 
 forgotten. A secret investigation had cleared him 
 of any complicity in Tennessee's guilt, and left 
 only a suspicion of his general sanity. Sandy Bar 
 made a point of calling on him, and proffering 
 various uncouth, but well-meant kindnesses. But 
 from that day his rude health and great strength 
 seemed visibly to decline; and when the rainy 
 season fairly set in, and the tiny grass-blades were 
 beginning to peep from the rocky mound above 
 Tennessee's grave, he took to his bed. 
 
 One night, when the pines beside the cabin 
 were swaying in the storm, and trailing their 
 
TENNESSEE'S PARTNER. 71 
 
 slender fingers over the roof, and the roar and 
 rush of the swollen river were heard below, Ten- 
 nessee's Partner lifted his head from the pillow, 
 saying, "It is time to go for Tennessee; I must 
 put ' Jinny ' in the cart " ; and would have risen 
 from his bed but for the restraint of his attendant. 
 Struggling, he still pursued his singular fancy: 
 "There, now, steady, 'Jinny/ steady, old girl. 
 How dark it is ! Look out for the ruts, and look 
 out for him, too, old gaL Sometimes, you know, 
 when he 's blind drunk, he drops down right in the 
 trail Keep on straight up to the pine on the top 
 of the hill. Thar I told you so ! thar he is, 
 coming this way, too, all by himself, sober, 
 and his face a-shining. Tennessee ! Pardner!" 
 And so they met. 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 SANDY was very drunk. He was lying under 
 an azalea-bush, in pretty much the same atti- 
 tude in which he had fallen some hours before. 
 How long he had been lying there he could not 
 tell, and didn't care; how long he should lie 
 there was a matter equally indefinite and un- 
 considered. A tranquil philosophy, born of his 
 physical condition, suffused and saturated his 
 moral being. 
 
 The spectacle of a drunken man, and of this 
 drunken man in particular, was not, I grieve to 
 say, of sufficient novelty in Red Gulch to attract 
 attention. Earlier in the day some local satirist 
 had erected a temporary tombstone at Sandy's 
 head, bearing the inscription, " Effects of McCor- 
 kle's whiskey, kills at forty rods," with a hand 
 pointing to McCorkle's saloon. But this, I im- 
 agine, was, like most local satire, personal ; and 
 was a reflection upon the unfairness of the process 
 rather than a commentary upon the impropriety 
 of the result. With this facetious exception, Sandy 
 had been undisturbed. A wandering mule, released 
 from his pack, had cropped the scant herbage be- 
 
THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 73 
 
 Bide him, and sniffed curiously at the prostrate 
 man ; a vagabond dog, with that deep sympathy 
 which the species have for drunken men, had 
 licked his dusty boots, and curled himself up at 
 his feet, and lay there, blinking one eye in the 
 sunlight, with a simulation of dissipation that was 
 ingenious and dog-like in its implied flattery of 
 the unconscious man beside him. 
 
 Meanwhile the shadows of the pine-tress had 
 slowly swung around until they crossed the road, 
 and their trunks barred the open meadow with 
 gigantic parallels of black and yellow. Little 
 puffs of red dust, lifted by the plunging hoofs of 
 passing teams, dispersed in a grimy shower upon 
 the recumbent man. The sun sank lower and 
 lower ; and still Sandy stirred not. And then the 
 repose of this philosopher was disturbed, as other 
 philosophers have been, by the intrusion of an 
 unphilosophical sex. 
 
 " Miss Mary," as she was known to the little 
 flock that she had just dismissed from the log 
 school-house beyond the pines, was taking her 
 afternoon walk. Observing an unusually fine 
 cluster of blossoms on the azalea-bush opposite, 
 she crossed the road to pluck it, picking her way 
 through the red dust, not without certain fierce lit- 
 tle shivers of disgust, and some feline circumlocu- 
 tion. And then she came suddenly upon Sandy ! 
 
 Of course she uttered the little staccato cry of 
 
74 THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 
 
 her sex. But when she had paid that tribute to 
 her physical weakness she became overbold, and 
 halted for a moment, at least six feet from this 
 prostrate monster, with her white skirts gath- 
 ered in her hand, ready for flight. But neither 
 Sound nor motion came from the bush. With 
 one little foot she then overturned the satirical 
 head-board, and muttered " Beasts ! " an epithet 
 which probably, at that moment, conveniently 
 classified in her mind the entire male population 
 of Eed Gulch. For Miss Mary, being possessed 
 of certain rigid notions of her own, had not, per- 
 haps, properly appreciated the demonstrative gal- 
 lantry for which the Californian has been so justly 
 celebrated by his brother Californians, and had, as 
 a new-comer, perhaps, fairly earned the reputation 
 of being " stuck up." 
 
 As she stood there she noticed, also, that the 
 slant sunbeams were heating Sandy's head to what 
 she judged to be an unhealthy temperature, and 
 that his hat was lying uselessly at his side. To 
 pick it up and to place it over his face was a work 
 requiring some courage, particularly as his eyes 
 were open. Yet she did it and made good her re- 
 treat. But she was somewhat concerned, on look- 
 Ing back, to see that the hat was removed, and 
 that Sandy was sitting up and saying something. 
 
 The truth was, that in the calm depths of San- 
 dy's mind he was satisfied that the rays of the 
 
THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 75 
 
 Bun were beneficial and healthful ; that fron> 
 childhood he had objected to lying down in a 
 hat ; that no people but condemned fools, past re- 
 demption, ever wore hats ; and that his right to 
 dispense with them when he pleased was inalien- 
 able. This was the statement of his inner con- 
 sciousness. Unfortunately, its outward expression 
 was vague, being limited to a repetition of the 
 following formula, " Su'shine all ri' ! Wasser 
 maa'r, eh ? Wass up, su'shine ? " 
 
 Miss Mary stopped, and, taking fresh courage 
 from her vantage of distance, asked him if there 
 was anything that he wanted. 
 
 " Wass up ? Wasser maar ? " continued Sandy, 
 in a very high key. 
 
 "Get up, you horrid man!" said Miss Mary, 
 now thoroughly incensed ; " get up, and go home." 
 
 Sandy staggered to his feet. He was six feet 
 high, and Miss Mary trembled. He started for- 
 ward a few paces and then stopped. 
 
 " Wass I go home for ? " he suddenly asked, 
 with great gravity. 
 
 " Go and take a bath," replied Miss Mary, eying 
 his grimy person with great disfavor. 
 
 To her infinite dismay, Sandy suddenly pulled 
 off his coat and vest, threw them on the ground, 
 kicked off his boots, and, plunging wildly forward, 
 darted headlong over the hill, in the direction of 
 the river. 
 
76 THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 
 
 " Goodness Heavens ! the man will be 
 drowned ! " said Miss Mary ; and then, with femi- 
 nine inconsistency, she ran back to the school- 
 house, and locked herself in. 
 
 That night, while seated at supper with her 
 hostess, the blacksmith's wife, it came to Miss 
 Mary to ask, demurely, if her husband ever got 
 drunk. "Abner," responded Mrs. Stidger, re- 
 flectively, " let 's see : Abner has n't been tight 
 since last lection." Miss Mary would have liked 
 to ask if he preferred lying in the sun on these 
 occasions, and if a cold bath would have hurt him ; 
 but this would have involved an explanation, 
 which she did not then care to give. So she con- 
 tented herself with opening her gray eyes widely 
 at the red-cheeked Mrs. Stidger, a fine speci- 
 men of Southwestern efflorescence, and then dis- 
 missed the subject altogether. The next day she 
 wrote to her dearest friend, in Boston : " I think 
 I find the intoxicated portion of this community 
 the least objectionable. I refer, my dear, to the 
 men, of course. I do not know anything that 
 could make the women tolerable." 
 
 In less than a week Miss Mary had forgotten 
 this episode, except that her afternoon walks took 
 thereafter, almost unconsciously, another direc- 
 tion. She noticed, however, that every morn- 
 ing a fresh cluster of azalea-blossoms appeared 
 among the flowers on her desk. This was not 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 77 
 
 strange, as her little flock were aware of her fond- 
 ness for flowers, and invariably kept her desk 
 bright with anemones, syringas, and lupines ; but, 
 on questioning them, they, one and all, professed 
 ignorance of the azaleas. A few days later, Mas- 
 ter Johnny Stidger, whose desk was nearest to 
 the window, was suddenly taken with spasms 
 of apparently gratuitous laughter, that threatened 
 the discipline of the school. All that Miss Mary 
 could get from him was, that some one had been 
 " looking in the winder." Irate and indignant, she 
 sallied from her hive to do battle with the intrud- 
 er. As she turned the corner of the school-house 
 she came plump upon the quondam drunkard, 
 now perfectly sober, and inexpressibly sheepish 
 and guilty-looking. 
 
 These facts Miss Mary was not slow to take a 
 feminine advantage of, in her present humor. But 
 it was somewhat confusing to observe, also, that 
 the beast, despite some faint signs of past dissi- 
 pation, was amiable-looking, in fact, a kind of 
 blond Samson, whose corn-colored, silken beard 
 apparently had never yet known the touch of bar- 
 ber's razor or Delilah's shears. So that the cut 
 ting speech which quivered on her ready tongue 
 died upon her lips, and she contented herself with 
 receiving his stammering apology with supercili- 
 ous eyelids and the gathered skirts of uncontam- 
 ination. When she re-entered the school-room, 
 
78 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 her eyes fell upon the azaleas with a new sense of 
 revelation. And then she laughed, and the lit- 
 tle people all laughed, and they were all uncon- 
 sciously very happy. 
 
 It was on a hot day and not long after this 
 that two short-legged boys came to grief on the 
 threshold of the school with a pail of water, which 
 they had laboriously brought from the spring, and 
 that Miss Mary compassionately seized the pail 
 and started for the spring herself. At the foot of 
 the hill a shadow crossed her path, and a blue- 
 shirted arm dexterously, but gently relieved her 
 of her burden. Miss Mary was both embarrassed 
 and angry. " If you carried more of that for your- 
 self," she said, spitefully, to the blue arm, without 
 deigning to raise her lashes to its owner, " you 'd 
 do better." In the submissive silence that fol- 
 lowed she regretted the speech, and thanked him 
 so sweetly at the door that he stumbled. Which 
 caused the children to laugh again, a laugh in 
 which Miss Mary joined, until the color came 
 faintly into her pale cheek. The next day a bar- 
 rel was mysteriously placed beside the door, and 
 as mysteriously filled with fresh spring-water 
 every morning. 
 
 Nor was this superior young person without 
 other quiet attentions. " Profane Bill," driver of 
 the Slumgullion Stage, widely known in the 
 newspapers for his "gallantry" in invariably o& 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 79 
 
 fering the "box-seat to the fair sex, had excepted 
 Miss Mary from this attention, on the ground that 
 he had a habit of " cussin' on up grades," and gave 
 her half the coach to herself. Jack Hamlin, a 
 gambler, having once silently ridden with her in 
 the same coach, afterward threw a decanter at the 
 head of a confederate for mentioning her name in 
 a bar-room. The over-dressed mother of a pupil 
 whose paternity was doubtful had often lingered 
 near this astute Vestal's temple, never daring to 
 enter its sacred precincts, but content to worship 
 the priestess from afar. 
 
 With such unconscious intervals the monoto- 
 nous procession of blue skies, glittering sunshine, 
 brief twilights, and starlit nights passed over Eed 
 Gulch. Miss Mary grew fond of walking in the 
 sedate and proper woods. Perhaps she believed, 
 with Mrs. Stidger, that the balsamic odors of the 
 firs " did her chest good," for certainly her slight 
 cough was less frequent and her step was firmer j 
 perhaps she had learned the unending lesson which 
 the patient pines are never weary of repeating tt 
 heedful or listless ears. And so, one day, she 
 planned a picnic on Buckeye Hill, and took the 
 children with her. Away from the dusty road, 
 the straggling shanties, the yellow ditches, thd 
 clamor of restless engines, the cheap finery of shop- 
 wmdows, the deeper glitter of paint and colored 
 , and the thin veneering which barbarism 
 
80 THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 
 
 takes upon itself in such localities, what infinite 
 relief was theirs ! The last heap of ragged rock 
 and clay passed, the last unsightly chasm crossed, 
 how the waiting woods opened their long 
 files to receive them ! How the children per- 
 haps because they had not yet grown quite away 
 from the breast of the bounteous Mother threw 
 themselves face downward on her brown bosom 
 with uncouth caresses, filling the air with their 
 laughter; and how Miss Mary herself felinely 
 fastidious and intrenched as she was in the purity 
 of spotless skirts, collar, and cuffs forgot all, and 
 ran like a crested quail at the head of her brood, 
 until, romping, laughing, and panting, with a 
 loosened braid of brown hair, a hat hanging by a 
 knotted ribbon from her throat, she came suddenly 
 and violently, in the heart of the forest, upon 
 the luckless Sandy ! 
 
 The explanations, apologies, and not overwise 
 conversation that ensued, need not be indicated 
 here. It would seem, however, that Miss Mary 
 had already established some acquaintance with 
 this ex-drunkard. Enough that he was soon ac- 
 cepted as one of the party ; that the children, with 
 that quick intelligence which Providence gives the 
 helpless, recognized a friend, and played with his 
 blond beard, and long silken mustache, and took 
 other liberties, as the helpless are apt to do. 
 And when he had built a fire against a tree, 
 
THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 81 
 
 had shown them other mysteries of wood-craft, 
 their admiration knew no bounds. At the close 
 of two such foolish, idle, happy hours he found 
 himself lying at the feet of the schoolmistress, 
 gazing dreamily in her face, as she sat upon the 
 sloping hillside, weaving wreaths of laurel and 
 syringa, in very much the same attitude as he 
 had lain when first they met. Nor was the simili- 
 tude greatly forced. The weakness of an easy, 
 sensuous nature, that had found a dreamy exalta- 
 tion in liquor, it is to be feared was now finding 
 an equal intoxication in love. 
 
 I think that Sandy was dimly conscious of this 
 himself. I know that he longed to be doing some- 
 thing, slaying a grizzly, scalping a savage, or 
 sacrificing himself in some way for the sake of 
 this sallow-faced, gray-eyed schoolmistress. As 1 
 should like to present him in a heroic attitude, I 
 stay my hand with great difficulty at this moment, 
 being only withheld from introducing such an 
 episode by a strong conviction that it does not 
 usually occur at such times. And I trust that my 
 fairest reader, who remembers that, in a real crisis, 
 it is always some uninteresting stranger or unro- 
 mantic policeman, and not Adolphus, who rescues, 
 will forgive the omission. 
 
 So they sat there, undisturbed, the woodpeck- 
 ers chattering overhead, and the voices of the chil- 
 dren coming pleasantly from the hollow belo\r, 
 
 4* 
 
82 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 What they said matters little. What they thought 
 which might have been interesting did not 
 transpire. The woodpeckers only learned how 
 Miss Mary was an orphan ; how she left her 
 uncle's house, to come to California, for the sake 
 of health and independence ; how Sandy was an 
 orphan, too ; how he came to California for excite- 
 ment ; how he had lived a wild life, and how he 
 was trying to reform; and other details, which, 
 from a woodpecker's view-point, undoubtedly must 
 have seemed stupid, and a waste of time. But 
 even in such trifles was the afternoon spent ; and 
 when the children were again gathered, and Sandy, 
 with a delicacy which the schoolmistress well un- 
 derstood, took leave of them quietly at the out- 
 skirts of the settlement, it had seemed the shortest 
 day of her weary life. 
 
 As the long, dry summer withered to its roots, 
 the school term of Eed Gulch to use a loca) 
 euphuism " dried up " also. In another day 
 Miss Mary would be free ; and for a season, at 
 least, Eed Gulch would know her no more. She 
 was seated alone in the school-house, her cheek 
 resting on her hand, her eyes half dosed in one 
 of those day-dreams in which Miss Mary I fear, 
 to the danger of school discipline was lately in 
 the habit of indulging. Her lap was full of 
 mosses, ferns, and other woodland memories. She 
 was so preoccupied with these and her own 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 83 
 
 thoughts that a gentle tapping at the door passed 
 unheard, or translated itself into the remembrance 
 of far-off woodpeckers. When at last it asserted 
 itself more distinctly, she started up with a flushed 
 cheek and opened the door. On the threshold 
 stood a woman, the self-assertion and audacity of 
 whose dress were in singular contrast to her timid, 
 irresolute bearing. 
 
 Miss Mary recognized at a glance the dubious 
 mother of her anonymous pupil. Perhaps she was 
 disappointed, perhaps she was only fastidious ; but 
 as she coldly invited her to enter, she half un- 
 consciously settled her white cuffs and collar, and 
 gathered closer her own chaste skirts. It was, 
 perhaps, for this reason that the embarrassed 
 stranger, after a moment's hesitation, left her gor- 
 geous parasol open and sticking in the dust beside 
 the door, and then sat down at the farther end 
 of a long bench. Her voice was husky as she 
 began : 
 
 " I heerd tell that you were goin' down to the 
 Bay to-morrow, and I couldn't let you go until 
 I came to thank you for your kindness to my 
 Tommy." 
 
 Tommy, Miss Mary said, was a good boy, and 
 deserved more than the poor attention she could 
 give him. 
 
 " Thank you, miss ; thank ye ! " cried the stran- 
 ger, brightening even through the color which 
 
84 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 Red Gulch knew facetiously as her " war paint," 
 and striving, in her embarrassment, to drag the 
 long bench nearer the schoolmistress. "I thank 
 you, miss, for that ! and if I am his mother, there 
 ain't a sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. 
 And if I ain't much as says it, thar ain't a sweeter, 
 dearer, angeler teacher lives than he 's got." 
 
 Miss Mary, sitting primly behind her desk, with 
 a ruler over her shoulder, opened her gray eyes 
 widely at this, but said nothing. 
 
 " It ain't for you to be complimented by the like 
 of me, I know," she went on, hurriedly. "It 
 ain't for me to be comin' here, in broad day, to 
 do it, either; but I come to ask a favor, not 
 for me, miss, not for me, but for the darling 
 boy." 
 
 Encouraged by a look in the young schoolmis- 
 tress's eye, and putting her lilac-gloved hands to- 
 gether, the fingers downward, between her knees, 
 she went on, in a low voice : 
 
 " You see, miss, there 's no one the boy has any 
 claim on but me, and I ain't the proper person to 
 bring him up. I thought some, last year, of send- 
 ing him away to 'Frisco to school, but when they 
 talked of bringing a schoolma'am here, I waited 
 till I saw you, and then I knew it was all right, 
 and I could keep my boy a little longer. And 0, 
 miss, he loves you so much ; and if you could 
 hear him talk about you, in his pretty way, and if 
 
THE IDYL OF BED GULCH. 85 
 
 he could ask you what I ask you now, you could n't 
 refuse him. 
 
 " It is natural," she went on, rapidly, in a voice 
 that trembled strangely between pride and humil- 
 ity, "it's natural that he should take to you, 
 miss, for his father, when I first knew him, was a 
 gentleman, and the boy must forget me, sooner 
 or later, and so I ain't a goin' to cry about that. 
 For I come to ask you to take my Tommy, God 
 bless him for the bestest, sweetest boy that lives, 
 to to take him with you." 
 
 She had risen and caught the young girl's hand 
 in her own, and had fallen on her knees beside her. 
 
 " I 've money plenty, and it 's all yours and his. 
 Put him in some good school, where you can go 
 and see him, and help him to to to forget his 
 mother. Do with him what you like. The worst 
 you can do will be kindness to what he will learn 
 with me. Only take him out of this wicked 
 life, this cruel place, this home of shame and sor- 
 row. You will; I know you will, won't you?| 
 You will, you must not, you cannot say no ! 
 You will make him as pure, as gentle as yourself ; 
 and when he has grown up, you will tell him his 
 father's name, the name that has n't passed my 
 lips for years, the name of Alexander Morton, 
 whom they call here Sandy ! Miss Mary ! do 
 not take your hand away ! Miss Mary, speak to 
 me ! You will take my boy ? Do not put your 
 
86 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 face from me. I know it ought not to look on such 
 as me. Miss Mary ! my God, be merciful ! 
 she is leaving me I " 
 
 Miss Mary had risen, and, in the gathering twi- 
 light, had felt her way to the open window. She 
 stood there, leaning against the casement, her eyes 
 fixed on the last rosy tints that were fading from 
 the western sky. There was still some of its light 
 on her pure young forehead, on her white collar, 
 on her clasped white hands, but all fading slowly 
 away. The suppliant had dragged herself, still on 
 her knees, beside her. 
 
 " I know it takes time to consider. I will wait 
 here all night ; but I cannot go until you speak. 
 Do not deny me now. You will ! I see it in 
 your sweet face, such a face as I have seen in 
 my dreams. I see it in your eyes, Miss Mary ! 
 you will take my boy ! " 
 
 The last red beam crept higher, suffused Miss 
 Mary's eyes with something of its glory, nickered, 
 and faded, and went out. The sun had set on Red 
 Gulch. In the twilight and silence Miss Mary's 
 voice sounded pleasantly. 
 
 " I will take the boy. Send him to me to- 
 night." 
 
 The happy mother raised the hem of Miss Ma- 
 ry's skirts to her lips. She would have buried her 
 hot face in its virgin folds, but she dared not 
 She rose to her feet. 
 
THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 87 
 
 " Does this man know of your intention ? " 
 asked Miss Mary, suddenly. 
 
 "No, nor cares. He has never even seen the 
 child to know it." 
 
 " Go to him at once, to-night, now ! Tell 
 him what you have done. Tell him I have taken 
 his child, and tell him he must never see see 
 the child again. Wherever it may be, he must 
 not come ; wherever I may take it, he must not 
 follow ! There, go now, please, I 'm weary, and 
 have much yet to do ! " 
 
 They walked together to the door. On the 
 threshold the woman turned. 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 She would have fallen at Miss Mary's feet. But 
 at the same moment the young girl reached out 
 her arms, caught the sinful woman to her own pure 
 breast for one brief moment, and then closed and 
 locked the door. 
 
 It was with a sudden sense of great responsi- 
 bility that Profane Bill took the reins of the Slum- 
 gullion Stage the next morning, for the school- 
 mistress was one of his passengers. As he en- 
 tered the high-road, in obedience to a pleasant 
 voice from the "inside," he suddenly reined up 
 his horses and respectfully waited, as " Tommy " 
 hopped out at the command of Miss Mary. 
 
 " Not that bush, Tommy, the next." 
 
88 THE IDYL OF RED GULCH. 
 
 Tommy whipped out his new pocket-knife, and, 
 cutting a branch from a tall azalea-bush, returned 
 with it to Miss Mary. 
 
 "All right now?" 
 
 "All right." 
 
 And the stage-door closed on the Idyl of Bed 
 Gulch. 
 
BKOWtf OF CALAVEKAS. 
 
 A SUBDUED tone of conversation, and the ab- 
 sence of cigar-smoke and boot-heels at the 
 windows of the Wingdam stage-coach, made it evi- 
 dent that one of the inside passengers was a woman. 
 A disposition on the part of loungers at the sta- 
 tions to congregate before the window, and some 
 concern in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, 
 and collars, further indicated that she was lovely. 
 All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the box-seat, 
 noted with the smile of cynical philosophy. Not 
 that he depreciated the sex, but that he recognized 
 therein a deceitful element, the pursuit of which 
 sometimes drew mankind away from the equally 
 uncertain blandishments of poker, of which it 
 may be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a profes- 
 sional exponent 
 
 So that, when he placed his narrow boot on tha 
 wheel and leaped down, he did not even glance at 
 the window from which a green veil was flutter- 
 ing, but lounged up and down with that listless 
 and grave indifference of his class, which was, per- 
 haps, the next thing to good-breeding. With his 
 elosely buttoned figure and self-contained air ha 
 
90 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 was a marked contrast to the other passengers, 
 with their feverish restlessness, and boisterous 
 emotion ; and even Bill Masters, a graduate of 
 Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his overflowing 
 vitality, his intense appreciation of lawlessness 
 and barbarism, and his mouth filled with crackers 
 and cheese, I fear cut but an unromantic figure 
 beside this lonely calculator of chances, with his 
 pale Greek face and Homeric gravity. 
 
 The driver called " All aboard ! " and Mr. Ham- 
 lin returned to the coach. His foot was upon the 
 wheel, and his face raised to the level of the open 
 window, when, at the same moment, what appeared 
 to him to be the finest eyes in the world suddenly 
 met his. He quietly dropped down again, ad- 
 dressed a few words to one of the inside passen- 
 gers, effected an exchange of seats, and as quietly 
 took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin never allowed 
 his philosophy to interfere with decisive and 
 prompt action. 
 
 I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some re- 
 straint upon the other passengers, particularly 
 those who were making themselves most agreeable 
 to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and 
 apparently conveyed to her information regarding 
 Mr. Hamlin's profession in a single epithet 
 Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he rec- 
 ognized in the informant a distinguished jurist, 
 from whom, but a few evenings before, he had won 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 91 
 
 several thousand dollars, I cannot say. His col- 
 orless face betrayed no sign ; his black eyes, qui- 
 etly observant, glanced indifferently past the legal 
 gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing 
 features of his neighbor. An Indian stoicism 
 said to be an inheritance from his maternal ances- 
 tor stood him in good service, until the rolling 
 wheels rattled upon the river-gravel at Scott's 
 Ferry, and the stage drew up at the International 
 Hotel for dinner. The legal gentleman and a 
 member of Congress leaped out, and stood ready 
 to assist the descending goddess, while Colonel 
 Starbottle, of Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol 
 and shawl. In this multiplicity of attention there 
 was a momentary confusion and delay. Jack 
 Hamlin quietly opened the opposite door of the 
 coach, took the lady's hand, with that decision 
 and positiveness which a hesitating and undecided 
 sex know how to admire, and in an instant had 
 dexterously and gracefully swung her to the 
 ground, and again lifted her to the platform. An 
 audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came from 
 that other cynic, "Yuba Bill," the driver. "Look 
 keerfully arter that baggage, Kernel," said the ex- 
 pressman, with affected concern, as he looked after 
 Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear 
 of the triumphant procession to the waiting-room. 
 Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse 
 was already saddled, and awaiting him. He dashed 
 
92 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and out into the 
 dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one 
 leaving an unpleasant fancy behind him. The 
 inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside shaded 
 their eyes with their hands, and looked after him, 
 recognizing the man by his horse, and speculating 
 what " was up with Comanche Jack." Yet much 
 of this interest centred in the horse, in a com- 
 munity where the time made by " French Pete's " 
 mare, in his run from the Sheriff of Calaveras, 
 eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that 
 worthy. 
 
 The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled 
 him to himself. He checked his speed, and, turn- 
 ing into a by-road, sometimes used as a cut-off, 
 trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging list- 
 lessly from his fingers. As he rode on, the char- 
 acter of the landscape changed, and became more 
 pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and syca- 
 more disclosed some rude attempts at cultivation, 
 a flowering vine trailed over the porch of one 
 cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under 
 the roses of another. A little farther on Mr. 
 Hamlin came upon some barelegged children, 
 wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought 
 upon them with a badinage peculiar to himself, 
 that they were emboldened to climb up his horse's 
 legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to de- 
 velop an exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 93 
 
 escape, leaving behind some kisses and coin. And 
 then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all 
 signs of habitation failed, he began to sing, up- 
 lifting a tenor so singularly sweet, and shaded by 
 a pathos so subduing and tender, that I wot the 
 robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's 
 voice was not cultivated ; the subject of his song 
 was some sentimental lunacy, borrowed from the 
 negro minstrels ; but there thrilled through all 
 some occult quality of tone and expression that 
 was unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a 
 wonderful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, 
 with a pack of cards in his pocket and a revolver 
 at his back, sending his voice before him through 
 the dim woods with a plaint about his " Nelly's 
 grave," in a way that overflowed the eyes of the 
 listener. A sparrow-hawk, fresh from his sixth 
 victim, possibly recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kin- 
 dred spirit, stared at him in surprise, and was fain 
 to confess the superiority of man. With a supe- 
 rior predatory capacity, Tie could n't sing. 
 
 But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again 
 on the high-road, and at his former pace. Ditches 
 and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps, 
 and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of 
 woodland and ravine, and indicated his approach 
 to civilization. Then a church-steeple came in 
 Bight, and he knew that he had reached home. 
 In a few moments he was clattering down the 
 
94 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 single narrow street, that lost itself in a chaotic 
 ruin of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot of 
 the hill, and dismounted before the gilded win- 
 dows of the " Magnolia " saloon. Passing through 
 the long bar-room, he pushed open a green-baize 
 door, entered a dark passage, opened another door 
 with a pass-key, and found himself in a dimly 
 lighted room, whose furniture, though elegant and 
 costly for the locality, showed signs of abuse. The 
 inlaid centre-table was overlaid with stained disks 
 that were not contemplated in the original design. 
 The embroidered arm-chairs were discolored, and 
 the green velvet lounge, on which Mr. Hamlin 
 threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the red 
 soil of Wingdam. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay 
 still, looking at a highly colored painting above 
 him, representing a young creature of opulent 
 charms. It occurred to him then, for the first 
 time, that he had never seen exactly that kind 
 of a woman, and that, if he should, he would not, 
 probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was 
 thinking of another style of beauty. But just then 
 some one knocked at the door. Without rising, 
 he pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, 
 for the door swung open, and a man entered. 
 
 The new-comer was broad-shouldered and ro- 
 bust, a vigor not borne out in the face, which, 
 though handsome, was singularly weak, and dis- 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 95 
 
 figured by dissipation. He appeared to be also 
 under the influence of liquor, for he started on 
 seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thought Kate 
 was here " ; stammered, and seemed confused and 
 embarrassed. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had be- 
 fore worn on the Wingdam coach, and sat up, quits 
 refreshed and ready for business. 
 
 " You did n't come up on the stage," continued 
 the new-comer, " did you ? " 
 
 "No," replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott'g 
 Ferry. It is n't due for half an hour yet. But 
 how 's luck, Brown ? " 
 
 "D bad," said Brown, his face suddenly 
 
 assuming an expression of weak despair ; " I 'm 
 cleaned out again. Jack," he continued, in a 
 whining tone, that formed a pitiable contrast 
 to his bulky figure, " can't you help me with 
 a hundred till to-morrow's clean-up ? You see 
 I Ve got to send money home to the old woman, 
 and you Ve won twenty times that amount 
 from me." 
 
 The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logi- 
 cal, but Jack overlooked it, and handed the sun- 
 to his visitor. " The old woman business is about 
 played out, Brown," he added, by way of commen- 
 tary ; " why don't you say you want to buck agin' 
 faro ? You know you ain't married ! " 
 
 " Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity 
 
96 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 as if the mere contact of the gold with the palm 
 of the hand had imparted some dignity to his 
 
 frame. " I Ve got a wife a d good one- 
 
 too, if I do say it in the States. It's three 
 year since I Ve seen her, and a year since I Ve 
 writ to her. When things is about straight, and 
 we get down to the lead, I 'm going to send for 
 her." 
 
 "And Kate?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his 
 previous smile. 
 
 Mr. Brown, of Calaveras, essayed an archness of 
 glance, to cover his confusion, which his weak face 
 and whiskey-muddled intellect but poorly carried 
 out, and said, 
 
 " D it, Jack, a man must have a little lib- 
 erty, you know. But come, what do you say to a 
 little game ? Give us a show to double this hun- 
 dred." 
 
 Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous 
 friend. Perhaps he knew that the man was pre- 
 destined to lose the money, and preferred that it 
 should flow back into his own coffers rather than 
 any other. He nodded his head, and drew his 
 chair toward the table. At the same moment 
 there came a rap upon the door. 
 
 " It 's Kate," said Mr. Brown. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt, and the door 
 opened. But, for the first time in his life, he stag- 
 gered to his feet, utterly unnerved and abashed. 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 97 
 
 and for the first time in his life the hot blood 
 crimsoned his colorless cheeks to his forehead. 
 For before him stood the lady he had lifted from 
 the Wingdam coach, whom Brown dropping his 
 cards with a hysterical laugh greeted as 
 
 " My old woman, by thunder ! " 
 
 They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears, and 
 reproaches of her husband. I saw her, in 1857, 
 at Marysville, and disbelieve the story. And 
 the Wingdam Chronicle, of the next week, under 
 the head of " Touching Keunion," said : " One of 
 those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar 
 to California life, occurred last week in our city. 
 The wife of one of Wingdam's eminent pioneers, 
 tired of the effete civilization of the East and its 
 inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble 
 husband upon these golden shores. Without in- 
 forming him of her intention, she undertook the 
 long journey, and arrived last week. The joy of 
 the husband may be easier imagined than de- 
 scribed. The meeting is said to have been inde- 
 jcribably affecting. We trust her example may 
 te followed." 
 
 Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to 
 some more successful speculations, Mr. Brown's 
 financial fortune from that day steadily improved. 
 He bought out his partners in the " Nip and Tuck " 
 lead, with money which was said to have been won 
 
98 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 at poker, a week or two after his wife's arrival, but 
 which rumor, adopting Mrs. Brown's theory that 
 Brown had forsworn the gaming-table, declared to 
 have been furnished by Mr. Jack Hamlin. He built 
 and furnished the " Wingdam House," which pretty 
 Mrs. Brown's great popularity kept overflowing 
 with guests. He was elected to the Assembly, 
 and gave largess to churches. A street in Wing- 
 dam was named in his honor. 
 
 Yet it was noted that in proportion as he waxed 
 wealthy and fortunate, he grew pale, thin, and 
 anxious. As his wife's popularity increased, h<3 
 became fretful and impatient. The most uxorious 
 of husbands, he was absurdly jealous. If he 
 did not interfere with his wife's social liberty, it 
 was because it was maliciously whispered that 
 his first and only attempt was met by an outburst 
 from Mrs. Brown that terrified him into silence. 
 Much of this kind of gossip came from those of 
 her own sex whom she had supplanted in the 
 chivalrous attentions of Wingdam, which, like 
 most popular chivalry, was devoted to an admira- 
 tion of power, whether of masculine force or fem- 
 inine beauty. It should be remembered, too, in 
 her extenuation, that, since her arrival, she had 
 been the unconscious priestess of a mythological 
 worship, perhaps not more ennobling to her woman- 
 hood than that which distinguished an older Greek 
 democracy. I think that Brown was dimly con- 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 99 
 
 scions of this. But his only confidant was Jack 
 Hamlin, whose infelix reputation naturally pre- 
 cluded any open intimacy with the family, and 
 whose visits were infrequent. 
 
 It was midsummer, and a moonlit night ; and 
 Mrs. Brown, very rosy, large-eyed, and pretty, sat 
 upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incense of the 
 mountain breeze, and, it is to be feared, another 
 incense which was not so fresh, nor quite as inno- 
 cent. Beside her sat Colonel Starbottle and Judge 
 Boompointer, and a later addition to her court, in 
 the shape of a foreign tourist. She was in good 
 spirits. 
 
 " What do you see down the road ? " inquired 
 the gallant Colonel, who had been conscious, for 
 the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown's attention 
 was diverted. 
 
 " Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. " Only 
 Sister Anne's ' flock of sheep/ " 
 
 The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not 
 extend farther back than last week's paper, took a 
 more practical view. " It ain't sheep," he contin~ 
 ued ; " it 's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack 
 Hamlin's gray?" 
 
 But the Judge did n't know ; and, as Mrs. Brown 
 suggested the air was growing too cold for further 
 investigations, they retired to the parlor. 
 
 Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he gener- 
 ally retired after dinner. Perhaps it was to show 
 
100 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 his contempt for his wife's companions ; perhaps, 
 like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the 
 exercise of absolute power over inferior animals. 
 He had a certain gratification in the training of a 
 chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as 
 pleased him, which he could n't do with Mrs. 
 Brown. It was here that he recognized a certain 
 gray horse which had just come in, and, looking a 
 little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greet- 
 ing was cordial and hearty ; Mr. Hamlin's some- 
 what restrained. But at Brown's urgent request, 
 he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow 
 corridor, and thence to a small room looking out 
 upon the stable-yard. It was plainly furnished 
 with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for 
 guns and whips. 
 
 " This yer 's my home, Jack," said Brown, with 
 a sigh, as he threw himself upon the bed, and mo- 
 tioned his companion to a chair. " Her room 's 
 t' other end of the hall. It 's more 'n six months 
 since we Ve lived together, or met, except at meals. 
 It 's mighty rough papers on the head of the house, 
 ain't it ? " he said, with a forced laugh. " But I 'm 
 
 glad to see you, Jack, d glad," and he reached 
 
 from the bed, and again shook the unresponsive 
 hand of Jack Hamlin. 
 
 " I brought ye up here, for I did n't want to 
 talk in the stable ; though, for the matter of that, 
 it 's all round town. Don't strike a light. We 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 101 
 
 can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet 
 on that winder, and sit here beside me. Thar 's 
 whiskey in that jug." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the infor- 
 mation. Brown, of Calaveras, turned his face to 
 the wall, and continued : 
 
 " If I did n't love the woman, Jack, I would n't 
 mind. But it 's loving her, and seeing her, day 
 arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no one to put 
 down the brake ; that 's what gits me J But I 'm 
 glad to see ye, Jack, d glad." 
 
 In the darkness he groped about until he had 
 found and wrung his companion's hand again. He 
 would have detained it, but Jack slipped it into 
 the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, list- 
 lessly, " How long has this been going on ? " 
 
 " Ever since she came here ; ever since the day 
 she walked into the Magnolia. I was a fool then ; 
 Jack, I 'm a fool now ; but I did n't know how 
 much I loved her till then. An I she has n't been 
 the same woman since. 
 
 " But that ain't all, Jack ; and it 's what I 
 wanted to see you about, and I 'm glad you Ve 
 come. It ain't that she does n't love me any 
 more ; it ain't that she fools with every chap 
 that comes along, for, perhaps, [ staked her love 
 and lost it, as I did everything *,lse at the Mag- 
 nolia ; and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some 
 women, and thar ain't no great harm done, 'cept 
 
102 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 to the fools. But, Jack, I think, I think she 
 loves somebody else. Don't move, Jack; don't 
 move ; if your pistol hurts ye, take it off. 
 
 " It 's been more 'n six months now that she 's 
 seemed unhappy and lonesome, and kinder nervous 
 and scared like. And sometimes I 've ketched 
 her lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And 
 she writes to somebody. And for the last week 
 she 's been gathering her own things, trinkets, 
 and furbelows, and jew'lry, and, Jack, I think 
 she 's goin' off. I could stand all but that. To 
 have her steal away like a thief " He put his 
 face downward to the pillow, and for a few mo- 
 ments there was no sound but the ticking of a 
 clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, 
 and moved to the open window. The moon no 
 longer shone into the room, and the bed and its 
 occupant were in shadow. "What shall I do. 
 Jack ? " said the voice from the darkness. 
 
 The answer came promptly and clearly from the 
 window-side, "Spot the man, and kill him OD 
 sight." 
 
 "But, Jack?" 
 
 "He's took the risk!" 
 
 " But will that bring her back ? " 
 
 Jack did not reply, but moved from the window 
 towards the door. 
 
 " Don't go yet, Jack ; light the candle, and sit 
 by the table. It 's a comfort to see ye, if nothin' 
 else/' 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 103 
 
 Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a 
 pack of cards from his pocket and shuffled them, 
 glancing at the bed. But Brown's face was turned 
 to the wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the 
 cards, he cut them, and dealt one card on the op- 
 posite side of the table and towards the bed, and 
 another on his side of the table for himself. The 
 first was a deuce ; his own card, a king. He then 
 shuffled and cut again. This time " dummy " had 
 a queen, and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened 
 up for the third deal. It brought his adversary a 
 deuce, and himself a king again. "Two out of 
 three," said Jack, audibly. 
 
 " What 's that, Jack ? " said Brown. 
 
 * Nothing." 
 
 Then Jack tried his hand with dice ; but he al- 
 ways threw sixes, and his imaginary opponent 
 aces. The force of habit is sometimes confus- 
 ing. 
 
 Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. 
 Hamlin's presence, or the anodyne of liquor, or 
 both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept. 
 Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window, and 
 looked out on the town of Wingdam, now sleeping 
 peacefully, its harsh outlines softened and sub- 
 dued, its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in 
 the moonlight that flowed over all. In the hush 
 he could hear the gurgling of water in the ditches, 
 and the sighing of the pines beyond the hilL 
 
104 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 Then he looked up at the firmament, and as ne 
 did so a star shot across the twinkling field. Pres- 
 ently another, and then another. The phenome- 
 non suggested to Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If 
 in another fifteen minutes another star should 
 fall He sat there, watch in hand, for twice 
 that time, but the phenomenon was not repeated. 
 
 The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. 
 Mr. Hamlin approached the table, and took from 
 his pocket a letter, which he read by the flicker- 
 ing candle-light. It contained only a single line, 
 written in pencil, in a woman's hand, 
 
 " Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three." 
 
 The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. 
 * Are you there, Jack ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack, 
 dreamed of old times. I thought that Sue and me 
 was being married agin, and that the parson, Jack, 
 was who do you think ? you ! " 
 
 The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the 
 bed, the paper still in his hand. 
 
 " It 's a good sign, ain't it ? " queried Brown. 
 
 " I reckon. Say, old man, had n't you better get 
 up?" 
 
 The " old man," thus affectionately appealed to, 
 rose, with the assistance of Hamlin's outstretched 
 hand. 
 
 "Smoke?" 
 
BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 105 
 
 Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar. 
 
 "Light?" 
 
 Jack had twisted the letter i??*<o a spiral, lit it, 
 and held it for his companion. .He continued to 
 hold it until it was consumed, v.3 dropped the 
 fragment a fiery star from the open window. 
 He watched it as it fell, and then returned to his 
 friend. 
 
 "Old man," he said, placing his hands upon 
 Brown's shoulders, " in ten minutes I '11 be on the 
 road, and gone like that spark. We won't see each 
 other agin ; but, before I go, take a fool's advice : 
 sell out all you Ve got, take your wife with you, 
 and quit the country. It ain't no place for you, 
 nor her. Tell her she must go ; ?nake her go, if 
 she won't. Don't whine because you can't be a 
 saint, and she ain't an angel. Be a man, and 
 
 treat her like a woman. Don't be a d fool. 
 
 Good by." 
 
 He tore himself from Brown's grasp, and leaped 
 down the stairs like a deer. At the stable-door he 
 collared the half-sleeping hostler, and backed him 
 against the wall. " Saddle my horse in two min- 
 utes, or I '11 " The ellipsis was frightfvlly sug* 
 gestive. 
 
 " The missis said you was to have th buggy,* 
 stammered the man, 
 
 " D n the buggy ! " 
 
 The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous* 
 
 6* 
 
106 BROWN OF CALAVERAS. 
 
 hands of the astounded hostler could manipulate 
 buckle and strap. 
 
 "Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin?" said the man, 
 who, like all his class, admired the Man of his fiery 
 patron, and was really concerned in his welfare. 
 
 " Stand aside ! " 
 
 The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and 
 clatter, Jack was into the road. In another mo- 
 ment, to the man's half-awakened eyes, he was but 
 a moving cloud of dust in the distance, towards 
 which a star just loosed from its brethren was 
 trailing a stream of fire. 
 
 But early that morning the dwellers by the 
 Wingdam turnpike, miles away, heard a voice, 
 pure as a sky-lark's, singing afield. They who 
 were asleep turned over on their rude couches to 
 dream of youth and love and olden days. Hard- 
 faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at 
 work, ceased their labors and leaned upon their 
 picks, to listen to a romantic vagabond ambling 
 away against the rosy sunrise. 
 
HIGH-WATER MAEK 
 
 WHEN the tide was out on the Dedlow 
 Marsh, its extended dreariness was patent. 
 [ts spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools, 
 and tortuous sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel- 
 like, toward the open bay, were all hard facts. So 
 were the few green tussocks, with their scant 
 blades, their amphibious flavor, and unpleasant 
 dampness. And if you choose to indulge your 
 fancy, although the flat monotony of the Bed- 
 low Marsh was not inspiring, the wavy line of 
 scattered drift gave an unpleasant consciousness 
 of the spent waters, and made the dead certainty 
 of the returning tide a gloomy reflection, which no 
 present sunshine could dissipate. The greener 
 meadow-land seemed oppressed with this idea, and 
 made no positive attempt at vegetation until the 
 work of reclamation should be complete. In the 
 bitter fruit of the low cranberry-bushes one might 
 fancy he detected a naturally sweet disposition 
 curdled and soured by an injudicious course of too 
 much regular cold water. 
 
 The vocal expression of the Dedlow Marsh was 
 also melancholy and depressing. The sepulchral 
 
108 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 boom of the bittern, the shriek of the curlew, the 
 scream of passing brent, the wrangling of quarrel- 
 some teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the 
 startled crane, and syllabled complaint of the 
 " killdeer " plover were beyond the power of writ- 
 ten expression. Nor was the aspect of these 
 mournful fowls at all cheerful and inspiring. Cer- 
 tainly not the blue peron standing midleg deep 
 in the water, obviously catching cold in a reckless 
 disregard of wet feet and consequences ; nor the 
 mournful curlew, the dejected plover, or the low- 
 spirited snipe, who saw fit to join him in his 
 suicidal contemplation ; nor the impassive king- 
 fisher an ornithological Marius reviewing the 
 desolate expanse ; nor the black raven that went 
 to and fro over the face of the marsh continu- 
 ally, but evidently could n't make up his mind 
 whether the waters had subsided, and felt low- 
 spirited in the reflection that, after all this trouble, 
 he would n't be able to give a definite answer. 
 On the contrary, it was evident at a glance that 
 the dreary expanse of Dedlow Marsh told un- 
 pleasantly on the birds, and that the season of 
 migration was looked forward to with a feeling of 
 relief and satisfaction by the full-grown, and of 
 extravagant anticipation by the callow, brood. But 
 if Dedlow Marsh was cheerless at the slack of the 
 low tide, you should have seen it when the tide 
 was strong and full. When the damp air blew 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK. 109 
 
 chilly over the cold, glittering expanse, and came 
 to the faces of those who looked seaward like 
 another tide ; when a steel-like glint marked the 
 low hollows and the sinuous line of slough ; when 
 the great shell-incrusted trunks of fallen trees 
 arose again, and went forth on their dreary, pur- 
 poseless wanderings, drifting hither and thither, 
 but getting no farther toward any goal at the fall- 
 ing tide or the day's decline than the cursed He- 
 brew in the legend ; when the glossy ducks swung 
 silently, making neither ripple nor furrow on the 
 shimmering surface ; when the fog came in with 
 the tide and shut out the blue above, even as the 
 green below had been obliterated ; when boatmen, 
 lost in that fog, paddling about in a hopeless way, 
 started at what seemed the brushing of mermen's 
 fingers on the boat's keel, or shrank from the tufts 
 of grass spreading around like the floating hair of 
 a corpse, and knew by these signs that they were 
 lost upon Dedlow Marsh, and must make a night 
 of it, and a gloomy one at that, then you might 
 know something of Dedlow Marsh at high water. 
 Let me recall a story connected with this latter 
 new which never failed to recur to my mind in 
 my long gunning excursions upon Dedlow Marsh. 
 Although the event was briefly recorded in the 
 county paper, I had the story, in all its eloquent 
 detail, from the lips of the principal actor. I can- 
 not hope to catch the varying emphasis and pecu- 
 
110 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 liar coloring of feminine delineation, for my nar- 
 rator was a woman ; but I '11 try to give at least 
 its substance. 
 
 She lived midway of the great slough of Ded- 
 low Marsh and a good-sized river, which de- 
 bouched four miles beyond into an estuary formed 
 by the Pacific Ocean, on the long sandy penin- 
 sula which constituted the southwestern boundary 
 of a noble bay. The house in which she lived 
 was a small frame cabin raised from the marsh 
 a few feet by stout piles, and was three miles dis- 
 tant from the settlements upon the river. Her 
 husband was a logger, a profitable business in 
 a county where the principal occupation was the 
 manufacture of lumber. 
 
 It was the season of early spring, when her hus- 
 band left on the ebb of a high tide, with a raft of 
 logs for the usual transportation to the lower end 
 of the bay. As she stood by the door of the lit- 
 tle cabin when the voyagers departed she noticed 
 a cold look in the southeastern sky, and she re- 
 membered hearing her husband say to his com- 
 panions that they must endeavor to complete 
 their voyage before the coming of the southwest- 
 erly gale which he saw brewing. And that night 
 it began to storm and blow harder than she had 
 ever before experienced, and some great trees fell 
 in the forest by the river, and the house rocked 
 like her baby's cradle. 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK. Ill 
 
 But however the storm might roai about the 
 little cabin, she knew that one she trusted had 
 driven bolt and bar with his own strong hand, 
 and that had he feared for her he would not 
 have left her. This, and her domestic duties, and 
 the care of her little sickly baby, helped to keep 
 her mind from dwelling on the weather, except, of 
 course, to hope that he was safely harbored with 
 the logs at Utopia in the dreary distance. But 
 she noticed that day, when she went out to feed 
 the chickens and look after the cow, that the 
 tide was up to the little fence of their garden- 
 patch, and the roar of the surf on the south 
 beach, though miles away, she could hear dis- 
 tinctly. And she began to think that she would 
 like to have some one to talk with about mat- 
 ters, and she believed that if it had not been so 
 far and so stormy, and the trail so impassable, 
 she would have taken the baby and have gone 
 over to Eyckman's, her nearest neighbor. But 
 then, you see, he might have returned in the 
 storm, all wet, with no one to see to him ; and it 
 was a long exposure for baby, who was croupy 
 and ailing. 
 
 But that night, she never could tell why, she 
 did n't feel like sleeping or even lying down. The 
 storm had somewhat abated, but she still " sat and 
 sat," and even tried to read. I don't know whether 
 it was a Bible or some profane magazine that this 
 
112 HIGH- WATER MARK. 
 
 poor woman read, but most probably the latter, fo* 
 the words all ran together and made such sad non- 
 sense that she was forced at last to put the book 
 down and turn to that dearer volume which lay 
 before her in the cradle, with its white initial leaf 
 as yet unsoiled, and try to look forward to its mys- 
 terious future. And, rocking the cradle, she thought 
 of everything and everybody, but still was wide 
 awake as ever. 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock when she at last 
 laid down in her clothes. How long she slept she 
 could not remember, but she awoke with a dread- 
 ful choking in her throat, and found herself stand- 
 ing, trembling all over, in the middle of the room, 
 with her baby clasped to her breast, and she was 
 " saying something." The baby cried and sobbed, 
 and she walked up and down trying to hush it, 
 when she heard a scratching at the door. She 
 opened it fearfully, and was glad to see it was 
 only old Pete, their dog, who crawled, dripping 
 with water, into the room. She would like to 
 have looked out, not in the faint hope of her hus- 
 band's coming, but to see how things looked ; but 
 ihe wind shook the door so savagely that she could 
 hardly hold it. Then she sat down a little while, 
 and then walked up and down a little while, and 
 then she lay down again a little while. Lying 
 close by the wall of the little cabin, she thought 
 she heard once or twice something scrape slowly 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK. 113 
 
 against the clapboards, like the scraping of branches. 
 Then there was a little gurgling sound, " like the 
 baby made when it was swallowing " ; then some- 
 thing went " click-click " and " cluck-cluck," so 
 that she sat up in bed. When she did so she was 
 attracted by something else that seemed creeping 
 from the back door towards the centre of the room. 
 It was n't much wider than her little finger, but 
 soon it swelled to the width of her hand, and be- 
 gan spreading all over the floor. It was water. 
 
 She ran to the front door and threw it wide 
 open, and saw nothing but water. She ran to the 
 back door and threw it open, and saw nothing but 
 water. She ran to the side window, and, throwing 
 that open, she saw nothing but water. Then she 
 remembered hearing her husband once say that 
 there was no danger in the tide, for that fell regu- 
 larly, and people could calculate on it, and that he 
 would rather live near the bay than the river, 
 whose banks might overflow at any time. But 
 was it the tide? So she ran again to the back 
 door, and threw out a stick of wood. It drifted 
 away towards the bay. She scooped up some of 
 the water and put it eagerly to her lips. It was 
 fresh and sweet. It was the river, and not the 
 tide! 
 
 It was then 0, God be praised for his good- 
 ness ! she did neither faint nor fall ; it was then 
 blessed be the Saviour for it was his merciful 
 
114 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 hand that touched and strengthened her in this 
 awful moment that fear dropped from her like 
 a garment, and her trembling ceased. It was then 
 and thereafter that she never lost her self-com- 
 mand, through all the 'trials of that gloomy night. 
 She drew the bedstead towards the middle of 
 the room, and pkced a table upon it and on that 
 she put the cradle. The water on the floor was 
 already over her ankles, and the house once or 
 twice moved so perceptibly, and seemed to be 
 racked so, that the closet doors all flew open. 
 Then she heard the same rasping and thumping 
 against the wall, and, looking out, saw that a large 
 uprooted tree, which had lain near the road at the 
 upper end of the pasture, had floated down to the 
 house. Luckily its long roots dragged in the soil 
 and kept it from moving as rapidly as the current, 
 for had it struck the house in its full career, even 
 the strong nails and bolts in the piles could not 
 have withstood the shock. The hound had leaped 
 upon its knotty surface, and crouched near the 
 roots shivering and whining. A ray of hope 
 flashed across her mind. She drew a heavy 
 blanket from the bed, and, wrapping it about the 
 babe, waded in the deepening waters to the door. 
 As the tree swung again, broadside on, making the 
 little cabin creak and tremble, she leaped on to its 
 trunk. By God's mercy she succeeded in obtain- 
 ing a footing on its slippery surface, and, twining 
 
HIGH-WATER MARK. 115 
 
 an arm about its roots, she held in the other her 
 moaning child. Then something cracked near the 
 front porch, and the whole front of the house she 
 had just quitted fell forward, just as cattle fall 
 on their knees before they lie down, and at the 
 same moment the great redwood-tree swung round 
 and drifted away with its living cargo into the 
 black night. 
 
 For all the excitement and danger, for all her 
 soothing of her crying babe, for all the whistling 
 of the wind, for all the uncertainty of her situa- 
 tion, she still turned to look at the deserted and 
 water-swept cabin. She remembered even then, 
 and she wonders how foolish she was to think of 
 it at that time, that she wished she had put on 
 another dress and the baby's best clothes ; and 
 she kept praying that the house would be spared 
 so that he, when he returned, would have some- 
 thing to come to, and it wouldn't be quite so 
 desolate, and how could he ever know what had 
 become of her and baby ? And at the thought 
 she grew sick and faint. But she had something 
 else to do besides worrying, for whenever the long 
 roots of her ark struck an obstacle, the whole 
 trunk made half a revolution, and twice dipped 
 her in the black water. The hound, who kept 
 distracting her by running up and down the tree 
 and howling, at last fell off at one of these collis- 
 ions. He swam for some time beside her, and she 
 
116 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 tried to get the poor beast upon the tree, but he 
 "acted silly" and wild, and at last she lost sight of 
 him forever. Then she and her baby were left 
 alone. The light which had burned for a few 
 minutes in the deserted cabin was quenched sud- 
 denly. She could not then tell whither she was 
 drifting. The outline of the white dunes on the 
 peninsula showed dimly ahead, and she judged 
 the tree was moving in a line with the river. It 
 must be about slack water, and she had probably 
 reached the eddy formed by the confluence of the 
 tide and the overflowing waters of the river. Un> 
 less the tide fell soon, there was present danger of 
 her drifting to its channel, and being carried out 
 to sea or crushed in the floating drift. That peril 
 averted, if she were carried out on the ebb toward 
 the bay, she might hope to strike one of the 
 wooded promontories of the peninsula, and rest 
 till daylight. Sometimes she thought she heard 
 voices and shouts from the river, and the bellow- 
 ing of cattle and bleating of sheep. Then again 
 it was only the ringing in her ears and throbbing 
 of her heart. She found at about this time that 
 she was so chilled and stiffened in her cramped 
 position that she could scarcely move, and the baby 
 cried so when she put it to her breast that she 
 noticed the milk refused to flow ; and she was so 
 frightened at that, that she put her head unde* 
 her shawl, and for the first time cried bitterly. 
 
HIGH- WATER MARK. 117 
 
 When she raised her head again, the boom of 
 the surf was behind her, and she knew that hef 
 ark had again swung round. She dipped up the 
 water to cool her parched throat, and found that it 
 was salt as her tears. There was a relief, though, 
 for by this sign she knew that she was drifting 
 with the tide. It was then the wind went down, and 
 the great and awful silence oppressed her. There 
 was scarcely a ripple against the furrowed sides of 
 the great trunk on which she rested, and around 
 her all was black gloom and quiet. She spoke to 
 the baby just to hear herself speak, and to know that 
 she had not lost her voice. She thought then, 
 it was queer, but she could not help thinking it, 
 how awful must have been the night when the 
 great ship swung over the Asiatic peak, and the 
 sounds of creation were blotted out from the world. 
 She thought, too, of mariners clinging to spars, and 
 of poor women who were lashed to.rafts, and beaten 
 to death by the cruel sea. She tried to thank God 
 that she was thus spared, and lifted her eyes from 
 the baby who had fallen into a fretful sleep. Sud- 
 denly, away to the southward, a great light lifted 
 itself out of the gloom, and flashed and flickered, 
 and flickered and flashed again. Her heart fluttered 
 quickly against the baby's cold cheek. It was the 
 lighthouse at the entrance of the bay. As she 
 was yet wondering, the tree suddenly rolled a lit- 
 tle, dragged a little, and then seemed to lie quiet 
 
118 HIGH- WATER MARK. 
 
 and still. She put out her hand and the current 
 gurgled against it. The tree was aground, and, by 
 the position of the light and the noise of the surf, 
 aground upon the Dedlow Marsh. 
 
 Had it not been for her baby, who was ailing and 
 croupy, had it not been for the sudden drying up 
 of that sensitive fountain, she would have felt safe 
 and relieved. Perhaps it was this which tended to 
 make all her impressions mournful and gloomy. 
 As the tide rapidly fell, a great flock of black brent 
 fluttered by her, screaming and crying. Then the 
 plover flew up and piped mournfully, as they 
 wheeled around the trunk, and at last fearlessly lit 
 upon it like a gray cloud. Then the heron flew 
 over and around her, shrieking and protesting, and 
 at last dropped its gaunt legs only a few yards from 
 her. But, strangest of all, a pretty white bird, 
 larger than a dove, like a pelican, but not a peli- 
 can, circled around and around her. At last it 
 lit upon a rootlet of the tree, quite over her shoul- 
 der. She put out her hand and stroked its beau- 
 tiful white neck, and it never appeared to move. 
 It stayed there so long that she thought she would 
 lift up the baby to see it, and try to attract her at- 
 tention. But when she did so, the child was so 
 chilled and cold, and had such a blue look under 
 the little lashes which it did n't raise at all, that 
 she screamed aloud, and the bird flew away, and 
 she fainted. 
 
HIGH- WATER MARK. 119 
 
 Well, that was the worst of it, and perhaps it 
 was not so much, after all, to any but herself. 
 For when she recovered her senses it was bright 
 sunlight, and dead low water. There was a con- 
 fused noise of guttural voices about her, and an 
 old squaw, singing an Indian "hushaby," and 
 rocking herself from side to side before a fire 
 built on the marsh, before which she, the recov- 
 ered wife and mother, lay weak and weary. Her 
 first thought was for her baby, and she was about 
 to speak, when a young squaw, who must have 
 been a mother herself, fathomed her thought and 
 brought her the "mowitch," pale but living, in 
 such a queer little willow cradle all bound up, just 
 like the squaw's own young one, that she laughed 
 and cried together, and the young squaw and the 
 old squaw showed their big white teeth and 
 glinted their black eyes and said, "Plenty get 
 well, skeena mow'tch," " wagee man come plenty 
 soon," and she could have kissed their brown faces 
 in her joy. And then she found that they had 
 been gathering berries on the marsh in their queer, 
 comical baskets, and saw the skirt of her gown 
 fluttering on the tree from afar, and the old squaw 
 could n't resist the temptation of procuring a new 
 garment, and came down and discovered the " wa- 
 gee " woman and child. And of course she gave 
 the garment to the old squaw, as you may imagine, 
 and when he came at last and rushed up to her, 
 
120 HIGH-WATER MARK. 
 
 looking about ten years older in his anxiety, she 
 felt so faint again that they had to carry her to 
 the canoe. For, you see, he knew nothing about 
 the flood until he met the Indians at Utopia, and 
 knew by the signs that the poor woman was his 
 wife. And at the next high-tide he towed the 
 tree away back home, although it wasn't worth 
 the trouble, and built another house, using the 
 old tree for the foundation and props, and called 
 it after her, " Mary's Ark ! " But you may guess 
 the next house was built above High- water mark. 
 And that 's all 
 
 Not much, perhaps, considering the malevolent 
 capacity of the Dedlow Marsh. But you must 
 tramp over it at low water, or paddle over it at 
 high tide, or get lost upon it once or twice in 
 the fog, as I have, to understand properly Mary's 
 adventure, or to appreciate duly the blessings of 
 living beyond High- Water Mark, 
 
A LONELY BIDE. 
 
 AS I stepped into the Slumgullion stage I saw 
 that it was a dark night, a lonely road, and 
 that I was the only passenger. Let me assure the 
 reader that I have no ulterior design in making 
 this assertion. A long course of light reading has 
 forewarned me what every experienced intelligence 
 must confidently look for from such a statement. 
 The story-teller who wilfully tempts Fate by such 
 obvious beginnings ; who is to the expectant reader 
 in danger of being robbed or half murdered, or 
 frightened by an escaped lunatic, or introduced to 
 his lady-love for the first time, deserves to be de- 
 tected. I am relieved to say that none of these 
 things occurred to me. The road from Wingdam 
 to Slumgullion knew no other banditti than the 
 regularly licensed hotel-keepers ; lunatics had not 
 yet reached such depth of imbecility as to ride 
 of their own free-will in California stages ; and my 
 Laura, amiable and long-suffering as she always is, 
 could not, I fear, have borne up against these de- 
 pressing circumstances long enough to have made 
 the slightest impression on me. 
 
 I stood with my shawl and carpet-bag in hand, 
 
122 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 gazing doubtingly on the vehicle. Even in the 
 darkness the red dust of Wingdam was visible 
 on its roof and sides, and the red slime of Slum- 
 gullion clung tenaciously to its wheels. I opened 
 the door ; the stage creaked uneasily, and in the 
 gloomy abyss the swaying straps beckoned me, 
 like ghostly hands, to come in now, and have my 
 sufferings out at once. 
 
 I must not omit to mention the occurrence of a 
 circumstance which struck me as appalling and 
 mysterious. A lounger on the steps of the hotel, 
 whom I had reason to suppose was not in any way 
 connected with the stage company, gravely de- 
 scended, and, walking toward the conveyance, tried 
 the handle of the door, opened it, expectorated 
 in the carriage, and returned to the hotel with a 
 serious demeanor. Hardly had he resumed his 
 position, when another individual, equally dis- 
 interested, impassively walked down the steps, 
 proceeded to the back of the stage, lifted it, ex- 
 pectorated carefully on the axle, and returned 
 slowly and pensively to the hotel. A third spec- 
 tator wearily disengaged himself from one of the 
 Ionic columns of the portico and walked to the 
 box, remained for a moment in serious and expec- 
 torative contemplation of the boot, and then re- 
 turned to his column. There was something so 
 weird in this baptism that I grew quite nervous. 
 
 Perhaps I was out of spirits. A number of in- 
 
A LONELY RIDE. 123 
 
 finitesimal annoyances, winding up with the res- 
 olute persistency of the clerk at the stage-office 
 to enter my name misspelt on the way-bill, had 
 not predisposed me to cheerfulness. The inmates 
 of the Eureka House, from a social view-point, 
 were not attractive. There was the prevailing 
 opinion so common to many honest people 
 that a serious style of deportment and conduct 
 toward a stranger indicates high gentility and 
 elevated station. Obeying this principle, all hi- 
 larity ceased on my entrance to supper, and gen- 
 eral remark merged into the safer and uncompro- 
 mising chronicle of several bad cases of diphtheria, 
 then epidemic at Wingdam. When I left the 
 dining-room, with an odd feeling that I had been 
 supping exclusively on mustard and tea-leaves, I 
 stopped a moment at the parlor door. A piano, 
 harmoniously related 'to the dinner-bell, tinkled re- 
 sponsive to a diffident and uncertain touch. On the 
 white wall the shadow of an old and sharp profile 
 was bending over several symmetrical and shadowy 
 curls. " I sez to Mariar, Mariar, sez I, ' Praise to the 
 face is open disgrace.' " I heard no more. Dreading 
 some susceptibility to sincere expression on the 
 subject of female loveliness, I walked away, check- 
 ing the compliment that otherwise might have 
 risen unbidden to my lips, and have brought 
 shame and sorrow to the household. 
 
 It was with the memory of these experiences 
 
124 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 resting heavily apon me, that I stood hesitatingly 
 before the stage door. The driver, about to mount, 
 was for a moment illuminated by the open door of 
 the hotel. He had the wearied look which was 
 the distinguishing expression of Wingdam. Satis- 
 fied that I was properly way-billed and receipted 
 for, he took no further notice of me. I looked 
 longingly at the box-seat, but he did not respond 
 to the appeal. I flung my carpet-bag into the 
 chasm, dived recklessly after it, and before I 
 was fairly seated with a great sigh, a creak- 
 ing of unwilling springs, complaining bolts, and 
 harshly expostulating axle, we moved away. 
 Kather the hotel door slipped behind, the sound 
 of the piano sank to rest, and the night and its 
 shadows moved solemnly upon us. 
 
 To say it was dark expressed but faintly the 
 pitchy obscurity that encompassed the vehicle. 
 The roadside trees were scarcely distinguishable as 
 deeper masses of shadow; I knew them only by 
 the peculiar sodden odor that from time to time slug- 
 gishly flowed in at the open window as we rolled 
 by. We proceeded slowly ; so leisurely that, lean- 
 ing from the carriage, I more than once detected 
 the fragrant sigh of some astonished cow, whose 
 ruminating repose upon the highway we had ruth- 
 lessly disturbed. But in the darkness our progress, 
 more the guidance of some mysterious instinct 
 than any apparent volition of our own, gave an 
 
A LONELY RIDE. 125 
 
 indefinable charm of security to our journey, that 
 a moment's hesitation or indecision on the part of 
 the driver would have destroyed. 
 
 I had indulged a hope that in the empty vehi- 
 cle I might obtain that rest so often denied me 
 in its crowded condition. It was a weak delusion. 
 When I stretched out my limbs it was only to find 
 that the ordinary conveniences for making several 
 people distinctly uncomfortable were distributed 
 throughout my individual frame. At last, resting 
 my arms on the straps, by dint of much gymnas- 
 tic effort I became sufficiently composed to be 
 aware of a more refined species of torture. The 
 springs of the stage, rising and falling regularly, 
 produced a rhythmical beat, which began to pain- 
 fully absorb my attention. Slowly this thumping 
 merged into a senseless echo of the mysterious 
 female of the hotel parlor, and shaped itself into 
 this awful and benumbing axiom, " Praise-to-the- 
 face-is-open-disgrace. Praise-to-the-face-is-open- 
 disgrace." Inequalities of the road only quickened 
 its utterance or drawled it to an exasperating 
 length. 
 
 It was of no use to seriously consider the state- 
 ment. It was of no use to except to it indignantly. 
 It was of no use to recall the many instances 
 where praise to the face had redounded to the 
 everlasting honor of praiser and bepraised ; of no 
 use to dwell sentimentally on modest genius 
 
126 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 courage lifted up and strengthened by open com- 
 mendation ; of no use to except to the mysterious 
 female, to picture her as rearing a thin-blooded 
 generation on selfish and mechanically repeated 
 axioms, all this failed to counteract the monoto- 
 nous repetition of this sentence. There was noth- 
 ing to do but to give in, and I was about to ac- 
 cept it weakly, as we too often treat other illusions 
 of darkness and necessity, for the time being, 
 when I became aware of some other annoyance 
 that had been forcing itself upon me for the last 
 few moments. How quiet the driver was ! 
 
 Was there any driver ? Had I any reason to 
 suppose that he was not lying, gagged and bound 
 on the roadside, and the highwayman, with black- 
 ened face who did the thing so quietly, driving me 
 whither ? The thing is perfectly feasible. And 
 what is this fancy now being jolted out of me. A 
 story ? It 's of no use to keep it back, particu- 
 larly in this abysmal vehicle, and here it comes : 
 I am a Marquis, a French Marquis ; French, be- 
 cause the peerage is not so well known, and the 
 country is better adapted to romantic incident, 
 a Marquis, because the democratic reader delights 
 in the nobility. My name is something ligny. I 
 am coming from Paris to my country-seat at St. 
 Germain. It is a dark night, and I fall asleep and 
 tell my honest coachman, Andre, not to disturb me, 
 and dream of an angel. The carriage at last stops 
 
A LONELY BIDE. 127 
 
 at the chateau. It is so dark that when I alight 
 I do not recognize the face of the footman who 
 holds the carriage door. But what of that ? peste ! 
 I am heavy with sleep. The same obscurity also 
 hides the old familiar indecencies of the statues 
 on the terrace ; but there is a door, and it opens 
 and shuts behind me smartly. Then I find myself 
 in a trap, in the presence of the brigand who has 
 quietly gagged poor Andre* and conducted the car- 
 riage thither. There is nothing for me to do, as a 
 gallant French Marquis, but to say, " Parbleu ! " 
 draw my rapier, and die valorously ! I am found a 
 week or two after, outside a deserted cabaret near 
 the barrier, with a hole through my ruffled linen 
 and my pockets stripped. No ; on second thoughts, 
 I am rescued, rescued by the angel I have been 
 dreaming of, who is the assumed daughter of the 
 brigand, but the real daughter of an intimate 
 friend. 
 
 Looking from the window again, in the vain 
 hope of distinguishing the driver, I found my eyes 
 were growing accustomed to the darkness. I could 
 see the distant horizon, defined by India-inky 
 woods, relieving a lighter sky. A few stars widely 
 spaced in this picture glimmered sadly. I noticed 
 again the infinite depth of patient sorrow in their 
 serene faces ; and I hope that the Vandal who first 
 applied the flippant " twinkle " to them may not be 
 driven melancholy mad by their reproachful eyea 
 
128 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 I noticed again the mystic charm of space that im- 
 parts a sense of individual solitude to each integer 
 of the densest constellation, involving the smallest 
 star with immeasurable loneliness. Something of 
 
 O 
 
 this calm and solitude crept over me, and I dozed in 
 my gloomy cavern. When I awoke the full moon 
 was rising. Seen from my window, it had an 
 indescribably unreal and theatrical effect. It was 
 the full moon of Norma, that remarkable celestial 
 phenomenon which rises so palpably to a hushed 
 audience and a sublime andante chorus, until the 
 Casta Diva is sung, the "inconstant moon" that 
 then and thereafter remains fixed in the heavens as 
 though it were a part of the solar system inaugu- 
 rated by Joshua. Again the white-robed Druids 
 filed past me, again I saw that improbable mistle- 
 toe cut from that impossible oak, and again cold 
 chills ran down my back with the first strain of the 
 recitative. The thumping springs essayed to beat 
 time, and the private-box-like obscurity of the 
 vehicle lent a cheap enchantment to the view. 
 But it was a vast improvement upon my past ex- 
 perience, and I hugged the fond delusion. 
 
 My fears for the driver were dissipated with the 
 rising moon. A familiar sound had assured me of 
 his presence in the full possession of at least one 
 of his most important functions. Frequent and 
 full expectoration convinced me that his lips were 
 as yet not sealed by the gag of highwaymen, and 
 
A LONELY RIDE. 129 
 
 soothed my anxious ear. With this load lifted 
 from my mind, and assisted by the mild presence 
 of Diana, who left, as when she visited Endymion, 
 much of her splendor outside my cavern, I 
 looked around the empty vehicle. On the forward 
 seat lay a woman's hair-pin. I picked it up with 
 an interest that, however, soon abated. There was 
 no scent of the roses to cling to it still, not even 
 of hair-oil. No bend or twist in its rigid angles 
 betrayed any trait of its wearer's character. I 
 tried to think that it might have been " Mariar's." 
 I tried to imagine that, confining the symmet- 
 rical curls of that girl, it might have heard the 
 soft compliments whispered in her ears, which 
 provoked the wrath of the aged female. But in 
 vain. It was reticent and unswerving in its up- 
 right fidelity, and at last slipped listlessly through 
 my fingers. 
 
 I had dozed repeatedly, waked on the thresh- 
 old of oblivion by contact with some of the angles 
 of the coach, and feeling that I was uncon- 
 sciously assuming, in imitation of a humble in- 
 sect of my childish recollection, that spherical 
 shape which could best resist those impressions, 
 when I perceived that the moon, riding high in 
 the heavens, had begun to separate the formless 
 masses of the shadowy landscape. Trees isolated, 
 in clumps and assemblages, changed places before 
 my window. The sharp outlines of the distent 
 
 6* I 
 
130 A LONELY RIDE. 
 
 hills came back, as in daylight, but little softertd 
 in the dry, cold, dewless air of a California sum- 
 mer night. I was wondering how late it was, and 
 thinking that if the horses of the night travelled as 
 slowly as the team before us, Faustus might have 
 been spared his agonizing prayer, when a sudden 
 spasm of activity attacked my driver. A succes- 
 sion of whip-snappings, like a pack of Chinese 
 crackers, broke from the box before me. The stage 
 leaped forward, and when I could pick myself 
 from under the seat, a long white building had in 
 some mysterious way rolled before my window. 
 It must be Slumgullion ! As I descended from the 
 stage I addressed the driver : 
 
 " I thought you changed horses on the road ? " 
 
 " So we did. Two hours ago." 
 
 " That 's odd. I did n't notice it." 
 
 " Must have been asleep, sir. Hope you had a 
 pleasant nap. Bully place for a nice quiet snooze, 
 empty stage, sir I " 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 HIS name was Fagg, David Fagg. He came 
 to California in '52 with us, in the " Sky- 
 scraper." I don't think he did it in an adventu- 
 rous way. He probably had no other place to go 
 to. When a knot of us young fellows would recite 
 what splendid opportunities we resigned to go, and 
 how sorry our friends were to have us leave, and 
 show daguerreotypes and locks of hair, and talk of 
 Mary and Susan, the man of no account used to 
 sit by and listen with a pained, mortified expres- 
 sion on his plain face, and say nothing. I think he 
 had nothing to say. He had no associates except 
 when we patronized him ; and, in point of fact, he 
 was a good deal of sport to us. He was always 
 sea-sick whenever we had a capful of wind. He 
 never got his sea-legs on either. And I never 
 shall forget how we all laughed when Battler took 
 him the piece of pork on a string, and But you 
 know that time-honored joke. And then we had 
 such a splendid lark with him. Miss Fanny 
 Twinkler could n't bear the sight of him, and we 
 used to make Fagg think that she had taken a 
 
132 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT 
 
 fancy to him, and send him little delicacies and 
 books from the cabin. You ought to have wit- 
 nessed the rich scene that took place when he 
 came up, stammering and very sick, to thank her ! 
 Did n't she flash up grandly and beautifully and 
 scornfully ? So like " Medora," Battler said, -Bat- 
 tler knew Byron by heart, and was n't old Fagg 
 awfully cut up ? But he got over it, and when 
 Battler fell sick at Valparaiso, old Fagg used to 
 nurse him. You see he was a good sort of fellow, 
 but he lacked manliness and spirit. 
 
 He had absolutely no idea of poetry. I Ve seen 
 him sit stolidly by, mending his old clothes, when 
 Battler delivered that stirring apostrophe of By- 
 ron's to the ocean. He asked Battler once, quite 
 seriously, if he thought Byron was ever sea-sick. 
 I don't remember Battler's reply, but I know we 
 all laughed very much, and I have no doubt it was 
 something good, for Battler was smart. 
 
 When the "Skyscraper" arrived at San Fran- 
 cisco we had a grand " feed." We agreed to meet 
 every year and perpetuate the occasion. Of course 
 we did n't invite Fagg. Fagg was a steerage-pas- 
 senger, and it was necessary, you see, now we were 
 ashore, to exercise a little discretion. But Old Fagg, 
 as we called him, he was only about twenty-five 
 years old, by the way, was the source of im- 
 mense amusement to us that day. It appeared 
 that he had conceived the idea that he could walk 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 133 
 
 to Sacramento, and actually started off afoot. We 
 had a good time, and shook hands with one another 
 all around, and so parted. Ah me ! only eight 
 years ago, and yet some of those hands then 
 clasped in amity have been clenched at each other, 
 or have dipped furtively in one another's pockets. 
 I know that we did n't dine together the next year, 
 because young Barker swore he would n't put his 
 feet under the same mahogany with such a very 
 contemptible scoundrel as that Mixer; and Nib- 
 bles, who borrowed money at Valparaiso of young 
 Stubbs, who was then a waiter in a restaurant, 
 did n't like to meet such people. 
 
 When I bought a number of shares in the Coyote 
 Tunnel at Mugginsville, in '54, I thought I'd 
 take a run up there and see it. I stopped at the 
 Empire Hotel, and after dinner I got a horse and 
 rode round the town and out to the claim. One 
 of those individuals whom newspaper correspond- 
 ents call " our intelligent informant," and to whom 
 in all small communities the right of answering 
 questions is tacitly yielded, was quietly pointed 
 out to me. Habit had enabled him to work and 
 talk at the same time, and he never pretermitted 
 either. He gave me a history of the claim, and 
 added : "You see, stranger" (he addressed the bank 
 before him), "gold is sure to come out 'er that theer 
 claim (he put in a comma with his pick), but the 
 old pro-pri-e-tor (he wriggled out the word and the 
 
134 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 point of his pick) warn't of much account (a long 
 stroke of the pick for a period). He was green, 
 and let the boys about here jump him," and the 
 rest of his sentence was confided to his hat, which 
 he had removed to wipe his manly brow with his 
 red bandanna. 
 
 I asked him who was the original proprietor. 
 
 " His name war Fagg." 
 
 I went to see him. He looked a little older and 
 plainer. He had worked hard, he said, and was 
 getting on " so, so." I took quite a liking to him 
 and patronized him to some extent. Whether I 
 did so because I was beginning to have a distrust 
 for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer is not neces- 
 eary for me to state. 
 
 You remember how the Coyote Tunnel went in, 
 and how awfully we shareholders were done ! 
 Well, the next thing I heard was that Eattler, who 
 was one of the heaviest shareholders, was up at 
 Mugginsville keeping bar for the proprietor of the 
 Mugginsville Hotel, and that old Fagg had struck 
 it rich, and didn't know what to do with his 
 money. All this was told me by Mixer, who had 
 been there, settling up matters, and likewise that 
 Fagg was sweet upon the daughter of the proprie- 
 tor of the aforesaid hotel. And so by hearsay and 
 letter I eventually gathered that old Robins, the 
 hotel man, was trying to get up a match between 
 Nellie Robins and Fagg, Nellie was a pretty, 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 135 
 
 plump, and foolish little thing, and would do just 
 as her father wished. I thought it N^ould be a 
 good thing for Fagg if he should marry and settle 
 down ; that as a married man he might be of some 
 account. So I ran up to Mugginsville one day to 
 look after things. 
 
 It did me an immense deal of good to make 
 Rattler mix my drinks for me, Eattler ! the gay, 
 brilliant, and unconquerable Eattler, who had tried 
 to snub me two years ago. I talked to him about 
 old Fagg and Nellie, particularly as I thought the 
 subject was distasteful. He never liked Fagg, and 
 he was sure, he said, that Nellie did n't. Did Nel- 
 lie like anybody else ? He turned around to the 
 mirror behind the bar and brushed up his hair ! I 
 understood the conceited wretch. I thought I 'd 
 put Fagg on his guard and get him to hurry up 
 matters. I had a long talk with him. You could 
 see by the way the poor fellow acted that he was 
 badly stuck. He sighed, and promised to pluck 
 up courage to hurry matters to a crisis. Nellie 
 was a good girl, and I think had a sort of quiet 
 respect for old Fagg's unobtrusiveness. But her 
 fancy was already taken captive by Rattler's su- 
 perficial qualities, which were obvious and pleas- 
 ing. I don't think Nellie was any worse than you 
 or I. We are more apt to take acquaintances at 
 their apparent value than their intrinsic worth. 
 It's less trouble, and, except when we want to 
 
136 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 trust them, quite as convenient. The difficulty 
 with women is that their feelings are apt to get 
 interested sooner than ours, and then, you know, 
 reasoning is out of the question. This is what old 
 Fagg would have known had he been of any ac- 
 count. But he was n't. So much the worse for 
 him. 
 
 It was a few months afterward, and I was sit- 
 ting in my office when in walked old Fagg. I 
 was surprised to see him down, but we talked 
 over the current topics in that mechanical manner 
 of people who know that they have something 
 else to say, but are obliged to get at it in that for- 
 mal way. After an interval Fagg in his natural 
 manner said, 
 
 "I'm going home !" 
 
 " Going home ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is, I think I '11 take a trip to the 
 Atlantic States. I came to see you, as you know 
 I have some little property, and I have executed 
 a power of attorney for you to manage my affairs. 
 1 have some papers I 'd like to leave with you. 
 Will you take charge of them ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. " But what of Nellie ? " 
 
 His face fell. He tried to smile, and the com- 
 bination resulted in one of the most startling and 
 grotesque effects I ever beheld. At length he 
 said, 
 
 " I shall not marry Nellie, that is/' he 
 
THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 137 
 
 seemed to apologize internally for the positive form 
 of expression, "I think that I had better not." 
 
 "David Fagg," I said with sudden severity, 
 " you 're of no account ! " 
 
 To my astonishment his face brightened. " Yes," 
 said he, " that 's it ! I 'm of no account ! But I 
 always knew it. You see I thought Eattler loved 
 that girl as well as I did, and I knew she liked 
 him better than she did me, and would be happier 
 I dare say with him. But then I knew that old 
 Eobins would have preferred me to him, as I was 
 better off, and the girl would do as he said, 
 and, you see, I thought I was kinder in the way, 
 and so I left. But," he continued, as I was 
 about to interrupt him, "for fear the old man 
 might object to Eattler, I Ve lent him enough to 
 set him up in business for himself in Dogtown. 
 A pushing, active, brilliant fellow, you know, like 
 Eattler can get along, and will soon be in his old 
 position again, and you need n't be hard on him, 
 you know, if he does n't. Good by." 
 
 I was too much disgusted with his treatment of 
 that Eattler to be at all amiable, but as his busi- 
 ness was profitable, I promised to attend to it, and 
 he left. A few weeks passed. The return steamer 
 arrived, and a terrible incident occupied the papers 
 for days afterward. People in all parts of the 
 State conned eagerly the details of an awful ship- 
 wreck, and those who had friends aboard went 
 
138 THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT. 
 
 away by themselves, and read the long list of the 
 lost under their breath. I read of the gifted, the 
 gallant, the noble, and loved ones who had perished, 
 and among them I think I was the first to read 
 the name of David Fagg. For the " man of no 
 account " had " gone home 1 " 
 
STORIES. 
 
MLISS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 TTFST where the Sierra Nevada begins to snb- 
 J side in gentler undulations, and the livers 
 grow less rapid and yellow, on the side of a 
 great red mountain, stands "Smith's Pocket." 
 Seen from the red road at sunset, in the red 
 light and the red dust, its white houses look like 
 the outcroppings of quartz on the mountain-side. 
 The red stage topped with red-shirted passengers 
 is lost to view half a dozen times in the tortuous 
 descent, turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the- 
 way places, and vanishing altogether within a 
 hundred yards of the town. It is probably owing 
 to this sudden twist in the road that the advent, 
 of a stranger at Smith's Pocket is usually attended 
 with a peculiar circumstance. Dismounting from 
 the vehicle at the stage-office, the too confident 
 traveller is apt to walk straight out of town under 
 the impression that it lies in quite another direc- 
 tion. It is related that one of the tunnel-men, 
 two mii3s from town, met one of these self- 
 
142 MLISS. 
 
 reliant passengers with a carpet-bag, umbrella. 
 Harper's Magazine, and other evidences of " Civi- 
 lization and Eefinement," plodding along over the 
 road he had just ridden, vainly endeavoring to 
 find the settlement of Smith's Pocket. 
 
 An observant traveller might have found some 
 compensation for his disappointment in the weird 
 aspect of that vicinity. There were huge fissures 
 on the hillside, and displacements of the red 
 soil, resembling more the chaos of some primary 
 elemental upheaval than the work of man ; while, 
 half-way down, a long flume straddled its narrow 
 body and disproportionate legs over the chasm, 
 like an enormous fossil of some forgotten ante- 
 diluvian. At every step smaller ditches crossed 
 the road, hiding in their sallow depths unlovely 
 streams that crept away to a clandestine union 
 with the great yellow torrent below, and here and 
 there were the ruins of some cabin with the 
 chimney alone left intact and the hearthstone open 
 to the skies. 
 
 The settlement of Smith's Pocket owed its 
 origin to the finding of a "pocket" on its site 
 by a veritable Smith. Five thousand dollars 
 were taken out of it in one half-hour by Smith. 
 Three thousand dollars were expended by Smith 
 and others in erecting a flume and in tunnelling. 
 And then Smith's Pocket was found to be only 
 a pocket, and subject like other pockets to deple- 
 
MLISS. 143 
 
 tion. Although Smith pierced the bowels of 
 the great red mountain, that five thousand dollars 
 was the first and last return of his labor. The 
 mountain grew reticent of its golden secrets, ancl 
 the flume steadily ebbed away the remainder of 
 Smith's fortune. Then Smith went into quartz- 
 mining; then into quartz-milling; then into hy* 
 draulics and ditching, and then by easy degrees 
 into saloon-keeping. Presently it was whispered 
 that Smith was drinking a great deal ; then it 
 was known that Smith was a habitual drunkard, 
 and then people began to think, as they are apt 
 to, that he had never been anything else. But 
 the settlement of Smith's Pocket, like that of 
 most discoveries, was happily not dependent on 
 the fortune of its pioneer, and other parties pro- 
 jected tunnels and found pockets. So Smith's 
 Pocket became a settlement with its two fancy 
 stores, its two hotels, its one express-office, and ita 
 two first families. Occasionally its one long strag- 
 gling street was overawed by the assumption of 
 the latest San Francisco fashions, imported per 
 express, exclusively to the first families ; making 
 outraged Nature, in the ragged outline of her fur- 
 rowed surface, look still more homely, and putting 
 personal insult on that greater portion of the popu- 
 lation to whom the Sabbath, with a change of 
 linen, brought merely the necessity of cleanliness,, 
 without the luxury of adornment. Then there 
 
144 MLISS. 
 
 was a Methodist Church, and hard by a Monte 
 Bank, and a little beyond, on the mountain-side, a 
 graveyard ; and then a little school-house. 
 
 "The Master," as he was known to his little 
 flock, sat alone one night in the school-house, 
 with some open copy-books before him, carefully 
 making those bold and full characters which are 
 supposed to combine the extremes of chirographi- 
 cal and moral excellence, and had got as far as 
 "Kiches are deceitful," and was elaborating the 
 noun with an insincerity of flourish that was quite 
 in the spirit of his text, when he heard a gentle 
 tapping. The woodpeckers had been busy about 
 the roof during the day, and the noise did not dis- 
 turb his work. But the opening of the door, and 
 the tapping continuing from the inside, caused him 
 to look up. He was slightly startled by the figure 
 of a young girl, dirty and shabbily clad. Still, her 
 great black eyes, her coarse, uncombed, lustreless 
 black hair falling over her sun-burned face, her red 
 arms and feet streaked with the red soil, were all 
 familiar to him. It was Melissa Smith, Smith's 
 motherless child. 
 
 * What can she want here ? " thought the master. 
 Everybody knew " Mliss," as she was called, 
 throughout the length and height of Eed Moun- 
 tain. Everybody knew her as an incorrigible girl. 
 Her fierce, ungovernable disposition, her mad freaks 
 and lawless character, were in their way as prover- 
 
MLISS. 145 
 
 bial as the story of her father's weaknesses, and as 
 philosophically accepted by the townsfolk. She 
 wrangled with and fought the school-boys with 
 keener invective and quite as powerful arm. She 
 followed the trails with a woodman's craft, and the 
 master had met her before, miles away, shoeless, 
 stockingless, and bareheaded on the mountain 
 road. The miners' camps along the stream sup- 
 plied her with subsistence during these voluntary 
 pilgrimages, in freely offered alms. Not but that 
 a larger protection had been previously extended 
 to Mliss. The Eev. Joshua McSnagley, " stated " 
 preacher, had placed her in the hotel as servant, 
 by way of preliminary refinement, and had in- 
 troduced her to his scholars at Sunday school 
 But she threw plates occasionally at the landlord, 
 and quickly retorted to the cheap witticisms of the 
 guests, and created in the Sabbath school a sensa- 
 tion that was so inimical to the orthodox dulness 
 and placidity of that institution, that, with a de- 
 cent regard for the starched frocks and unblem- 
 ished morals of the two pink-and-white-faced chil- 
 dren of the first families, the reverend gentleman 
 had her ignominiously expelled. Such were the 
 antecedents, and such the character of Mliss, as she 
 stood before the master. It was shown in the 
 ragged dress, the unkempt hair, and bleeding feet, 
 and asked his pity. It flashed from her black, 
 fearless eyes, and commanded his respect. 
 
 7 9 
 
146 MLISS. 
 
 "I come here to-night," she said rapidly and 
 boldly, keeping her hard glance on his, " because I 
 knew you was alone. I would n't come here when 
 them gals was here. I hate 'em and they hates me. 
 That 's why. You keep school, don't you ? I want 
 to be teached ! " 
 
 If to the shabbiness of her apparel and uncome- 
 liness of her tangled hair and dirty face she had 
 added the humility of tears, the master would have 
 extended to her the usual moiety of pity, and 
 nothing more. But with the natural, though il- 
 logical instincts of his species, her boldness awak- 
 ened in him something of that respect which 
 all original natures pay unconsciously to one an- 
 other in any grade. And he gazed at her the more 
 fixedly as she went on still rapidly, her hand on 
 that door-latch and her eyes on his : 
 
 " My name 's Mliss, Mliss Smith ! You can bet 
 your life on that. My father 's Old Smith, Old 
 Bummer Smith, that 's what 's the matter with 
 him. Mliss Smith, and I 'ni coming to school ! " 
 
 "Well?" said the master. 
 
 Accustomed to be thwarted and opposed, often 
 wantonly and cruelly, for no other purpose than to 
 excite the violent impulses of her nature, the mas- 
 ter's phlegm evidently took her by surprise. She 
 stopped ; she began to twist a lock of her hair be- 
 tween her fingers ; and the rigid line of upper lip, 
 drawn over the wicked little teeth, relaxed and 
 
MLISS. 147 
 
 quivered slightly. Then her eyes dropped, and 
 something like a blush struggled up to her cheek, 
 and tried to assert itself through the splashes of 
 redder soil, and the sunburn of years. Suddenly 
 she threw herself forward, calling on God to strike 
 her dead, and fell quite weak and helpless, with 
 her face on the master's desk, crying and sobbing 
 as if her heart would break 
 
 The master lifted her gently and waited for the 
 paroxysm to pass. When with face still averted, 
 she was repeating between her sobs the mea culpa 
 of childish penitence, that " she 'd be good, she 
 did n't mean to," etc., it came to him to ask her 
 why she had left Sabbath school 
 
 Why had she left the Sabbath school ? why ? 
 yes. What did he (McSnagley) want to tell 
 her she was wicked for ? What did he tell her 
 that God hated her for ? If God hated her, what 
 did she want to go to Sabbath school for ? She 
 didn't want to be "beholden" to anybody who 
 hated her. 
 
 Had she told McSnagley this ? 
 
 Yes, she had. 
 
 The master laughed. It was a hearty laugh, 
 and echoed so oddly in the little school-house, and 
 seemed so inconsistent and discordant with the 
 sighing of the pines without, that he shortly 
 corrected himself with a sigh. The sigh was 
 quite as sincere in its way, however, and after a 
 
148 MUSS. 
 
 moment of serious silence lie asked about hei 
 father. 
 
 Her father? What father? Whose father? 
 What had he ever done for her ? Why did the 
 girls hate her ? Come now ! what made the 
 folks say, " Old Bummer Smith's Mliss ! " when she 
 passed ? Yes ; yes. She wished he was dead, 
 she was dead, everybody was dead ; and her 
 sobs broke forth anew. 
 
 The master then, leaning over her, told her as 
 well as he could what you or I might have said 
 after hearing such unnatural theories from child- 
 ish lips ; only bearing in mind perhaps better than 
 you or I the unnatural facts of her ragged dress, 
 her bleeding feet, and the omnipresent shadow of 
 her drunken father. Then, raising her to her feet, 
 he wrapped his shawl around her, and, bidding her 
 come early in the morning, he walked with her 
 down the road. There he bade her "good night." 
 The moon shone brightly on the narrow path be- 
 fore them. He stood and watched the bent little 
 figure as it staggered down the road, and waited 
 until it had passed the little graveyard and 
 reached the curve of the hill, where it turned and 
 stood for a moment, a mere atom of suffering out- 
 lined against the far-off patient stars. Then he 
 went back to his work. But the lines of the copy- 
 book thereafter faded into long parallels of never- 
 ending road, over which chjldish figures seemed to 
 
MLISS. 149 
 
 pass sobbing and crying into the night. Then, the 
 little school-house seeming lonelier than before, he 
 shut the door and went home. 
 
 The next morning Mliss came to school. Her 
 face had been washed, and her coarse black hair 
 bore evidence of recent struggles with the comb, 
 in which both had evidently suffered. The old 
 defiant look shone occasionally in her eyes, but her 
 manner was tamer and more subdued. Then be- 
 gan a series of little trials and self-sacrifices, in 
 which master and pupil bore an equal part, and 
 which increased the confidence and sympathy be- 
 tween them. Although obedient under the mas- 
 ter's eye, at times during recess, if thwarted or 
 stung by a fancied slight, Mliss would rage in un- 
 governable fury, and many a palpitating young 
 savage, finding himself matched with his own 
 weapons of torment, would seek the master with 
 torn jacket and scratched face, and complaints of 
 the dreadful Mliss. There was a serious division 
 among the townspeople on the subject ; some 
 threatening to withdraw their children from such 
 evil companionship, and others as warmly uphold- 
 ing the course of the master in his work of rec- 
 lamation. Meanwhile, with a steady persistence 
 that seemed quite astonishing to him on looking 
 back afterward, the master drew Mliss gradually 
 out of the shadow of her past life, as though it 
 were but her natural progress down the narrow 
 
150 MLISS. 
 
 path on which lie had set her feet the moonlit 
 night of their first meeting. Bemembering the 
 experience of the evangelical McSnagley, he care- 
 fully avoided that Eock of Ages on which that 
 unskilful pilot had shipwrecked her young faith. 
 But if, in the course of her reading, she chanced 
 to stumble upon those few words which have lifted 
 such as she above the level of the older, the wiser, 
 and the more prudent, if she learned something 
 of a faith that is symbolized by suffering, and the 
 old light softened in her eyes, it did not take 
 the shape of a lesson. A few of the plainer people 
 had made up a little sum by which the ragged 
 Mliss was enabled to assume the garments of re- 
 spect and civilization ; and often a rough shake of 
 the hand, and words of homely commendation from 
 a red-shirted and burly figure, sent a glow to the 
 cheek of the young master, and set him to think- 
 ing if it was altogether deserved. 
 
 Three months had passed from the time of their 
 first meeting, and the master was sitting late one 
 evening over the moral and sententious copies, 
 when there came a tap at the door, and again Mliss 
 stood before him. She was neatly clad and clean- 
 faced, and there was nothing perhaps but the long 
 black hair and bright black eyes to remind him of 
 his former apparition. "Are you busy?" she 
 asked. " Can you come with me ? " and on his 
 signifying his readiness, in her old wilful way she 
 said, "Come, then, quick !" 
 
MUSS. 151 
 
 They passed out of the door together and inte, 
 the dark road. As they entered the town the. 
 master asked her whither she was going. She re- 
 plied, " To see my father." 
 
 It was the first time he had heard her call him 
 by that filial title, or indeed anything more than 
 " Old Smith " or the " Old Man." It was the first 
 time in three months that she had spoken of him 
 a1 all, and the master knew she had kept res- 
 olutely aloof from him since her great change. 
 Satisfied from her manner that it was fruitless to 
 question her purpose, he passively followed. In 
 out-of-the-way places, low groggeries, restaurants, 
 and saloons; in gambling-hells and dance-houses, 
 the master, preceded by Mliss, came and went. In 
 fche reeking smoke and blasphemous outcries of 
 low dens, the child, holding the master's hand, 
 stood and anxiously gazed, seemingly unconscious 
 of all in the one absorbing nature of her pursuit. 
 Some of the revellers, recognizing Mliss, called to 
 the child to sing and dance for them, and would 
 have forced liquor upon her but for the interfer- 
 ence of the master. Others, recognizing him mute- 
 ly, made way for them to pass. So an hour slipped 
 by. Then the child whispered in his ear that there 
 was a cabin on the other side of the creek crossed 
 by the long flume, where she thought he still might 
 be. Thither they crossed, a toilsome half-hour's 
 walk, but in vain. They were returning by the 
 
152 MLISS. 
 
 ditch at the abutment of the flume, gazing at th* 
 lights of the town on the opposite bank, when, 
 suddenly, sharply, a quick report rang out on the 
 clear night air. The echoes caught it, and carried 
 it round and round Eed Mountain, and set the dogs 
 to barking all along the streams. Lights seemed 
 to dance and move quickly on the outskirts of the 
 town for a few moments, the stream rippled quite 
 audibly beside them, a few stones loosened them* 
 selves from the hillside and splashed into the 
 stream, a heavy wind seemed to surge the branches 
 of the funereal pines, and then the silence seemed 
 to fall thicker, heavier, and deadlier. The master 
 turned towards Mliss with an unconscious gesture 
 of protection, but the child had gone. Oppressed 
 by a strange fear, he ran quickly down the trail to 
 the river's bed, and, jumping from boulder to boul- 
 der, reached the base of Ked Mountain and the 
 outskirts of the village. Midway of the crossing 
 he looked up and held his breath in awe. For 
 high above him on the narrow flume he saw the 
 fluttering little figure of his late companion cross- 
 ing swiftly in the darkness. 
 
 He climbed the bank, and, guided by a few lights 
 moving about a central point on the mountain, 
 soon found himself breathless among a crowd of 
 awe-stricken and sorrowful men. Out from among 
 them the child appeared, and, taking the master's 
 hand, led him silently before what seemed a ragged 
 
MLISS. 153 
 
 hole in the mountain. Her face was quite white, 
 but her excited manner gone, and her look that of 
 one to whom some long-expected event had at last 
 happened, an expression that to the master in 
 his bewilderment seemed almost like relief. The 
 walls of the cavern were partly propped by decay- 
 ing timbers. The child pointed to what appeared 
 to be some ragged, cast-off clothes left in the hole 
 by the late occupant. The master approached 
 nearer with his naming dip, and bent over them. 
 It was Smith, already cold, with a pistol in his 
 hand and a bullet in his heart, lying beside his 
 empty pocket. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 THE opinion which McSnagley expressed in 
 reference to a " change of heart " supposed to 
 be experienced by Mliss was more forcibly de- 
 scribed in the gulches and tunnels. It was 
 thought there that Mliss had "struck a good 
 lead." So when there was a new grave added to 
 the little enclosure, and at the expense of the 
 master a little board and inscription put above it, 
 the Red Mountain Banner came out quite hand- 
 somely, and did the fair thing to the memory of 
 
 one of "our oldest Pioneers." alluding gracefully 
 7* 
 
154. MLISS 
 
 to that ft bane of nooie intellects," and otherwise 
 genteelly shelving our dear brother with the past. 
 " He leaves an only child to mourn his loss," says 
 the Banner, "who is now an exemplary scholar, 
 thanks to the efforts of the Eev. Mr. McSnagley." 
 The Eev. McSnagley, in fact, made a strong point 
 of Mliss's conversion, and, indirectly attributing to 
 the unfortunate child the suicide of her father, 
 made affecting allusions in Sunday school to the 
 beneficial effects of the " silent tomb," and in this 
 cheerful contemplation drove most of the children 
 into speechless horror, and caused the pink-and- 
 white scions of the first families to howl dismally 
 and refuse to be comforted. 
 
 The long dry summer came. As each fierce day 
 burned itself out in little whiffs of pearl-gray 
 smoke on the mountain summits, and the up- 
 springing breeze scattered its red embers over the 
 landscape, the green wave which in early spring 
 upheaved above Smith's grave grew sere and dry 
 and hard. In those days the master, strolling in 
 the little churchyard of a Sabbath afternoon, was 
 sometimes surprised to find a few wild-flowers 
 plucked from the damp pine-forests scattered 
 there, and oftener rude wreaths hung upon the 
 little pine cross. Most of these wreaths were 
 formed of a sweet-scented grass, which the chil- 
 dren loved to keep in their desks, intertwined 
 with the plumes of the buckeye, the syringa, 
 
MLISS. 155 
 
 and the wood-anemone , tnrf Here and there the 
 master noticed the dark blue cowl of the monk's- 
 hood, or deadly aconite. There was something 
 in the odd association of this noxious plant with 
 these memorials which occasioned a painful sensa- 
 tion to the master deeper than his esthetic sense. 
 One day, during a long walk, in crossing a wooded 
 ridge he came upon Mliss in the heart of the for- 
 est, perched upon a prostrate pine, on a fantastic 
 throne formed by the hanging plumes of lifeless 
 branches, her lap full of grasses and pine-burrs, 
 and crooning to herself one of the negro melodies 
 of her younger life. Eecognizing him at a dis- 
 tance, she made room for him on her elevated 
 throne, and with a grave assumption of hospitality 
 and patronage that would have been ridiculous 
 ha4 it not been so terribly earnest, she fed him 
 with pine-nuts and crab-apples. The master took 
 that opportunity to point out to her the noxious 
 and deadly qualities of the monk's-hood, whose 
 dark blossoms he saw in her lap, and extorted 
 from her a promise not to meddle with it as long 
 as she remained his pupil. This done, as the 
 master had tested her integrity before, he rested 
 satisfied, and the strange feeling which had over- 
 come him on seeing them died away. 
 
 Of the homes that were offered Mliss when her 
 conversion became known, the master preferred 
 that of Mrs. Morpher, a womanly and kind-hearted 
 
156 MUSS. 
 
 specimen of Southwestern efflorescence, known in 
 her maidenhood as the " Per-rairie Rose." Being 
 one of those who contend resolutely against their 
 own natures, Mrs. Morpher, by a long series of self- 
 sacrifices and struggles, had at last subjugated her 
 naturally careless disposition to principles of " or- 
 der," which she considered, in common with Mr. 
 Pope, as " Heaven's first law." But she could not 
 entirely govern the orbits of her satellites, however 
 regular her own movements, and even her own 
 "Jeemes" sometimes collided with her. Again 
 her old nature asserted itself in her children. Ly- 
 curgus dipped into the cupboard " between meals," 
 and Aristides came home from school without 
 shoes, leaving those important articles on the 
 threshold, for the delight of a barefooted walk 
 down the ditches. Octavia and Cassandra were 
 " keerless " of their clothes. So with but one ex- 
 ception, however much the " Prairie Rose " might 
 have trimmed and pruned and trained her own 
 matured luxuriance, the little shoots came up 
 defiantly wild and straggling. That one exception 
 was Clytemnestra Morpher, aged fifteen. She was 
 the realization of her mother's immaculate con- 
 ception, neat, orderly, and dull. 
 
 It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morpher 
 to imagine that "Clytie" was a consolation and 
 model for Mliss. Following this fallacy, Mrs. Mor- 
 pher threw Clytie at the head of Mliss when she 
 
MLISS. 157 
 
 was "bad," and set her up before the child for 
 adoration in her penitential moments. It was not, 
 therefore, surprising to the master to hear that 
 Clytie was coming to school, obviously as a favor 
 to the master and as an example for Mliss and 
 others. For "Clytie" was quite a young lady. 
 Inheriting her mother's physical peculiarities, and 
 in obedience to the climatic laws of the Ked 
 Mountain region, she was an early bloomer. The 
 youth of Smith's Pocket, to whom this kind of 
 flower was rare, sighed for her in April and lan- 
 guished in May. Enamored swains haunted th$ 
 school-house at the hour of dismissal. A few 
 were jealous of the master. 
 
 Perhaps it was this latter circumstance that 
 opened the master's eyes to another. He could 
 not help noticing that Clytie was romantic ; thai 
 in school she required a great deal of attention j 
 that her pens were uniformly bad and wanted fix* 
 ing ; that she usually accompanied the request 
 with a certain expectation in her eye that was 
 somewhat disproportionate to the quality of ser- 
 vice she verbally required ; that she sometimes 
 allowed the curves of a round, plump white arm 
 to rest on his when he was writing her copies; 
 that she always blushed and flung back her blond 
 curls when she did so. I don't remember whether 
 I have stated that the master was a young man, 
 it's of little consequence, however; he had been 
 
158 MLISS. 
 
 severely educated in the school in which Clytie 
 was taking her first lesson, and, on the whole, 
 withstood the flexible curves and factitious glance 
 like the fine young Spartan that he was. Perhaps 
 an insufficient quality of food may have tended to 
 this asceticism. He generally avoided Clytie ; but 
 one evening, when she returned to the school- 
 house after something she had forgotten, and did 
 not find it until the master walked home with 
 her, I hear that he endeavored to make himself 
 particularly agreeable, partly from the fact, I 
 imagine, that his conduct was adding gall and 
 bitterness to the already overcharged hearts of 
 Clytemnestra's admirers. 
 
 The morning after this affecting episode Mliss 
 did not come to school. Noon came, but not Mliss. 
 Questioning Clytie on the subject, it appeared that 
 they had left the school together, but the wilful 
 Mliss had taken another road. The afternoon 
 brought her not. In the evening he called on Mrs. 
 Morpher, whose motherly heart was really alarmed. 
 Mr. Morpher had spent all day in search of her, 
 without discovering a trace that might lead to her 
 discovery. Aristides was summoned as a probable 
 accomplice, but that equitable infant succeeded 
 in impressing the household with his innocence. 
 Mrs. Morpher entertained a vivid impression that 
 the child would yet be found drowned in a ditch, 
 or, what was almost as terrible, muddied and soiled 
 
MLISS. 159 
 
 beyond the redemption of soap and water. Sick 
 at heart, the master returned to the school-house. 
 As he lit his lamp and seated himself at his desk, 
 he found a note lying before him addressed to him- 
 self, in Mliss's handwriting. It seemed to be writ- 
 ten on a leaf torn from some old memorandum- 
 book, and, to prevent sacrilegious trifling, had been 
 sealed with six broken wafers. Opening it almost 
 tenderly, the master read as follows : 
 
 RESPECTED SIR, When you read this, I am run 
 away. Never to come back. Never, NEVER, NEVER. 
 You can give my beeds to Mary Jennings, and my 
 Amerika's Pride [a highly colored lithograph from a 
 tobacco-box] to Sally Flanders. But don't you give 
 anything to Clytie Morpher. Don't you dare to. Do 
 you know what my oppinion is of her, it is this, she is 
 perfekly disgustin. That is all and no more at pres- 
 ent from 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 MELISSA SMITH. 
 
 The master sat pondering on this strange epistle 
 till the moon lifted its bright face above the dis- 
 tant hills, and illuminated the trail that led to the 
 school-house, beaten quite hard with the coming 
 and going of little feet. Then, more satisfied in 
 mind, he tore the missive into fragments and scat- 
 tered them along the road. 
 
 At sunrise the next morning he was picking his 
 way through the palm-like fern and thick under* 
 
160 MUSS. 
 
 brush of the pine-forest, starting the hare from its 
 form, and awakening a querulous protest from a 
 few dissipated crows, who had evidently been mak- 
 ing a night of it, and so came to the wooded ridge 
 where he had once found Mliss. There he found 
 the prostrate pine and tasselled branches, but the 
 throne was vacant. As he drew nearer, what might 
 have been some frightened animal started through 
 the crackling limbs. It ran up the tossed arms of 
 the fallen monarch, and sheltered itself in some 
 friendly foliage. The master, reaching the old seat, 
 found the nest still warm ; looking up in the inter- 
 twining branches, he met the black eyes of the 
 errant Mliss. They gazed at each other without 
 speaking. She was first to break the silence. 
 
 " What do you want ? " she asked curtly. 
 
 The master had decided on a course of action. 
 " I want some crab-apples," he said humbly. 
 
 " Sha' n't have 'em ! go away. Why don't you 
 get 'em of Clytemnerestera ? " (It seemed to be a 
 relief to Mliss to express her contempt in addi- 
 tional syllables to that classical young woman's 
 already long-drawn title.) " you wicked thing ! " 
 
 " I am hungry, Lissy. I have eaten nothing 
 since dinner yesterday. I am famished ! ?? and the 
 young man in a state of remarkable exhaustion 
 leaned against the tree. 
 
 Melissa's heart was touched. In the bitter days 
 of her gypsy life she had known the sensation he 
 
MUSS. 161 
 
 BO artfully simulated. Overcome by his heart- 
 broken tone, but not entirely divested of suspicion, 
 she said, 
 
 " Dig under the tree near the roots, and you '11 
 find lots ; but mind you don't tell," for Mliss had 
 her hoards as well as the rats and squirrels. 
 
 But the master, of course, was unable to find 
 them ; the effects of hunger probably blinding his 
 senses. Mliss grew uneasy. At length she peered 
 at him through the leaves in an elfish way, and 
 questioned, 
 
 "If I come down and give you some, you'U 
 promise you won't touch me ? " 
 
 The master promised. 
 
 " Hope you '11 die if you do ! " 
 
 The master accepted instant dissolution as a 
 forfeit. Mliss slid down the tree. For a few mo- 
 ments nothing transpired but the munching of the 
 pine-nuts. " Do you feel better ? " she asked, with 
 some solicitude. The master confessed to a recu- 
 perated feeling, and then, gravely thanking her, 
 proceeded to retrace his steps. As he expected, he 
 had not gone far before she called him. He turned. 
 She was standing there quite white, with tears in 
 her widely opened orbs. The master felt that the 
 right moment had come. Going up to her, he took 
 both her hands, and, looking in her tearful eyes, 
 said, gravely, "Lissy, do you remember the first 
 evening you came to see me ? " 
 
162 MLISS. 
 
 Lissy remembered. 
 
 "You asked me if you might come to school, 
 for you wanted to learn something and be better, 
 and I said " 
 
 " Come," responded the child, promptly. 
 
 " What would you say if the master now came 
 to you and said that he was lonely without his little 
 scholar, and that he wanted her to come and teach 
 him to be better?" 
 
 The child hung her head for a few moments in 
 silence. The master waited patiently. Tempted 
 by the quiet, a hare ran close to the couple, and 
 raising her bright eyes and velvet forepaws, sat and 
 gazed at them. A squirrel ran half-way down 
 the furrowed bark of the fallen tree, and there 
 stopped. 
 
 " We are waiting, Lissy," said the master, in a 
 whisper, and the child smiled. Stirred by a pass- 
 ing breeze, the tree-tops rocked, and a long pencil 
 of light stole through their interlaced boughs full 
 on the doubting face and irresolute little figure. 
 Suddenly she took the master's hand in her quick 
 way. What she said was scarcely audible, but the 
 master, putting the black hair back from her fore- 
 head, kissed her ; and so, hand in hand, they passed 
 out of the damp aisles and forest odors into 
 open sunlit road. 
 
MUSS. 163 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 SOMEWHAT less spiteful in her intercourse with 
 other scholars, Mliss still retained an offensive 
 attitude in regard to Clytemnestra. Perhaps th<) 
 jealous element was not entirely lulled in her 
 passionate little breast. Perhaps it was only that 
 the round curves and plump outline offered more 
 extended pinching surface. But while such ebul- 
 litions were under the master's control, her en- 
 mity occasionally took a new and irrepressible 
 form. 
 
 The master in his first estimate of the child's 
 character could not conceive that she had ever 
 possessed a doll. But the master, like many other 
 professed readers of character, was safer in a pos- 
 teriori than a priori reasoning. Mliss had a doll, 
 but then it was emphatically Mliss's doll, a small- 
 er copy of herself. Its unhappy existence had 
 been a secret discovered accidentally by Mrs. Mor- 
 pher. It had been the old-time companion of 
 Mliss's wanderings, and bore evident marks of 
 suffering. Its original complexion was long since 
 washed away by the weather and anointed by the 
 slime of ditches. It looked very much as Mliss 
 had in days past. Its one gown of faded stuff was 
 dirty and ragged as hers had been. Mliss had 
 
164 MUSS. 
 
 never been known to apply to it any childish 
 term of endearment. She never exhibited it in 
 the presence of other children. It was put severely 
 to bed in a hollow tree near the school-house, and 
 only allowed exercise during Mliss's rambles. Ful- 
 filling a stern duty to her doll, as she would to 
 herself, it knew no luxuries. 
 
 Now Mrs. Morpher, obeying a commendable 
 impulse, bought another doll and gave it to Mliss. 
 The child received it gravely and curiously. The 
 master on looking at it one day fancied he saw a 
 slight resemblance in its round red cheeks and 
 mild blue eyes to Clytemnestra. It became evi- 
 dent before long that Mliss had also noticed the 
 same resemblance. Accordingly she hammered its 
 waxen head on the rocks when she was alone, and 
 sometimes dragged it with a string round its neck 
 to and from school At other times, setting it up 
 on her desk, she made a pin-cushion of its patient 
 and inoffensive body. Whether this was done in 
 revenge of what she considered a second figura- 
 tive obtrusion of Clytie's excellences upon her, or 
 whether she had an intuitive appreciation of the 
 rites of certain other heathens, and, indulging in 
 that "Fetish" ceremony, imagined that the original 
 of her wax model would pine away and finally die, is 
 a metaphysical question I shall not now consider. 
 
 In spite of these moral vagaries, the mastei 
 could not help noticing in her different tasks tha 
 
MUSS. 155 
 
 working of a quick, restless, and vigorous percep- 
 tion. She knew neither the hesitancy nor the 
 doubts of childhood. Her answers in class were 
 always slightly dashed with audacity. Of course 
 she was not infallible. But her courage and dar- 
 ing in passing beyond her own depth and that 
 of the floundering little swimmers around her, in 
 their minds outweighed all errors of judgment. 
 Children are not better than grown people in this 
 respect, I fancy ; and whenever the little red hand 
 flashed above her desk, there was a wondering 
 silence, and even the master was sometimes op- 
 pressed with a doubt of his own experience and 
 judgment. 
 
 Nevertheless, certain attributes which at first 
 amused and entertained his fancy began to afflict 
 him with grave doubts. He could not but see that 
 Mliss was revengeful, irreverent, and wilful. That 
 there was but one better quality which pertained 
 to her semi-savage disposition, the faculty of 
 physical fortitude and self-sacrifice, and another, 
 though not always an attribute of the noble savage, 
 Truth. Mliss was both fearless and sincere ; 
 perhaps in such a character the adjectives were 
 synonymous. 
 
 The master had been doing some hard thinking 
 on this subject, and had arrived at that conclusion 
 quite common to all who think sincerely, that he 
 wag generally the slave of his own prejudices, 
 
166 MLISS. 
 
 when he determined to call on the Rev. Me* 
 Snagley for advice. This decision was somewhav 
 humiliating to his pride, as he and McSnagley were 
 not friends. But he thought of Mliss, and the 
 evening of their first meeting ; and perhaps witlr 
 a pardonable superstition that it was not chance 
 alone that had guided her wilful feet to the school- 
 house, and perhaps with a complacent conscious- 
 ness of the rare magnanimity of the act, he choked 
 back his dislike and went to McSnagley. 
 
 The reverend gentleman was glad to see him. 
 Moreover, he observed that the master was looking 
 " peartish," and hoped he had got over the " neu- 
 ralgy " and " rheumatiz." He himself had been 
 troubled with a dumb " ager " since last conference. 
 But he had learned to " rastle and pray." 
 
 Pausing a moment to enable the master to write 
 his certain method of curing the dumb "ager" 
 upon the book and volume of his brain, Mr. Mc- 
 Snagley proceeded to inquire after Sister Morpher. 
 " She is an adornment to Christianity, and has a 
 likely growin' young family," added Mr. McSnag- 
 ley ; " and there 's that mannerly young gal, so 
 well behaved, Miss Clytie." In fact, Clytie's 
 perfections seemed to affect him to such an extent 
 that he dwelt for several minutes upon them. The 
 master was doubly embarrassed. In the first place, 
 there was an enforced contrast with poor Mliss 
 in all this praise of Clytie. Secondly, there was 
 
MUSS. 167 
 
 something unpleasantly confidential in his tone of 
 speaking of Mrs. Morpher's earliest born. So that 
 the master, after a few futile efforts to say some- 
 thing natural, found it convenient to recall an- 
 other engagement, and left without asking the 
 information required, but in his after reflections 
 somewhat unjustly giving the Eev. Mr. McSnag- 
 ley the full benefit of having refused it 
 
 Perhaps this rebuff placed the master and pupil 
 once more in the close communion of old. The 
 child seemed to notice the change in the master's 
 manner, which had of late been constrained, and in 
 ane of their long post-prandial walks she stopped 
 suddenly, and, mounting a stump, looked full in 
 his face with big, searching eyes. "You ain't mad ?" 
 said she, with an interrogative shake of the black 
 braids. "No." " Nor bothered ?" "No." "Nor 
 hungry ? " (Hunger was to Mliss a sickness that 
 might attack a person at any moment.) "No." 
 "Nor thinking of her?" "Of whom, Lissy?" 
 " That white girl." (This was the latest epithet 
 Livented by Mliss, who was a very dark brunette, 
 to express Clytemnestra.) " No." " Upon your 
 word?" (A substitute for "Hope you'll die!" 
 proposed by the master.) "Yes." "And sacred 
 honor ? " " Yes." Then Mliss gave him a fierce 
 little kiss, and, hopping down, fluttered off. For 
 two or three days after that she condescended to 
 appear more like other children, and be, as she 
 expressed it, "good." 
 
168 MLISS. 
 
 Two years had passed since the master's advent 
 at Smith's Pocket, and as his salary was not large, 
 and the prospects of Smith's Pocket eventually be- 
 coming the capital of the State not entirely defi- 
 nite, he contemplated a change. He had informed 
 the school trustees privately of his intentions, but, 
 educated young men of unblemished moral charac^ 
 ter being scarce at that time, he consented to con- 
 tinue his school term through the winter to early 
 spring. None else knew of his intention except 
 his one friend, a Dr. Duchesne, a young Creole 
 physician known to the people of Wingdam as 
 " Duchesny." He never mentioned it to Mrs. Mor- 
 pher, Clytie, or any of his scholars. His reticence 
 was partly the result of a constitutional indisposi- 
 tion to fuss, partly a desire to be spared the ques- 
 tions and surmises of vulgar curiosity, and partly 
 that he never really believed he was going to do 
 anything before it was done. 
 
 He did not like to think of Mliss. It was a 
 selfish instinct, perhaps, which made him try to 
 fancy his feeling for the child was foolish, roman- 
 tic, and unpractical. He even tried to imagine 
 that she would do better under the control of an 
 older and sterner teacher. Then she was nearly 
 eleven, and in a few years, by the rules of Eed 
 Mountain, would be a woman. He had done his 
 duty. After Smith's death he addressed letters to 
 Smith's relatives, and received one answer from a 
 
MLISS. 169 
 
 sister of Melissa's mother. Thanking the master, 
 she stated her intention of leaving the Atlantic 
 States for California with her husband in a few 
 months. This was a slight superstructure for the 
 airy castle which the master pictured for Mliss's 
 home, but it was easy to fancy that some loving, 
 sympathetic woman, with the claims of kindred, 
 might better guide her wayward nature. Yet, when 
 the master had read the letter, Mliss listened to it 
 carelessly, received it submissively, and afterwards 
 cut figures out of it with her scissors, supposed to 
 represent Clytemnestra, labelled " the white girl," 
 to prevent mistakes, and impaled them upon the 
 outer walls of the school-house. 
 
 When the summer was about spent, and the 
 last harvest had been gathered in the valleys, the 
 master bethought him of gathering in a few ri- 
 pened shoots of the young idea, and of having his 
 Harvest-Home, or Examination. So the savans 
 and professionals of Smith's Pocket were gathered 
 to witness that time-honored custom of placing 
 timid children in a constrained position, and bully- 
 ing them as in a witness-box. As usual in such 
 cases, the most audacious and self-possessed were 
 the lucky recipients of the honors. The reader 
 will imagine that in the present instance Mliss' 
 and Clytie were pre-eminent, and divided public 
 attention; Mliss with her clearness of material 
 perception and self-reliance, Clytie with her placid 
 
170 MLISS. 
 
 self-esteem and saint-like correctness of deport* 
 ment. The other little ones were timid and blun<- 
 dering. Mliss's readiness and brilliancy, of course, 
 captivated the greatest number and provoked the 
 greatest applause. Mliss's antecedents had uncon- 
 sciously awakened the strongest sympathies of a 
 class whose athletic forms were ranged against the 
 walls, or whose handsome bearded faces looked in 
 at the windows. But Mliss's popularity was over- 
 thrown by an unexpected circumstance. 
 
 McSnagley had invited himself, and had been 
 going through the pleasing entertainment of fright- 
 ening the more timid pupils by the vaguest and most 
 ambiguous questions delivered in an impressive fu- 
 nereal tone ; and Mliss had soared into Astronomy, 
 and was tracking the course of our spotted ball 
 through space, and keeping time with the music of 
 the spheres, and defining the tethered orbits of 
 the planets, when McSnagley impressively arose. 
 "Meelissy! ye were speaking of the revolutions 
 of this yere yearth and the move-ments of the sun, 
 and I think ye said it had been a doing of it since 
 the creashun, eh ? " Mliss nodded a scornful affirm- 
 ative. " Well, war that the truth ? " said McSnag- 
 ley, folding his arms. u Yes," said Mliss, shutting 
 tip her little red lips tightly. The handsome out- 
 lines at the windows peered further in the school- 
 room, and a saintly Kaphael-face, with blond beard 
 and soft blue eyes, belonging to the biggest scamp 
 
MLISS. 171 
 
 in the diggings, turned toward the child and whis- 
 pered, " Stick to it, Mliss !" The reverend gentle- 
 man heaved a deep sigh, and cast a compassionate 
 glance at the master, then at th$ children, and 
 then rested his look on Clytie. That young woman 
 softly elevated her round, white arm. Its seduc- 
 tive curves were enhanced by a gorgeous and mas- 
 sive specimen bracelet, the gift of one of her hum- 
 blest worshippers, worn in honor of the occasion. 
 There was a momentary silence. Clytie's round 
 cheeks were very pink and soft. Clytie's big eyes 
 were very bright and blue. Clytie's low-necked 
 white book-muslin rested softly on Clytie's white, 
 plump shoulders. Clytie looked at the master, and 
 the master nodded. Then Clytie spoke softly : 
 
 " Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and 
 it obeyed him ! " There was a low hum of ap- 
 plause in the school-room, a triumphant expression 
 on McSnagley's face, a grave shadow on the mas- 
 ter's, and a comical look of disappointment re- 
 flected from the windows. Mliss skimmed rapidly 
 over her Astronomy, and then shut the book with 
 a loud snap. A groan burst from McSnagley, an 
 expression of astonishment from the school-room, 
 a yell from the windows, as Mliss brought her re<7 
 fist down on the desk, with the emphatic decla* 
 ration, 
 
 " It 's a d n He. I don't believe it I " 
 
172 MLIS& 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE long wet season had drawn near its elosa 
 Signs of spring were visible in the swelling buds 
 and rushing torrents. The pine-forests exhaled 
 the fresher spicery. The azaleas were already bud- 
 ding, the Ceanothus getting ready its lilac livery 
 for spring. On the green upland which climbed 
 Red Mountain at its southern aspect the long 
 spike of the monk's-hood shot up from its broad- 
 leaved stool, and once more shook its dark-blue 
 bells. Again the billow above Smith's grave was 
 soft and green, its crest just tossed with the foam 
 of daisies and buttercups. The little graveyard 
 had gathered a few new dwellers in the past year, 
 and the mounds were placed two by two by the 
 little paling until they reached Smith's grave, and 
 there there was but one. General superstition 
 had shunned it, and the plot beside Smith was 
 vacant. 
 
 There had been several placards posted about 
 the town, intimating that, at a certain period, a 
 celebrated dramatic company would perform, for 
 a few days, a series of "side-splitting" and 
 " screaming farces " ; that, alternating pleasantly 
 with this, there would be some melodrama and a 
 grand divertisement, which would include singing, 
 
MLISS. 173 
 
 dancing, etc. These announcements occasioned a 
 great fluttering among the little folk, and were 
 the theme of much excitement and great specu- 
 lation among the master's scholars. The master 
 had promised Mliss, to whom this sort of thing 
 was sacred and rare, that she should go, and on 
 that momentous evening the master and Mliss 
 " assisted." 
 
 The performance was the prevalent style of 
 heavy mediocrity; the melodrama was not bad 
 enough to laugh at nor good enough to excite. 
 But the master, turning wearily to the child, was 
 astonished, and felt something like self-accusation 
 in noticing the peculiar effect upon her excitable 
 nature. The red blood flushed in her cheeks at 
 each stroke of her panting little heart. Her small 
 passionate lips were slightly parted to give vent 
 to her hurried breath. Her widely opened lids 
 threw up and arched her black eyebrows. She did 
 not laugh at the dismal comicalities of the funny 
 man, for Mliss seldom laughed. Nor was she dis- 
 creetly affected to the delicate extremes of the 
 corner of a white handkerchief, as was the tender- 
 hearted " Clytie," who was talking with her "feller " 
 and ogling the master at the same moment. But 
 when the performance was over, and the green 
 curtain fell on the little stage, Mliss drew a long 
 deep breath, and turned to the master's grave face 
 with a half-apologetic smile and wearied gesture* 
 
174 MLISS. 
 
 Then she said, " Now take me home ! " and dropped 
 the lids of her black eyes, as if to dwell once more 
 in fancy on the mimic stage. 
 
 On their way to Mrs. Morpher's the master 
 thought proper to ridicule the whole performance. 
 Now he should n't wonder if Mliss thought that 
 the young lady who acted so beautifully was 
 really in earnest, and in love with the gentleman 
 who wore such fine clothes. Well, if she were in 
 love with him it was a very unfortunate thing ! 
 " Why ? " said Mliss, with an upward sweep of the 
 drooping lid. " Oh ! well, he could n't support his 
 wife at his present salary, and pay so much a week 
 for his fine clothes, and then they would n't re- 
 ceive as much wages if they were married as if 
 they were merely lovers, that is," added the 
 master, " if they are not already married to some- 
 body else ; but I think the husband of the pretty 
 young countess takes the tickets at the door, or 
 pulls up the curtain, or snuffs the candles, or does 
 something equally refined and elegant. As to the 
 young man with nice clothes, which are really nice 
 now, and must cost at least two and a half or 
 three dollars, not to speak of that mantle of 
 red drugget which I happen to know the price of, 
 for I bought some of it for my room once, as to 
 this young man, Lissy, he is a pretty good fellow, 
 and if he does drink occasionally, I don't think 
 people ought to take advantage of it and give him 
 
MLISS. 175 
 
 black eves and throw hi in the mud. Do you ? 
 I am sure he might owe me two dollars and a half 
 a long time, before I would throw it up in his face, 
 as the fellow did the other night at Wingdam." 
 
 Mliss had taken his hand in both of hers and 
 was trying to look in his eyes, which the young 
 man kept as resolutely averted. Mliss had a 
 faint idea of irony, indulging herself sometimes in 
 a species of sardonic humor, which was equally 
 visible in her actions and her speech. But the 
 young man continued in this strain until they had 
 reached Mrs. Morpher's, and he had deposited 
 Mliss in her maternal charge. Waiving the invi- 
 tation of Mrs. Morpher to refreshment and rest, and 
 shading his eyes with his hand to keep out the 
 blue-eyed Clytemnestra's siren glances, he excused 
 himself, and went home. 
 
 For two or three days after the advent of the 
 dramatic company, Mliss was late at school, and 
 the master's usual Friday afternoon ramble was 
 for once omitted, owing to the absence of his 
 trustworthy guide. As he was putting away his 
 books and preparing to leave the school-house, a 
 small voice piped at his side, " Please, sir ? '" The 
 master turned and there stood Aristides Morpher. 
 
 "Well, my little man," said the master, impa- 
 tiently, "what is it? quick!" 
 
 "Please, sir, me and 'Kerg' thinks that Mlis* 
 is going to run away agin." 
 
176 MLISS. 
 
 " What 's that, sir ? " said the master, with that 
 unjust testiness with which we always receive dis- 
 agreeable news. 
 
 " Why, sir, she don't stay home any more, and 
 ' Kerg ' and me see her talking with one of those 
 actor fellers, and she 's with him now ; and please, 
 sir, yesterday she told 'Kerg' and me she could 
 make a speech as well as Miss Cellerstina Mont- 
 moressy, and she spouted right off by heart," and 
 the little fellow paused in a collapsed condition. 
 
 " What actor ? " asked the master. 
 
 " Him as wears the shiny hat. And hair. And 
 gold pin. And gold chain," said the just Aristides, 
 putting periods for commas to eke out his breath. 
 
 The master put on his gloves and hat, feeling an 
 unpleasant tightness in his chest and thorax, and 
 walked out in the road. Aristides trotted along 
 by his side, endeavoring to keep pace with his 
 short legs to the master's strides, when the master 
 stopped suddenly, and Aristides bumped up against 
 him. " Where were they talking ? " asked the mas- 
 ter, as if continuing the conversation. 
 
 " At the Arcade," said Aristides. 
 
 When they reached the main street the master 
 paused. " Eun down home," said he to the boy. 
 " If Mliss is there, come to the Arcade and tell me. 
 If she is n't there, stay home ; run ! " And off 
 trotted the short-legged Aristides. 
 
 The Arcade was just across the way, a 
 
MUSS. 177 
 
 gambling building containing a bar-room, billiard- 
 room, and restaurant. As the young man crossed 
 the plaza he noticed that two or three of the passers- 
 by turned and looked after him. He looked at his 
 clothes, took out his handkerchief and wiped his 
 face, before he entered the bar-room. It contained 
 the usual number of loungers, who stared at him as 
 he entered. One of them looked at him so fixedly 
 and with such a strange expression that the master 
 stopped and looked again, and then saw it was only 
 his own reflection in a large mirror. This made the 
 master think that perhaps he was a little excited, 
 and so he took up a copy of the Ked Mountain 
 Banner from one of the tables, and tried to recover 
 his composure by reading the column of advertise- 
 ments. 
 
 He then walked through the bar-room, through 
 the restaurant, and into the billiard-room. The 
 child was not there. In the latter apartment a 
 person was standing by one of the tables with a 
 broad-brimmed glazed hat on his head. The mas- 
 ter recognized him as the agent of the dramatic 
 company ; he had taken a dislike to him at their 
 first meeting, from the peculiar fashion of wearing 
 his beard and hair. Satisfied that the object of his 
 search was not there, he turned to the man with a 
 glazed hat. He had noticed the master, but tried 
 that common trick of unconsciousness, in which 
 vulgar natures always fail Balancing a billiard- 
 
 f* L 
 
178 MUSS. 
 
 cue in his hand, he pretended to play with a ball 
 in the centre of the table. The master stood op- 
 posite to him until he raised his eyes ; when their 
 glances met, the master walked up to him. 
 
 He had intended to avoid a scene or quarrel, but 
 when he began to speak, something kept rising in 
 his throat and retarded his utterance, and his own 
 voice frightened him, it sounded so distant, low, 
 and resonant. " I understand," he began, " that 
 Melissa Smith, an orphan, and one of my scholars, 
 has talked with you about adopting your profes- 
 sion. Is that so ? " 
 
 The man with the glazed hat leaned over the 
 table, and made an imaginary shot, that sent the 
 ball spinning round the cushions. Then walking 
 round the table he recovered the ball and placed 
 it upon the spot. This duty discharged, getting 
 ready for another shot, he said, 
 
 " S'pose she has ? " 
 
 The master choked up again, but, squeezing the 
 cushion of the table in his gloved hand, he went 
 on: 
 
 " If you are a gentleman, I have only to tell you 
 that I am her guardian, and responsible for her ca- 
 reer. You know as well as I do the kind of life 
 you offer her. As you may learn of any one here, 
 I have already brought her out of an existence 
 worse than death, out of the streets and the con- 
 tamination of vice. I am trying to do so again. 
 
MLISS. 179 
 
 Let us talk like men. She has neither father, 
 mother, sister, or brother. Are you seeking to give 
 her an equivalent for these ? " 
 
 The man with the glazed hat examined the point 
 of his cue, and then looked around for somebody 
 to enjoy the joke with him. 
 
 ft I know that she is a strange, wilful girl," con- 
 tinued the master, " but she is better than she was. 
 I believe that I have some influence over her still. 
 I beg and hope, therefore, that you will take no 
 further steps in this matter, but as a man, as a gen- 
 tleman, leave her to me. I am willing " But 
 here something rose again in the master's throat, 
 and the sentence remained unfinished. 
 
 The man with the glazed hat, mistaking the 
 master's silence, raised his head with a coarse, 
 brutal laugh, and said in a loud voice, 
 
 " Want her yourself, do you ? That cock won't 
 fight here, young man ! " 
 
 The insult was more in the tone than the words, 
 more in the glance than tone, and more in the 
 man's instinctive nature than all these. The 
 best appreciable rhetoric to this kind of animal is 
 a blow. The master felt this, and, with his pent- 
 up, nervous energy finding expression in the one 
 act, he struck the brute full in his grinning face. 
 The blow sent the glazed hat one way and the cue 
 another, and tore the glove and skin from the 
 master's hand from knuckle to joint. It opened 
 
180 MUSS. 
 
 up the corners of the fellow's mouth, and spoilt 
 the peculiar shape of his beard for some time to 
 come. 
 
 There was a shout, an imprecation, a scuffle, and 
 the trampling of many feet. Then the crowd 
 parted right and left, and two sharp quick reports 
 followed eaoh other in rapid succession. Then 
 they closed again about his opponent, and the mas- 
 ter was standing alone. He remembered picking 
 bits of burning wadding from his coat-sleeve with 
 his left hand. Some one was holding his other 
 hand. Looking at it, he saw it was still bleeding 
 from the blow, but his fingers were clenched 
 around the handle of a glittering knife. He could 
 not remember when or how he got it. 
 
 The man who was holding his hand was Mr. 
 Morpher. He hurried the master to the door, but 
 the master held back, and tried to tell him as well 
 as he could with his parched throat about " Miss." 
 " It 's all right, my boy," said Mr. Morpher. " She 's 
 home !" And they passed out into the street to- 
 gether. As they walked along Mr. Morpher said 
 that Mliss had come running into the house a few 
 moments before, and had dragged him out, saying 
 that somebody was trying to kill the master at the 
 Arcade. Wishing to be alone, the master prom- 
 ised Mr. Morpher that he would not seek the Agent 
 again that night, and parted from him, taking the 
 road toward the school-house. He was surprise^ 
 
MLISS. 181 
 
 in nearing it to find the door open, still more 
 surprised to find Mliss sitting there. 
 
 The master's nature, as I have hinted before, 
 had, like most sensitive organizations, a selfish 
 basis. The brutal taunt thrown out by his late 
 adversary still rankled in his heart. It was pos- 
 sible, he thought, that such a construction might 
 be put upon his affection for the child, which 
 at best was foolish and Quixotic. Besides, had 
 she not voluntarily abnegated his authority and 
 affection ? And what had everybody else said 
 about her ? Why should he alone combat the 
 opinion of all, and be at last obliged tacitly to 
 confess the truth of all they had predicted ? And 
 he had been a participant in a low bar-room fight 
 with a common boor, and risked his life, to prove 
 what ? What had he proved ? Nothing ? What 
 would the people say ? What would his friends 
 say ? What would McSnagley say ? 
 
 In his self-accusation the last person he should 
 have wished to meet was Mliss. He entered the 
 door, and, going up to his desk, told the child, in a 
 few cold words, that he was busy, and wished to 
 be alone. As she rose he took her vacant seat, and, 
 sitting down, buried his head in his hands. When 
 he looked up again she was still standing there. 
 She was looking at his face with an anxious ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Did you kill him ? " she asked. 
 
182 MLISS. 
 
 " No I " said the master. 
 
 " That 's what I gave you the knife for 1 * said 
 the child, quickly. 
 
 " Gave me the knife ? " repeated the master, in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " Yes, gave you the knife. I was there under the 
 bar. Saw you hit him. Saw you both fall. He 
 dropped his old knife. I gave it to you. Why 
 did n't you stick him ? " said Mliss rapidly, with an 
 expressive twinkle of the black eyes and a gesture 
 of the little red hand. 
 
 The master could only look his astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," said Mliss. "If you'd asked me, I'd 
 told you I was off with the play-actors. Why 
 was I off with the play-actors ? Because you 
 wouldn't tell me you was going away. I knew 
 it. I heard you tell the Doctor so. I wasn't 
 a goin' to stay here alone with those Morphers. 
 I 'd rather die first." 
 
 With a dramatic gesture which was perfectly 
 consistent with her character, she drew from her 
 bosom a few limp green leaves, and, holding them 
 out at arm's-length, said in her quick vivid way, 
 and in the queer pronunciation of her old life, 
 which she fell into when unduly excited, 
 
 " That 's the poison plant you said would kill 
 me. I '11 go with the play-actors, or I '11 eat this 
 and die here. I don't care which. I won't stay 
 here, where they hate and despise me ! Neithei 
 
MLISS. 183 
 
 would you let me, if you did n't hate and despise 
 me too ! " 
 
 The passionate little breast heaved, and two big 
 tears peeped over the edge of Mliss's eyelids, but 
 she whisked them away with the corner of her 
 apron as if they had been wasps. 
 
 " If you lock me up in jail," said Mliss, fiercely, 
 " to keep me from the play-actors, I '11 poison 
 myself. Father killed himself, why should n't 
 I ? You said a mouthful of that root would kill 
 me, and I always carry it here," and she struck 
 her breast with her clenched fist. 
 
 The master thought of the vacant plot beside 
 Smith's grave, and of the passionate little figure 
 before him. Seizing her hands in his and looking 
 full into her truthful eyes, he said, 
 
 " Lissy, will you go with me ? " 
 
 The child put her arms around his neck, and 
 aid joyfully, "Yes." 
 
 " But now to-night ? " 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 And, hand in hand, they passed into the road, 
 the narrow road that had once brought her 
 weary feet to the master's door, and which it 
 seemed she should not tread again alone. The 
 stars glittered brightly above them. For good or 
 ill the lesson had been learned, and behind them 
 the school of Ked Mountain closed upon them for- 
 ever. 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 
 
 THE year of grace 1797 passed away on the 
 coast of California in a southwesterly gale. 
 The little bay of San Carlos, albeit sheltered by 
 the headlands of the blessed Trinity, was rough 
 and turbulent; its foam clung quivering to the 
 seaward wall of the Mission garden ; the air 
 was filled with flying sand and spume, and as 
 the Senor Comandante, Hermenegildo Salvatierra, 
 looked from the deep embrasured window of the 
 Presidio guard-room, he felt the salt breath of the 
 distant sea buffet a color into his smoke-dried 
 cheeks. 
 
 The Commander, I have said, was gazing thought- 
 fully from the window of the guard-room. He 
 may have been reviewing the events of the year 
 now about to pass away. But, like the garri- 
 son at the Presidio, there was little to review; 
 the year, like its predecessors, had been unevent- 
 ful, the days had slipped by in a delicious mo- 
 notony of simple duties, unbroken by incident 
 or interruption. The regularly recurring feasts 
 and saints' days, the half-yearly courier from San 
 Diego, the rare transport-ship and rarer foreign 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 185 
 
 vessel, were the mere details of his patriarchal 
 life. If there was no achievement, there was cer- 
 tainly no failure. Abundant harvests and patient 
 industry amply supplied the wants of Presidio and 
 Mission. Isolated from the family of nations, the 
 wars which shook the world concerned them not 
 so much as the last earthquake ; the struggle that 
 emancipated their sister colonies on the other side 
 of the continent to them had no suggestiveness. 
 In short, it was that glorious Indian summer of 
 California history, around which so much poetical 
 haze still lingers, that bland, indolent autumn 
 of Spanish rule, so soon to be followed by the 
 wintry storms of Mexican independence and the 
 reviving spring of American conquest. 
 
 The Commander turned from the window and 
 walked toward the fire that burned brightly on 
 the deep oven-like hearth. A pile of copy-books, 
 the work of the Presidio school, lay on the table. 
 As he turned over the leaves with a paternal 
 interest, and surveyed the fair round Scripture 
 text, the first pious pot-hooks of the pupils of 
 San Carlos, an audible commentary fell from 
 his lips : " ' Abimelech took her from Abraham '' 
 ah, little one, excellent ! ' Jacob sent to see hif 
 brother ' body of Christ ! that up-stroke of 
 thine, Paquita, is marvellous ; the Governor shall 
 gee it ! " A film of honest pride dimmed the Com- 
 mander's left eye, the right, alas ! twenty years 
 
186 THE BIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 
 
 before had been sealed by an Indian arrow. He 
 rubbed it softly with the sleeve of his leather 
 jacket, and continued : " ' The Ishmaelites having 
 arrived ' " 
 
 He stopped, for there was a step in the court- 
 yard, a foot upon the threshold, and a stranger 
 entered. With the instinct of an old soldier, 
 the Commander, after one glance at the intruder, 
 turned quickly toward the wall, where his trusty 
 Toledo hung, or should have been hanging. But 
 it was not there, and as he recalled that the last 
 time he had seen that weapon it was being ridden 
 up and down the gallery by Pepito, the infant son 
 of Bautista, the tortilio-maker, he blushed and 
 then contented himself with frowning upon the 
 intruder. 
 
 But the stranger's air, though irreverent, was 
 decidedly peaceful. He was unarmed, and wore 
 the ordinary cape of tarpauling and sea-boots of a 
 mariner. Except a villanous smell of codfish, 
 there was little about him that was peculiar. 
 
 His name, as he informed the Commander, in 
 Spanish that was more fluent than elegant or pre- 
 cise, his name was Peleg Scudder. He was mas- 
 ter of the schooner " General Court," of the port 
 of Salem, in Massachusetts, on a trading-voyage 
 to the South Seas, but now driven by stress of 
 weather into the bay of San Carlos. He begged 
 permission to ride out the gale under the head- 
 
THE BIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 187 
 
 lands of the blessed Trinity, and no more. Water 
 he did not need, having taken in a supply at 
 Bodega, He knew the strict surveillance of the 
 Spanish port regulations in regard to foreign ves- 
 sels, and would do nothing against the severe dis- 
 cipline and good order of the settlement. There 
 was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his tone as he 
 glanced toward the desolate parade-ground of the 
 Presidio and the open unguarded gate. The fact 
 was that the sentry, Felipe Gomez, had discreetly 
 retired to shelter at the beginning of the storm, 
 and was then sound asleep in the corridor. 
 
 The Commander hesitated. The port regulations 
 were severe, but he was accustomed to exercise 
 individual authority, and beyond an old order 
 issued ten years before, regarding the American 
 ship " Columbia," there was no precedent to guide 
 him. The storm was severe, and a sentiment of 
 humanity urged him to grant the stranger's request. 
 It is but just to the Commander to say, that his 
 inability to enforce a refusal did not weigh with 
 his decision. He would have denied with equal 
 disregard of consequences that right to a seventy- 
 four gun ship which he now yielded so gracefully 
 to this Yankee trading-schooner. He stipulated 
 only, that there should be no communication 
 between the ship and shore. "For yourself, 
 Senor Captain," he continued, " accept my hospi- 
 tality. The fort is yours as long as you shall 
 
188 THE BIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 grace it with your distinguished presence"; and 
 with old-fashioned courtesy, he made the semblance 
 of withdrawing from the guard-room. 
 
 Master Peleg Scudder smiled as he thought of 
 the half-dismantled fort, the two mouldy brass 
 cannon, cast in Manila a century previous, and the 
 shiftless garrison. A wild thought of accepting 
 the Commander's offer literally, conceived in the 
 reckless spirit of a man who never let slip an 
 offer for trade, for a moment filled his brain, but a 
 timely reflection of the commercial unimportance 
 of the transaction checked him. He only took 
 a capacious quid of tobacco, as the Commander 
 gravely drew a settle before the fire, and in honor 
 of his guest untied the black silk handkerchief that 
 bound his grizzled brows. 
 
 What passed between Salvatierra and his guest 
 that night it becomes me not, as a grave chronicler 
 of the salient points of history, to relate. I have 
 said that Master Peleg Scudder was a fluent talker, 
 and under the influence of divers strong waters, 
 furnished by his host, he became still more loqua- 
 cious. And think of a man with a twenty years' 
 budget of gossip! The Commander learned, for 
 the first time, how Great Britain lost her colonies ; 
 of the French Kevolution ; of the great Napoleon, 
 whose achievements, perhaps, Peleg colored more 
 highly than the Commander's superiors would have 
 liked. And when Peleg turned questioner, the 
 
THE BIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 189 
 
 Commander was at Ms mercy. He gradually made 
 himself master of the gossip of the Mission and 
 Presidio, the " small-beer " chronicles of that pas- 
 toral age, the conversion of the heathen, the Pre- 
 sidio schools, and even asked the Commander how 
 he had lost his eye ! It is said that at this point 
 of the conversation Master Peleg produced from 
 about his person divers small trinkets, kick-shaws 
 and new-fangled trifles, and even forced some of 
 them upon his host. It is further alleged that 
 under the malign influence of Peleg and several 
 glasses of aguardiente, the Commander lost some- 
 what of his decorum, and behaved in a manner 
 unseemly for one in his position, reciting high- 
 flown Spanish poetry, and even piping in a thin, 
 high voice, divers madrigals and heathen canzonets 
 of an amorous complexion ; chiefly in regard to a 
 " little one " who was his, the Commander's, " soul " ! 
 These allegations, perhaps unworthy the notice of 
 a serious chronicler, should be received with great 
 caution, and are introduced here as simple hearsay. 
 That the Commander, however, took a handkerchief 
 and attempted to show his guest the mysteries of 
 the serribi cuacua, capering in an agile but in- 
 decorous manner about the apartment, has been 
 denied. Enough for the purposes of this narra- 
 tive, that at midnight Peleg assisted his host to 
 bed with many protestations of undying friend- 
 ship, and then, as the gale had abated, took his 
 
190 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 
 
 leave of the Presidio and hurried aboard the 
 "General Court." When the day broke the ship 
 was gone. 
 
 I know not if Peleg kept his word with his 
 host. It is said that the holy fathers at the Mis- 
 sion that night heard a loud chanting in the plaza, 
 as of the heathens singing psalms through their 
 noses ; that for many days after an odor of salt 
 codfish prevailed in the settlement; that a dozen 
 hard nutmegs, which were unfit for spice or seed, 
 were found in the possession of the wife of the 
 baker, and that several bushels of shoe-pegs, which 
 bore a pleasing resemblance to oats, but were quite 
 inadequate to the purposes of provender, were 
 discovered in the stable of the blacksmith. But 
 when the reader reflects upon the sacredness of a 
 Yankee trader's word, the stringent discipline of 
 the Spanish port regulations, and the proverbial 
 indisposition of my countrymen to impose upon 
 the confidence of a simple people, he will at once 
 reject this part of the story. 
 
 A roll of drums, ushering in the year 1798, 
 awoke the Commander. The sun was shining 
 brightly, and the storm had ceased. He sat up in 
 bed, and through the force of habit rubbed his left 
 eye. As the remembrance of the previous night 
 came back to him, he jumped from his couch and 
 ran to the window. There was no ship in the 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDEB 191 
 
 bay. A sudden thought seemed to strike him, and 
 he rubbed both of his eyes. Not content with 
 this, he consulted the metallic mirror which hung 
 beside his crucifix. There was no mistake ; the 
 Commander had a visible second eye, a right 
 one, as good, save for the purposes of vision, as 
 the left. 
 
 Whatever might have been the true secret of this 
 transformation, but one opinion prevailed at San 
 Carlos. It was one of those rare miracles vouch- 
 safed a pious Catholic community as an evidence 
 to the heathen, through the intercession of the 
 blessed San Carlos himself. That their beloved 
 Commander, the temporal defender of the Faith, 
 should be the recipient of this miraculous mani- 
 festation was most fit and seemly. The Com- 
 mander himself was reticent ; he could not tell a 
 falsehood, he dared not tell the truth. After all, 
 if the good folk of San Carlos believed that the 
 powers of his right eye were actually restored, 
 was it wise and discreet for him to undeceive 
 them ? For the first time in his life the Com- 
 mander thought of policy, for the first time he 
 quoted that text which has been the lure of so 
 many well-meaning but easy Christians, of being 
 "all things to all men." Infeliz Hennenegildo 
 Salvatierra ! 
 
 For by degrees an ominous whisper crept through 
 the little settlement. The Eight Eye of the Com* 
 
192 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 mander, although miraculous, seemed to exercise a 
 baleful effect upon the beholder. No one could 
 look at it without winking. It was cold, hard, 
 relentless and unflinching. More than that, it 
 seemed to be endowed with a dreadful prescience, 
 a faculty of seeing through and into the inarticu- 
 late thoughts of those it looked upon. The sol- 
 diers of the garrison obeyed the eye rather than 
 the voice of their commander, and answered his 
 glance rather than his lips in questioning. The 
 servants could not evade the ever-watchful, but 
 cold attention that seemed to pursue them. The 
 children of the Presidio School smirched their 
 copy-books under the awful supervision, and poor 
 Paquita, the prize pupil, failed utterly in that 
 marvellous up-stroke when her patron stood beside 
 her. Gradually distrust, suspicion, self-accusation, 
 and timidity took the place of trust, confidence, 
 and security throughout San Carlos. Whenever the 
 Right Eye of the Commander fell, a shadow fell 
 with it. 
 
 Nor was Salvatierra entirely free from the bale- 
 ful influence of his miraculous acquisition. Un- 
 conscious of its effect upon others, he only saw in 
 their actions evidence of certain things that the 
 crafty Peleg had hinted on that eventful New 
 Year's eve. His most trusty retainers stammered, 
 blushed, and faltered before him. Self-accusations, 
 confessions of minor faults and delinquencies, 01 
 
THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 193 
 
 extravagant excuses and apologies met his mildest 
 inquiries. The very children that he loved his 
 pet pupil, Paquita seemed to be conscious of 
 some hidden sin. The result of this constant ir- 
 ritation showed itself more plainly. For the first 
 half-year the Commander's voice and eye were at 
 variance. He was still kind, tender, and thought- 
 ful in speech. Gradually, however, his voice took 
 upon itself the hardness of his glance and its 
 sceptical, impassive quality, and as the year again 
 neared its close it was plain that the Commander 
 had fitted himself to the eye, and not the eye to 
 the Commander. 
 
 It may be surmised that these changes did not 
 escape the watchful solicitude of the Fathers. In- 
 .deed, the few who were first to ascribe the right 
 eye of Salvatierra to miraculous origin and the 
 special grace of the blessed San Carlos, now talked 
 openly of witchcraft and the agency of Luzbel, 
 the evil one. It would have fared ill with Her- 
 menegildo Salvatierra had he been aught but Com- 
 mander or amenable to local authority. But the 
 reverend father, Friar Manuel de Cortes, had no 
 power over the political executive, and all attempts 
 at spiritual advice failed signally. He retired baf- 
 fled and confused from his first interview with the 
 Commander, who seemed now to take a grim sat- 
 isfaction in the fateful power of his glance. The 
 holy father contradicted himself, exposed the fal- 
 
194 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER 
 
 lacies of his own arguments, and even, it is as- 
 serted, committed himself to several undoubted 
 heresies. When the Commander stood up at mass, 
 if the officiating priest caught that sceptical and 
 searching eye, the service was inevitably ruined. 
 Even the power of the Holy Church seemed to be 
 lost, and the last hold upon the affections of the 
 people and the good order of the settlement de- 
 parted from San Carlos. 
 
 As the long dry summer passed, the low hilla 
 that surrounded the white walls of the Presidio 
 grew more and more to resemble in hue the leath- 
 ern jacket of the Commander, and Nature herself 
 seemed to have borrowed his dry, hard glare. The 
 earth was cracked and seamed with drought; a 
 blight had fallen upon the orchards and vineyards, 
 and the rain, long delayed and ardently prayed for, 
 came not. The sky was as tearless as the right 
 eye of the Commander. Murmurs of discontent, 
 insubordination, and plotting among the Indians 
 reached his ears ; he only set his teeth the more 
 firmly, tightened the knot of his black silk hand- 
 kerchief, and looked up his Toledo. 
 
 The last day of the year 1798 found the Com- 
 mander sitting, at the hour of evening prayers* 
 alone in the guard-room. He no longer attended 
 the services of the Holy Church, but crept away 
 at such times to some solitary spot, where he spent 
 the interval in silent meditation. The firelight 
 
THE BIGHT EYE OP THE COMMANDER. 195 
 
 played upon the low beams and rafters, but left 
 the bowed figure of Salvatierra in darkness. Sit- 
 ting thus, he felt a small hand touch his arm, and, 
 looking down, saw the figure of Paquita, his little 
 Indian pupil, at his knee. "Ah, littlest of all," 
 said the Commander, with something of his old 
 tenderness, lingering over the endearing diminu- 
 tives of his native speech, "sweet one, what 
 doest thou here ? Art thou not afraid of him 
 whom every one shuns and fears?" 
 
 " No," said the little Indian, readily, " not in the 
 dark. I hear your voice, the old voice ; I feel 
 your touch, the old touch ; but I see not your 
 eye, Senor Comandante. That only I fear, and 
 that, Senor, my father," said the child, lift- 
 ing her little arms towards his, " that I know 
 is not thine own ! " 
 
 The Commander shuddered and turned away. 
 Then, recovering himself, he kissed Paquita grave- 
 ly on the forehead and bade her retire. A few 
 hours later, when silence had fallen upon the Pre- 
 sidio, he sought his own couch and slept peace- 
 fully. 
 
 At about the middle watch of the night a 
 dusky figure crept through the low embrasure of 
 the Commander's apartment. Other figures were 
 flitting through the parade-ground, which the Com* 
 mander might have seen had he not slept so quiet- 
 ly. The intruder stepped noiselessly to the couch 
 
196 THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 
 
 and listened to the sleeper's deep-drawn inspiration. 
 Something glittered in the firelight as the savage 
 lifted his arm ; another moment and the sore per- 
 plexities of Hermenegildo Salvatierra would have 
 been over, when suddenly the savage started ana 
 fell back in a paroxysm of terror. The Com- 
 mander slept peacefully, but his right eye, widely 
 opened, fixed and unaltered, glared coldly on the 
 would-be assassin. The man fell to the earth in a 
 fit, and the noise awoke the sleeper. . 
 
 To rise to his feet, grasp his sword, and deal 
 blows thick and fast upon the mutinous savages 
 who now thronged the room, was the work of a mo- 
 ment. Help opportunely arrived, and the undis- 
 ciplined Indians were speedily driven beyond the 
 walls, but in the scuffle the Commander received 
 a blow upon his right eye, and, lifting his hand 
 to that mysterious organ, it was gone. Never 
 again was it found, and never again, for bale or 
 bliss, did it adorn the right orbit of the Com- 
 mander. 
 
 With it passed away the spell that had fallen 
 upon San Carlos. The rain returned to invigorate 
 the languid soil, harmony was restored between 
 priest and soldier, the green grass presently waved 
 over the sere hillsides, the children flocked again 
 to the side of their martial preceptor, a Te Deum 
 was sung in the Mission Church, and pastoral con- 
 lent once more smiled upon the gentle valleys of 
 
THE BIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER. 197 
 
 San Carlos. And far south ward crept the " General 
 Court " with its master, Peleg Scudder, trafficking in 
 beads and peltries with the Indians, and offering 
 glass eyes, wooden legs, and other Boston notions 
 to the chiets. 
 
m>IES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 PART I IN THE FIELD. 
 
 IT was near the close of an October day that I 
 began to be disagreeably conscious of the Sac- 
 ramento Valley. I had been riding since sunrise, 
 and my course through the depressing monotony 
 of the long level landscape affected me more like 
 a dull dyspeptic dream than a business journey, 
 performed under that sincerest of natural phenom- 
 ena, a California sky. The recurring stretches of 
 brown and baked fields, the gaping fissures in the 
 dusty trail, the hard outline of the distant hills, 
 and the herds of slowly moving cattle, seemed like 
 features of some glittering stereoscopic picture that 
 never changed. Active exercise might have re- 
 moved this feeling, but my horse by some subtle 
 instinct had long since given up all ambitious 
 effort, and had lapsed into a dogged trot. 
 
 It was autumn, but not the season suggested to 
 the Atlantic reader under that title. The sharply 
 defined boundaries of the wet and dry seasons were 
 prefigured in the clear outlines of the distant hills. 
 In the dry atmosphere the decay of vegetation waa 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 199 
 
 too rapid for the slow hectic which overtakes an 
 Eastern landscape, or else Nature was too practical 
 for such thin disguises. She merely turned the 
 Hippocratic face to the spectator, with the old di- 
 agnosis of Death in her sharp, contracted features. 
 
 In the contemplation of such a prospect there 
 was little to excite any but a morbid fancy. There 
 were no clouds in the flinty blue heavens, and the 
 setting of the sun was accompanied with as little 
 ostentation as was consistent with the dryly prac- 
 tical atmosphere. Darkness soon followed, with a 
 rising wind, which increased as the shadows deep- 
 ened on the plain. The fringe of alder by the 
 watercourse began to loom up as I urged my horse 
 forward. A half-hour's active spurring brought 
 me to a corral, and a little beyond a house, so low 
 and broad it seemed at first sight to be half buried 
 in the earth. 
 
 My second impression was that it had grown out 
 of the soil, like some monstrous vegetable, its 
 dreary proportions were so in keeping with the 
 vast prospect. There were no recesses along its 
 roughly boarded walls for vagrant and unprofit- 
 able shadows to lurk in the daily sunshine. No 
 projection for the wind by night to grow musical 
 over, to wail, whistle, or whisper to ; only a long 
 wooden shelf containing a chilly-looking tin basin, 
 and a bar of soap. Its uncurtained windows were 
 red with the sinking sun, as though bloodshot and 
 
200 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELDt 
 
 inflamed from a too long unlidded existence The- 
 tracks of cattle led to its front door, firmly closed 
 against the rattling wind. 
 
 To avoid being confounded with this familiar 
 element, I walked to the rear of the house, which 
 was connected with a smaller building by a slight 
 platform. A grizzled, hard-faced old man was 
 standing there, and met my salutation with a look 
 of inquiry, and, without speaking, led the way tf 
 the principal room. As I entered, four young men 
 who were reclining by the fire, slightly altered 
 their attitudes of perfect repose, but beyond that 
 betrayed neither curiosity nor interest. A hound 
 started from a dark corner with a growl, but was 
 immediately kicked by the old man into obscurity, 
 and silenced again. I can't tell why, but I in- 
 stantly received the impression that for a long time 
 the group by the fire had not uttered a word or 
 moved a muscle. Taking a seat, I briefly stated 
 my business. 
 
 Was a United States surveyor. Had come on 
 account of the Espiritu Santo Kancho. Wanted 
 to correct the exterior boundaries of township 
 lines, so as to connect with the near exteriors of 
 private grants. There had been some intervention 
 to the old survey by a Mr. Tryan who had pre- 
 empted adjacent " settled land warrants," in* 
 terrupted the old man. " Ah, yes ! Land Warrants, 
 and then this was Mr. Tryan ? " 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND HELD. 201 
 
 I had spoken mechanically, for I was preoccu- 
 pied in connecting other public lines with private 
 surveys, as I looked in his face. It was certainly 
 a hard face, and reminded me of the singular effect 
 of that mining operation known as " ground slui- 
 cing " ; the harder lines of underlying character 
 were exposed, and what were once plastic curves 
 and soft outlines were obliterated by some power- 
 ful agency. 
 
 There was a dryness in his voice not unlike the 
 prevailing atmosphere of the valley, as he launched 
 into an ex parte statement of the contest, with a 
 fluency, which, like the wind without, showed fre- 
 quent and unrestrained expression. He told me 
 what I had already learned that the boundary 
 line of the old Spanish grant was a creek, described 
 in the loose phraseology of the deseno as beginning 
 in the valda or skirt of the hill, its precise loca- 
 tion long the subject of litigation. I listened and 
 answered with little interest, for my mind was still 
 distracted by the wind which swept violently by 
 the house, as well as by his odd face, which was 
 again reflected in the resemblance that the silent 
 group by the fire bore toward him. He was still 
 talking, and the wind was yet blowing, when my 
 confused attention was aroused by a remark ad- 
 dressed to the recumbent figures. 
 
 " Now, then, which on ye '11 see the stranger up 
 the creek to Altascar's, to-morrow ? " 
 
 9* 
 
202 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 There was a general movement of opposition in 
 the group, but no decided answer. 
 
 "Kin you go, Kerg?" 
 
 " Who 's to look up stock in Strarberry per- 
 ar-ie?" 
 
 This seemed to imply a negative, and the old 
 man turned to another hopeful, who was pulling 
 the fur from a mangy bear-skin on which he was 
 lying, with an expression as though it were some- 
 body's hair. 
 
 " Well, Tom, wot 's to hinder you from goin' ? " 
 
 " Mam *s goin' to Brown's store at sun-up, and I 
 s'pose I Ve got to pack her and the baby agin." 
 
 I think the expression of scorn this unfortunate 
 youth exhibited for the filial duty into which he 
 had been evidently beguiled, was one of the finest 
 things I had ever seen. 
 
 "Wise?" 
 
 Wise deigned no verbal reply, but figuratively 
 thrust a worn and patched boot into the discourse. 
 The old man flushed quickly. 
 
 " I told ye to get Brown to give you a pair the 
 last time you war down the river." 
 
 "Said he wouldn't without'en order. Said it 
 was like pulling gum-teeth to get the money from 
 you even then." 
 
 There was a grim smile at this local hit at the 
 old man's parsimony, and Wise, who was clearly 
 the privileged wit of the family, sank back in hon- 
 orable retirement. 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 203 
 
 " Well, Joe, ef your boots are new, and you are 
 n't pestered with wimmin and children, p'r'aps 
 you'll go," said Tryan, with a nervous twitching, 
 intended for a smile, about a mouth not remarkably 
 mirthful. 
 
 Tom lifted a pair of bushy eyebrows, and said 
 shortly, 
 
 " Got no saddle." 
 
 " Wot 's gone of your saddle ? " 
 
 "Kerg, there," indicating his brother with a 
 look such as Cain might have worn at the sacrifice* 
 
 " You lie ! " returned Kerg, cheerfully. 
 
 Tryan sprang to his feet, seizing the chair, flour- 
 ishing it around his head and gazing furiously in 
 the hard young faces which fearlessly met his own. 
 But it was only for a moment; his arm soon 
 dropped by his side, and a look of hopeless fatality 
 crossed his face. He allowed me to take the chair 
 from his hand, and I was trying to pacify him by 
 the assurance that I required no guide, when the 
 irrepressible Wise again lifted his voice : 
 
 " Theer 's George comin' ! why don't ye ask him ? 
 He '11 go and introduce you to Don Fernandy's 
 darter, too, ef you ain't pertickler." 
 
 The laugh which followed this joke, which evi- 
 dently had some domestic allusion (the general 
 tendency of rural pleasantry), was followed by a 
 light step on the platform, and the young man en- 
 tered. Seeing a stranger present, he stopped and 
 
204 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 colored ; made a shy salute and colored again, and 
 then, drawing a box from the corner, sat down, his 
 hands clasped lightly together and his very hand- 
 some bright blue eyes turned frankly on mine. 
 
 Perhaps I was in a condition to receive the ro- 
 mantic impression he made upon me, and I took 
 it upon myself to ask his company as guide, and 
 he cheerfully assented. But some domestic duty 
 called him presently away. 
 
 The fire gleamed brightly on the hearth, and, no 
 longer resisting the prevailing influence, I silently 
 watched the spirting flame, listening to the wind 
 which continually shook the tenement. Besides 
 the one chair which had acquired a new impor- 
 tance in my eyes, I presently discovered a crazy 
 table in one corner, with an ink-bottle and pen ; the 
 latter in that greasy state of decomposition pecu- 
 liar to country taverns and farm-houses. A goodly 
 array of rifles and double-barrelled guns stocked 
 the corner ; half a dozen saddles and blankets lay 
 near, with a mild flavor of the horse about them. 
 Some deer and bear skins completed the inventory. 
 As I sat there, with the silent group around me, 
 the shadowy gloom within and the dominant wind 
 without, I found it difficult to believe I had ever 
 known a different existence. My profession had 
 often led me to wilder scenes, but rarely among 
 those whose unrestrained habits and easy uncon- 
 sciousness made me feel so lonely and uncomfort- 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 205 
 
 able. I shrank closer to myself, not without grave 
 doubts which I think occur naturally to people 
 in like situations that this was the general rule 
 of humanity, and I was a solitary and somewhat 
 gratuitous exception. 
 
 It was a relief when a laconic announcement of 
 eupper by a weak-eyed girl caused a general move- 
 ment in the family. "We walked across the dark 
 platform, which led to another low-ceiled room. 
 Its entire length was occupied by a table, at the 
 farther end of which a weak-eyed woman was al- 
 ready taking her repast, as she, at the same time, 
 gave nourishment to a weak-eyed baby. As the 
 formalities of introduction had been dispensed 
 with, and as she took no notice of me, I was enabled 
 to slip into a seat without discomposing or inter- 
 rupting her. Tryan extemporized a grace, and the 
 attention of the family became absorbed in bacon, 
 potatoes, and dried apples. 
 
 The meal was a sincere one. Gentle gurglings 
 at the upper end of the table often betrayed the 
 presence of the " wellspring of pleasure." The 
 conversation generally referred to the labors of the 
 day, and comparing notes as to the whereabouts 
 of missing stock. Yet the supper was such a vast 
 improvement upon the previous intellectual feast, 
 that when a chance allusion of mine to the busi- 
 ness of my visit brought out the elder Tryan, the 
 interest grew quite exciting. I remember he in- 
 
206 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 veighed bitterly against the system of ranch-hold* 
 ing by the " greasers/' as he was pleased to term 
 the native Californians. As the same ideas have 
 been sometimes advanced under more pretentious 
 circumstances, they may be worthy of record. 
 
 " Look at 'em holdin' the finest grazin' land that 
 ever lay outer doors ? Whar 's the papers for it ? 
 Was it grants ? Mighty fine grants, most of 
 'em made arter the 'Merrikans got possession. 
 More fools the 'Merrikans for lettin' 'em hold 'em. 
 Wat paid for 'em ? 'Merrikan blood and money. 
 
 " Did n't they oughter have suthin out of their 
 native country ? Wot for ? Did they ever im- 
 prove ? Got a lot of yaller-skinned diggers, not 
 so sensible as niggers to look arter stock, and they 
 a sittin' home and smokin'. With their gold and 
 silver candlesticks, and missions, and crucifixens, 
 priests and graven idols, and sich? Them sort 
 things wurent allowed in Mizzoori." 
 
 At the mention of improvements, I involun- 
 tarily lifted my eyes, and met the half-laughing, 
 half-embarrassed look of George. The act did 
 not escape detection, and I had at once the sat- 
 isfaction of seeing that the rest of the family had 
 formed an offensive alliance against us. 
 
 " It was agin Nater, and agin God," added 
 Tryan. " God never intended gold in the rocks to 
 be made into heathen candlesticks and crucifixens. 
 That 's why he sent 'Merrikins here. Nater never 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 207 
 
 intended such a climate for lazy lopers. She 
 never gin six months' sunshine to be slept and 
 smoked away." 
 
 How long he continued, and with what further 
 illustration I could not say, for I took an early op- 
 portunity to escape to the sitting-room. I was 
 soon followed by George, who called me to an open 
 door leading to a smaller room, and pointed to a 
 bed. 
 
 "You'd better sleep there to-night," he said; 
 " you '11 be more comfortable, and I '11 call you 
 early." 
 
 I thanked him, and would have asked him 
 several questions which were then troubling me, 
 but he shyly slipped to the door and vanished. 
 
 A shadow seemed to fall on the room when he 
 had gone. The " boys " returned, one by one, and 
 shuffled to their old places. A larger log was 
 thrown on the fire, and the huge chimney glowed 
 like a furnace, but it did not seem to melt or sub- 
 due a single line of the hard faces that it lit. In 
 half an hour later, the furs which had served as 
 chairs by day undertook the nightly office of mat- 
 tresses, and each received its owner's full-length 
 figure. Mr. Tryan had not returned, and I missed 
 George. I sat there, until, wakeful and nervous, I 
 saw the fire fall and shadows mount the wall 
 There was no sound but the rushing of the wind 
 and the snoring of the sleepers. At last, feeling 
 
208 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 the place insupportable, I seized my hat and, open* 
 ing the door, ran out briskly into the night. 
 
 The acceleration of my torpid pulse in the kee* 
 fight with the wind, whose violence was almost 
 equal to that of a tornado, and the familiar face* 
 of the bright stars above me, I felt as a blessed 
 relief. I ran not knowing whither, and when 1 
 halted, the square outline of the house was lost 
 in the alder-bushes. An uninterrupted plain 
 stretched before me, like a vast sea beaten flat by 
 the force of the gale. As I kept on '1 noticed a 
 slight elevation toward the horizon, and presently 
 my progress was impeded by the ascent of an In- 
 dian mound. It struck me forcibly as resembling 
 an island in the sea. Its height gave me a bet- 
 ter view of the expanding plain. But even here 
 I found no rest. The ridiculous interpretation 
 Tryan had given the climate was somehow sung 
 in my ears, and echoed in my throbbing puke, 
 as, guided by the star, I sought the house again. 
 
 But I felt fresher and more natural as I stepped 
 upon the platform. The door of the lower build- 
 ing was open, and the old man was sitting beside 
 the table, thumbing the leaves of a Bible with a 
 look in his face as though he were hunting up 
 prophecies against the "Greaser." 1 turned to 
 enter, but my attention was attracted by a blank' 
 eted figure lying beside the house, on the platform 
 The broad chest heaving with healthy slumber, 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 209 
 
 and the open, honest face were familiar. It was 
 George, who had given up his bed to the stranger 
 among his people. I was about to wake him, but 
 he lay so peaceful and quiet, I felt awed and 
 hushed. And I went to bed with a pleasant im- 
 pression of his handsome face and tranquil figure 
 soothing me to sleep. 
 
 I was awakened the next morning from a sense 
 of lulled repose and grateful silence by the cheery 
 voice of George, who stood beside my bed, osten- 
 tatiously twirling a " riata," as if to recall the 
 duties of the day to my sleep-bewildered eyes. I 
 looked around me. The wind had been magically 
 laid, and the sun shone warmly through the win- 
 dows. A dash of cold water, with an extra chill 
 on from the tin basin, helped to brighten me. It 
 was still early, but the family had already break- 
 fasted and dispersed, and a wagon winding far in 
 the distance showed that the unfortunate Tom had 
 already " packed " his relatives away. I felt more 
 cheerful, there are few troubles Youth cannot 
 distance with the start of a good night's rest. 
 After a substantial breakfast, prepared by George, 
 in a few moments we were mounted and dashing 
 down the plain. 
 
 We followed the line of alder that denned the 
 creek, now dry and baked with summer's heat, 
 but which in winter, George told me, overflowed 
 
210 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 its banks. I still retain a vivid impression of that 
 morning's ride, the far-off mountains, like silhouettes, 
 against the steel-blue sky, the crisp dry air, and 
 the expanding track before me, animated often by 
 the well-knit figure of George Tryan, musical with 
 jingling spurs, and picturesque with flying " riata." 
 He rode a powerful native roan, wild-eyed, un- 
 tiring in stride and unbroken in nature. Alas ! 
 the curves of beauty were concealed by the cum- 
 brous machillas of the Spanish saddle, which lev- 
 els all equine distinctions. The single rein lay 
 loosely on the cruel bit that can gripe, and, if need 
 be, crush the jaw it controls. 
 
 Again the illimitable freedom of the valley rises 
 before me, as we again bear down into sunlit 
 space. Can this be " Chu-Chu," staid and respect- 
 able filly of American pedigree, " Chu-Chu," for- 
 getful of plank-roads and cobble-stones, wild with 
 excitement, twinkling her small white feet beneath 
 me ? George laughs out of a cloud of dust, " Give 
 her her head ; don't you see she likes it ? " and 
 " Chu-Chu" seems to like it, and, whether bitten 
 by native tarantula into native barbarism or 
 emulous of the roan, "blood" asserts itself, and 
 in a moment the peaceful servitude of years is 
 beaten out in the music of her clattering hoofs. 
 The creek widens to a deep gully. We dive into 
 it and up on the opposite side, carrying a moving 
 cloud of impalpable powder with us. Cattle are 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 211 
 
 scattered over the plain, grazing quietly, or banded 
 together in vast restless herds. George makes a 
 wide, indefinite sweep with the " riata," as if to 
 include them all in his vaquero's loop, and says, 
 "Ours!" 
 
 " About how many, George ? " 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 " How many ? " 
 
 " Well, p'r'aps three thousand head," says George, 
 reflecting. "We don't know, takes five men to 
 look 'em up and keep run." 
 
 " What are they worth ? " 
 
 " About thirty dollars a head." 
 
 I make a rapid calculation, and look my astonish- 
 ment at the laughing George. Perhaps a recollec- 
 tion of the domestic economy of the Tryan house- 
 hold is expressed in that look, for George averts 
 his eye and says, apologetically, 
 
 "I } ve tried to get the old man to sell and 
 build, but you know he says it ain't no use to 
 settle down, just yet. We must keep movin'. 
 In fact, he built the shanty for that purpose, lest 
 titles should fall through, and we 'd have to get 
 up and move stakes further down." 
 
 Suddenly his quick eye detects some unusual 
 sight in a herd we are passing, and with an ex- 
 clamation he puts his roan into the centre of the 
 mass. I follow, or rather " Chu-Chu " darts after 
 the voan, and in a few moments we are in the 
 
212 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 midst of apparently inextricable horns and hoofs, 
 " Toro ! " shouts George, with vaquero enthusiasm, 
 and the band opens a way for the swinging " riata." 
 I can feel their steaming breaths, and their spume 
 is cast on " Chu-Chu's " quivering flank. 
 
 Wild, devilish-looking beasts are they ; not 
 such shapes as Jove might have chosen to woo a 
 goddess, nor such- as peacefully range the downs of 
 Devon, but lean and hungry Cassius-like bovines, 
 economically got up to meet the exigencies of a 
 six months' rainless climate, and accustomed to 
 wrestle with the distracting wind and the blind- 
 ing dust. 
 
 " That 's not our brand," says George ; " they 're 
 strange stock," and he points to what my scientific 
 eye recognizes as the astrological sign of Venus 
 deeply seared in the brown flanks of the bull he is 
 chasing. But the herd are closing round us with 
 low mutterings, and George has again recourse to 
 the authoritative " Toro," and with swinging " riata " 
 divides the " bossy bucklers " on either side. When 
 we are free, and breathing somewhat more easily, I 
 venture to ask George if they ever attack any 
 one. 
 
 "Never horsemen, sometimes footmen. Not 
 through rage, you know, but curiosity. They think 
 a man and his horse are one, and if they meet a 
 chap afoot, they run him down and trample him 
 Under hoof, in the pursuit of knowledge. But," 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 213 
 
 adds George, " here 's the lower bench of the foot- 
 hills, and here 's Altascar's corral, and that white 
 building you see yonder is the casa" 
 
 A whitewashed wall enclosed a court containing 
 another adobe building, baked with the solar beams 
 of many summers. Leaving our horses in the charge 
 of a few peons in the courtyard, who were basking 
 lazily in the sun, we entered a low doorway, where 
 a deep shadow and an agreeable coolness fell upon 
 us, as sudden and grateful as a plunge in cool 
 water, from its contrast with the external glare 
 and heat. In the centre of a low-ceiled apartment 
 sat an old man with a black silk handkerchief tied 
 about his head ; the few gray hairs that escaped 
 from its folds relieving his gamboge-colored face. 
 The odor of cigarritos was as incense added to the 
 cathedral gloom of the building. 
 
 As Senor Altascar rose with well-bred gravity 
 to receive us, George advanced with such a height- 
 ened color, and such a blending of tenderness and 
 respect in his manner, that I was touched to the 
 heart by so much devotion in the careless youth. 
 In fact, my eyes were still dazzled by the effect of 
 the outer sunshine, and at first I did not see the 
 white teeth and black eyes of Pepita, who slipped 
 into the corridor as we entered. 
 
 It was no pleasant matter to disclose particulars 
 of business which would deprive the old Senor of 
 the greater part of that land we had just ridden 
 
214 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 over, and I did it with great embarrassment. But 
 he listened calmly, not a muscle of his dark face 
 stirring, and the smoke curling placidly from 
 his lips showed his regular respiration. When I 
 had finished, he offered quietly to accompany us 
 to the line of demarcation. George had mean- 
 while disappeared, but a suspicious conversation in 
 broken Spanish and English, in the corridor, be- 
 trayed his vicinity. When he returned again, a 
 little absent-minded, the old man, by far the cool- 
 est and most self-possessed of the party, extin- 
 guished his black silk cap beneath that stiff, un- 
 comely sombrero which all native Californians 
 affect. A serapa thrown over his shoulders hinted 
 that he was waiting. Horses are always ready 
 saddled in Spanish ranches, and in half an hour 
 from the time of our arrival we were again " lop- 
 ing " in the staring sunlight. 
 
 But not as cheerfully as before. George and 
 myself were weighed down by restraint, and Altas- 
 car was gravely quiet. To break the silence, and 
 by way of a consolatory essay, I hinted to him 
 that there might be further intervention or appeal, 
 but the proffered oil and wine were returned with 
 a careless shrug of the shoulders and a senten- 
 tious " Que lutno ? Your courts are always 
 just." 
 
 The Indian mound of the previous night's dis- 
 covery was a bearing monument of the new 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 215 
 
 and there we halted. We were surprised to find 
 the old man Tiyan waiting us. For the first time 
 during our interview the old Spaniard seemed 
 moved, and the blood rose in his yellow cheek. 
 I was anxious to close the scene, and pointed out 
 the corner boundaries as clearly as my recollection 
 served. 
 
 " The deputies will be here to-morrow to run 
 the lines from this initial point, and there will be 
 no further trouble, I believe, gentlemen." 
 
 Senor Altascar had dismounted and was gather- 
 ing a few tufts of dried grass in his hands. George 
 and I exchanged glances. He presently arose from 
 his stooping posture, and, advancing to within a 
 few paces of Joseph Tryan, said, in a voice broken 
 vith passion, 
 
 "And I, Fernando Jesus Maria Altascar, put 
 jou in possession of my land in the fashion of my 
 country." 
 
 He threw a sod to each of the cardinal points. 
 
 " I don't know your courts, your judges, or your 
 vorregidores. Take the llano ! and take this 
 vith it. May the drought seize your cattle till 
 tfheir tongues hang down as long as those of your 
 lying lawyers ! May it be the curse and torment 
 of your old age, as you and yours have made it of 
 mine!" 
 
 We stepped between the principal actors in this 
 cene, which only the passion of Altascar made 
 
216 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 tragical, but Tryan, with a humility but ill con- 
 cealing his triumph, interrupted : 
 
 " Let him curse on. He '11 find 'em coming home 
 to him sooner than the cattle he has lost through 
 his sloth and pride. The Lord is on the side of 
 the just, as well as agin all slanderers and re- 
 vilers." 
 
 Altascar but half guessed the meaning of the 
 Missourian, yet sufficiently to drive from his mind 
 all but the extravagant power of his native in- 
 vective. 
 
 " Stealer of the Sacrament ! Open not ! open 
 not, I say, your lying, Judas lips to me ! AJi ! 
 half-breed, with the soul of a cayote! Car-r-r- 
 ramba ! " 
 
 With his passion reverberating among the con- 
 sonants like distant thunder, he laid his hand 
 upon the mane of his horse as though it had been 
 the gray locks of his adversary, swung himself 
 into the saddle and galloped away. 
 
 George turned to me : 
 
 " Will you go back with us to-night ? " 
 
 I thought of the cheerless walls, the silent figures 
 by the fire, and the roaring wind, and hesitated. 
 
 "Well then, good by" 
 
 "Good by, George." 
 
 Another wring of the hands, and we parted. I 
 had not ridden far, when I turned and looked back. 
 The wind had risen early that afternoon, and was 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 217 
 
 already sweeping across the plain. A cloud of dust 
 travelled before it, and a picturesque figure occa- 
 sionally emerging therefrom was my last indistinct 
 impression of George Tryan. 
 
 PART H. IN THE FLOOD. 
 
 THREE months after the survey of the Espiritu 
 Santo Kancho, I was again in the valley of the 
 Sacramento. But a general and terrible visitation 
 had erased the memory of that event as completely 
 as I supposed it had obliterated the boundary 
 monuments I had planted. The great flood of 
 1861-62 was at its height, when, obeying some 
 indefinite yearning, I took my carpet-bag and em- 
 barked for the inundated valley. 
 
 There was nothing to be seen from the bright 
 cabin windows of the "Golden City" but night 
 deepening over the water. The only sound was 
 the pattering rain, and that had grown monoto- 
 nous for the past two weeks, and did not disturb 
 the national gravity of my countrymen as they 
 silently sat around the cabin stove. Some on 
 errands of relief to friends and relatives wore 
 anxious faces, and conversed soberly on the one 
 absorbing topic. Others, like myself, attracted by 
 curiosity, listened eagerly to newer details. But 
 10 
 
218 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 with that human disposition to seize upon any 
 circumstance that might give chance event the 
 exaggerated importance of instinct, I was half 
 conscious of something more than curiosity as an 
 impelling motive. 
 
 The dripping of rain, the low gurgle of water, 
 and a leaden sky greeted us the next morning as 
 we lay beside the half-submerged levee of Sacra- 
 mento. Here, however, the novelty of boats to 
 convey us to the hotels was an appeal that was 
 irresistible. I resigned myself to a dripping rub- 
 ber-cased mariner called " Joe," and, wrapping my- 
 self in a shining cloak of the like material, about 
 as suggestive of warmth as court-plaster might 
 have been, took my seat in the stern-sheets of his 
 boat. It was no slight inward struggle to part 
 from the steamer, that to most of the passengers 
 was the only visible connecting link between us 
 and the dry and habitable earth, but we pulled 
 away and entered the city, stemming a rapid cur- 
 rent as we shot the levee. 
 
 We glided up the long level of K Street, once 
 a cheerful, busy thoroughfare, now distressing in 
 its silent desolation. The turbid water which seemed 
 to meet the horizon edge before us flowed at right 
 angles in sluggish rivers through the streets. Na- 
 ture had revenged herself on the local taste by 
 disarraying the regular rectangles by huddling 
 houses on street corners, where they presented 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 219 
 
 abrupt gables to the current, or by capsizing them 
 in compact ruin. Crafts of all kinds were gliding 
 in and out of low-arched doorways. The water 
 was over the top of the fences surrounding well- 
 kept gardens, in the first stories of hotels and 
 private dwellings, trailing its slime on velvet car- 
 pets as well as roughly boarded floors. And a 
 silence quite as suggestive as the visible deso- 
 lation was in the voiceless streets that no longer 
 echoed to carriage-wheel or footfall. The low 
 ripple of water, the occasional splash of oars, or 
 the warning cry of boatmen were the few signs of 
 life and habitation. 
 
 With such scenes before my eyes and such 
 sounds in my ears, as I lie lazily in the boat, is 
 mingled the song of my gondolier who sings to the 
 music of his oars. It is not quite as romantic as 
 his brother of the Lido might improvise, but my 
 Yankee " Giuseppe " has the advantage of earnest- 
 ness and energy, and gives a graphic description 
 of the terrors of the past week and of noble deeds 
 of self-sacrifice and devotion, occasionally pointing 
 out a balcony from which some California Bianca 
 or Laura had been snatched, half clothed and fam- 
 ished. Giuseppe is otherwise peculiar, and re- 
 fuses the proffered fare, for am I not a citizen 
 of San Francisco, which was first to respond to the 
 suffering cry of Sacramento ? and is not he, Giu- 
 geppe, a member of the Howard Society ? No J 
 
220 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 Giuseppe is poor, but cannot take my money. 
 Still, if I must spend it, there is the Howard 
 Society, and the women and children without food 
 and clothes at the Agricultural Hall. 
 
 I thank the generous gondolier, and we go to 
 the Hall, a dismal, bleak place, ghastly with 
 the memories of last year's opulence and plenty, 
 and here Giuseppe's fare is swelled by the stranger's 
 mite. But here Giuseppe tells me of the " Belief 
 Boat " which leaves for the flooded district in the 
 interior, and here, profiting by the lesson he has 
 taught me, I make the resolve to turn my curi- 
 osity to the account of others, and am accepted of 
 those who go forth to succor and help the afflicted. 
 Giuseppe takes charge of my carpet-bag, and does 
 not part from me until I stand on the slippery 
 deck of " Belief Boat No. 3." 
 
 An hour later I am in the pilot-house, looking 
 down upon what was once the channel of a peace- 
 ful river. But its banks are only defined by tossing 
 tufts of willow washed by the long swell that 
 breaks over a vast inland sea. Stretches of " tule " 
 land fertilized by its once regular channel and 
 dotted by flourishing ranchos are now cleanly 
 erased. The cultivated profile of the old land- 
 scape had faded. Dotted lines in symmetrical 
 perspective mark orchards that are buried and 
 chilled in the turbid flood. The roofs of a few 
 farm-houses are visible, and here and there the 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 221 
 
 smoke curling from chimneys of half-submerged 
 tenements show an undaunted life within. Cattle 
 and sheep are gathered on Indian mounds waiting 
 the fate of their companions whose carcasses drift 
 by us, or swing in eddies with the wrecks of barns 
 and out-houses. Wagons are stranded everywhere 
 where the tide could carry them. As I wipe the 
 moistened glass, I see nothing but water, pattering 
 on the deck from the lowering clouds, dashing 
 against the window, dripping from the willows, 
 hissing by the wheels, everywhere washing, coil- 
 ing, sapping, hurrying in rapids, or swelling at last 
 into deeper and vaster lakes, awful in their sug- 
 gestive quiet and concealment. 
 
 As day fades into night the monotony of this 
 strange prospect grows oppressive. I seek the 
 engine-room, and in the company of some of the 
 few half-drowned sufferers we have already picked 
 up from temporary rafts, I forget the general 
 aspect of desolation in their individual misery. 
 Later we meet the San Francisco packet, and 
 transfer a number of our passengers. From them 
 we learn how inward-bound vessels report to hav- 
 ing struck the well-defined channel of the Sa- 
 cramento, fifty miles beyond the bar. There is 
 a voluntary contribution taken among the gener- 
 ous travellers for the use of our afflicted, and we 
 part company with a hearty "God speed" on 
 either side. But our signal-lights are not far dis- 
 
222 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 tant before a familiar sound comes back to us, 
 an indomitable Yankee cheer, which scatters the 
 gloom. 
 
 Our course is altered, and we are steaming over 
 the obliterated banks far in the interior. Once or 
 twice black objects loom up near us, the wrecks 
 of houses floating by. There is a slight rift in the 
 sky towards the north, and a few bearing stars to 
 guide us over the waste. As we penetrate into 
 shallower water, it is deemed advisable to divide 
 our party into smaller boats, and diverge over the 
 submerged prairie. I borrow a pea-coat of one of 
 the crew, and in that practical disguise am doubt- 
 fully permitted to pass into one of the boats. We 
 give way northerly. It is quite dark yet, although 
 the rift of cloud has widened. 
 
 It must have been about three o'clock, and we 
 were lying upon our oars in an eddy formed by a 
 clump of cottonwood, and the light of the steamer 
 is a solitary, bright star in the distance, when the 
 silence is broken by the " bow oar " : 
 
 " Light ahead." 
 
 All eyes are turned in that direction. In a few 
 seconds a twinkling light appears, shines steadily, 
 and again disappears as if by the shifting position 
 of some black object apparently drifting close 
 upon us. 
 
 "Stern, all; a steamer!" 
 
 "Hold hard there ! Steamer be d d !" is the 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 223 
 
 reply of the coxswain. " It 's a house, and a big 
 one too." 
 
 It is a big one, looming in the starlight like a 
 huge fragment of the darkness. The light comes 
 from a single candle, which shines through a 
 window as the great shape swings by. Some 
 recollection is drifting back to me with it, as I 
 listen with beating heart. 
 
 " There 's some one in it, by Heavens ! Give 
 way, boys, lay her alongside. Handsomely, now ! 
 The door 's fastened ; try the window ; no ! here 's 
 another ! " 
 
 In another moment we are trampling in the 
 water, which washes the floor to the depth of sev- 
 eral inches. It is a large room, at the further end 
 of which an old man is sitting wrapped in a 
 blanket, holding a candle in one hand, and appar- 
 ently absorbed in the book he holds with the 
 other. I spring toward him with an exclama- 
 tion : 
 
 " Joseph Tryan ! " 
 
 He does not move. We gather closer to him, 
 and I lay my hand gently on his shoulder, and 
 say: 
 
 " Look up, old man, look up ! Your wife and 
 children, where are they ? The boys, George ! 
 Are they here ? are they safe ? " 
 
 He raises his head slowly, and turns his eyes to 
 mine, and we involuntarily recoil before his look. 
 
224 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 It is a calm and quiet glance, free from fear, anger, 
 or pain ; but it somehow sends the blood curdling 
 through our veins. He bowed his head over his 
 book again, taking no further notice of us. The 
 men look at me compassionately, and hold their 
 peace. I make one more effort : 
 
 " Joseph Tryan, don't you know me ? the sur- 
 veyor who surveyed your ranch, the Espiritu 
 Santo ? Look up, old man ! " 
 
 He shuddered and wrapped himself closer in his 
 blanket. Presently he repeated to himself, " The 
 surveyor who surveyed your ranch, Espiritu 
 Santo," over and over again, as though it were a 
 lesson he was trying to fix in his memory. 
 
 I was turning sadly to the boatmen, when he 
 suddenly caught me fearfully by the hand and 
 said, 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 We were silent. 
 
 " Listen ! " He puts his arm around my neck 
 and whispers in my ear, " I 'm a moving off I " 
 
 "Moving off?" 
 
 " Hush ! Don't speak so loud. Moving off. 
 Ah ! wot 's that ? Don't you hear ? there ! lis- 
 ten I" 
 
 We listen, and hear the water gurgle and click 
 beneath the floor. 
 
 " It 's them wot he sent ! Old Altascar sent. 
 They 've been here all night. I heard 'em first in 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 225 
 
 the creek, when they came to tell the old man to 
 move farther off. They came nearer and nearer. 
 They whispered under the door, and I saw their 
 eyes on the step, their cruel, hard eyes. Ah, 
 why don't they quit ? " 
 
 I tell the men to search the room and see if they 
 can find any further traces of the family, while 
 Tryan resumes his old attitude. It is so much 
 like the figure I remember on the breezy night 
 that a superstitious feeling is fast overcoming me. 
 When they have returned, I tell them briefly what 
 I know of him, and the old man murmurs again, - 
 
 " Why don't they quit, then ? They have the 
 stock, all gone gone, gone for the hides and 
 hoofs," and he groans bitterly. 
 
 " There are other boats below us. The shanty 
 cannot have drifted far, and perhaps the family are 
 safe by this time," says the coxswain, hopefully. 
 
 We lift the old man up, for he is quite helpless, 
 and carry him to the boat. He is still grasping 
 the Bible in his right hand, though its strengthen- 
 ing grace is blank to his vacant eye, and he cowers 
 in the stern as we pull slowly to the steamer, while 
 a pale gleam in the sky shows the coming day. 
 
 I was weary with excitement, and when we 
 reached the steamer, and I had seen Joseph Tryan 
 comfortably bestowed, I wrapped myself in a 
 blanket near the boiler and presently fell asleep. 
 But even then the figure of the old man often started 
 10* o 
 
226 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 before me, and a sense of uneasiness about George 
 made a strong undercurrent to my drifting dreams. 
 I was awakened at about eight o'clock in the 
 morning by the engineer, who told me one of the 
 old man's sons had been picked up and was now on 
 board. 
 
 " Is it George Tryan ? " I ask quickly. 
 
 " Don't know ; but he 's a sweet one, whoever he 
 is," adds the engineer, with a smile at some luscious 
 remembrance. " You '11 find him for'ard." 
 
 I hurry to the bow of the boat, and find, not 
 George, but the irrepressible Wise, sitting on a 
 coil of rope, a little dirtier and rather more dilapi- 
 dated than I can remember having seen him. 
 
 He is examining, with apparent admiration, some 
 rough, dry clothes that have been put out for his 
 disposal. I cannot help thinking that circum- 
 stances have somewhat exalted his usual cheerful- 
 ness. He puts me at my ease by at once address- 
 ing me : 
 
 " These are high old times, ain't they ? I sayj 
 what do you reckon 's become o' them thai 
 bound'ry moniments you stuck ? Ah ! " 
 
 The pause which succeeds this outburst is the 
 effect of a spasm of admiration at a pair of high 
 boots, which, by great exertion, he has at last 
 pulled on his feet. 
 
 " So you 've picked up the ole man in the 
 shanty, clean crazy ? He must have been soft 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 221 
 
 to have stuck there instead o' leavin' with the old 
 \voman. Did n't know me from Adam ; took me 
 for George ! " 
 
 At this affecting instance of paternal forgetful- 
 ness, Wise was evidently divided between amuse- 
 ment and chagrin. I took advantage of the con- 
 tending emotions to ask about George. 
 
 " Don't know whar he is ! If he 'd tended 
 stock instead of running about the prairie, packin' 
 off wimmin and children, he might have saved 
 suthin. He lost every hoof and hide, I '11 bet a 
 cookey ! Say you," to a passing boatman, " when 
 are you goin' to give us some grub ? I 'm hungry 
 'nough to skin and eat a hoss. Keckon I '11 turn 
 butcher when things is dried up, and save hides, 
 horns, and taller." 
 
 I could not but admire this indomitable energy, 
 which under softer climatic influences might have 
 borne such goodly fruit. 
 
 " Have you any idea what you '11 do, Wise ? " I 
 Ask. 
 
 " Thar ain't much to do now," says the practical 
 young man. "I'll have to lay over a spell, I 
 reckon, till things comes straight. The land ain't 
 worth much now, and won't be, I dessay, for some 
 time. Wonder whar the ole man '11 drive stakes 
 next." 
 
 " I meant as to your father and George, Wise." 
 
 " 0, the ole man and I '11 go on to ' Miles's, ' whar 
 
228 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 Tom packed the old woman and babies last week. 
 George '11 turn up somewhar atween this and 
 Altascar's, ef he ain't thai now." 
 
 I ask how the Altascars have suffered. 
 
 " Well, I reckon he ain't lost much in stock. I 
 should n't wonder if George helped him drive 'em 
 up the foot-hills. And his ' casa ' 's built too high. 
 0, thar ain't any water thar, you bet. Ah," says 
 Wise, with reflective admiration, "those greasers 
 ain't the darned fools people thinks 'em. I '11 bet 
 thar ain't one swamped out in all'er Californy." 
 But the appearance of " grub," cut this rhapsody 
 short. 
 
 " I shall keep on a little farther," I say, " and 
 try to find George." 
 
 Wise stared a moment at this eccentricity until 
 a new light dawned upon him. 
 
 " I don't think you '11 save much. What 's the 
 percentage, workin' on shares, eh ! " 
 
 I answer that I am only curious, which I feel 
 lessens his opinion of me, and with a sadder feel- 
 ing than his assurance of George's safety might 
 warrant, I walked away. 
 
 From others whom we picked up from time to 
 time we heard of George's self-sacrificing devo- 
 tion, with the praises of the many he had helped 
 and rescued. But I did not feel disposed to re- 
 turn until I had seen him, and soon prepared my 
 self to take a boat to the lower " valda " of th 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 229 
 
 foot-hills, and visit Altascar. I soon perfected 
 my arrangements, bade farewell to Wise, and took 
 a last look at the old man, who was sitting by the 
 furnace-fires quite passive and composed. Then 
 our boat-head swung round, pulled by sturdy and 
 willing hands. 
 
 It was again raining, and a disagreeable wind 
 had risen. Our course lay nearly west, and we 
 soon knew by the strong current that we were in 
 the creek of the Espfritu Santo. From time to 
 time the wrecks of barns were seen, and we 
 passed many half-submerged willows hung with 
 farming implements. 
 
 We emerge at last into a broad silent sea. It is 
 the " llano de Espiritu Santo." As the wind whis- 
 tles by me, piling the shallower fresh water into 
 mimic waves, I go back, in fancy, to the long ride 
 of October over that boundless plain, and recall 
 the sharp outlines of the distant hills which are 
 now lost in the lowering clouds. The men are 
 rowing silently, and I find my mind, released from 
 its tension, growing benumbed and depressed as 
 then. The water, too, is getting more shallow as 
 we leave the banks of the creek, and with my 
 hand dipped listlessly over the thwarts, I detect 
 the tops of chimisal, which shows the tide to have 
 somewhat fallen. There is a black mound, bear- 
 ing to the north of the line of alder, making an 
 adverse current, which, as we sweep to the right to 
 
230 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 avoid, I recognize. We pull close alongside and 
 I call to the men to stop. 
 
 There was a stake driven near its summit with 
 the initials, " L. E. S. I." Tied half-way down was 
 a curiously worked " riata." It was George's. It 
 had been cut with some sharp instrument, and the 
 loose gravelly soil of the mound was deeply dented 
 with horse's hoofs. The stake was covered with 
 horse-hairs. It was a record, but no clew. 
 
 The wind had grown more violent, as we still 
 fought our way forward, resting and rowing by 
 turns, and oftener " poling " the shallower surface, 
 but the old " valda," or bench, is still distant. 
 My recollection of the old survey enables me to 
 guess the relative position of the meanderings of 
 the creek, and an occasional simple professional 
 experiment to determine the distance gives my 
 crew the fullest faith in my ability. Mght over- 
 takes us in our impeded progress. Our condition 
 looks more dangerous than it really is, but I urge 
 the men, many of whom are still new in this mode 
 of navigation, to greater exertion by assurance of 
 perfect safety and speedy relief ahead. We go on 
 in this way until about eight o'clock, and ground 
 by the willows. We have a muddy walk for a 
 few hundred yards before we strike a dry trail, 
 and simultaneously the white walls of Altascar's 
 appear like a snow-bank before us. Lights are 
 moving in the courtyard ; but otherwise the old 
 tomb-like repose characterizes the building. 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 231 
 
 One of the peons recognized me as I entered the 
 court, and Altascar met me on the corridor. 
 
 I was too weak to do more than beg his hospi- 
 tality for the men who had dragged wearily with 
 me. He looked at my hand, which still un- 
 consciously held the broken "riata." I began, 
 wearily, to tell him about George and my fears, 
 but with a gentler courtesy than was even his 
 Wont, he gravely laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " Poco a poco Senor, not now. You are tired, 
 you have hunger, you have cold. Necessary it is 
 you should have peace." 
 
 He took us into a small room and poured out 
 eome French cognac, which he gave to the men 
 that had accompanied me. They drank and threw 
 themselves before the fire in the larger room. The 
 repose of the building was intensified that night, 
 and I even fancied that the footsteps on the cor- 
 ridor were lighter and softer. The old Spaniard's 
 habitual gravity was deeper ; we might have been 
 ehut out from the world as well as the whistling 
 etorm, behind those ancient walls with their time- 
 worn inheritor. 
 
 Before I could repeat my inquiry he retired. 
 In a few minutes two smoking dishes of " chupa " 
 with coffee were placed before us, and my men 
 ate ravenously. I drank the coffee, but my ex- 
 citement and weariness kept down the instincts 
 of hunger. 
 
232 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 I was sitting sadly by the fire when he re-en- 
 tered. 
 
 "You have eat?" 
 
 I said, "Yes," to please him. 
 
 " Bueno, eat when you can, food and appetite 
 are not always." 
 
 He said this with that Sancho-like simplicity 
 with which most of his countrymen utter a 
 proverb, as though it were an experience rather 
 than a legend, and, taking the " riata " from the 
 floor, held it almost tenderly before him. 
 
 " It was made by me, Senor." 
 
 " I kept it as a clew to him, Don Altascar," I 
 said. " If I could find him " 
 
 " He is here." 
 
 " Here ! and " but I could not say, " well ! " 
 I understood the gravity of the old man's face, the 
 hushed footfalls, the tomb-like repose of the build- 
 ing in an electric flash of consciousness ; I held 
 the clew to the broken riata at last. Altascar took 
 my hand, and we crossed the corridor to a sombre 
 apartment. A few tall candles were burning in 
 sconces before the window. 
 
 In an alcove there was a deep bed with its 
 counterpane, pillows, and sheets heavily edged 
 with lace, in all that splendid luxury which the 
 humblest of these strange people lavish upon this 
 single item of their household. I stepped beside 
 it and saw George lying, as I had seen him 
 
NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 233 
 
 before, peacefully at rest. But a greater sacrifice 
 than that he had known was here, and his gen- 
 erous heart was stilled forever. 
 
 " He was honest and brave," said the old man, 
 and turned away. , 
 
 There was another figure in the room ; a heavy 
 shawl drawn over her graceful outline, and hei 
 long black hair hiding the hands that buried he* 
 downcast face. I did not seem to notice her, and t 
 retiring presently, left the loving and loved to- 
 gether. 
 
 When we were again beside the crackling fire, 
 in the shifting shadows of the great chamber, Al- 
 tascar told me how he had that morning met the 
 horse of George Tryan swimming on the prairie ; 
 how that, farther on, he found him lying, quite 
 cold and dead, with no marks or bruises on his 
 person ; that he had probably become exhausted 
 in fording the creek, and that he had as probably 
 reached the mound only to die for want of that 
 help he had so freely given to others ; that, as a 
 last act, he had freed his horse. These incidents 
 were corroborated by many who collected in the 
 great chamber that evening, women and chil- 
 dren, most of them succored through the de- 
 voted energies of him who lay cold and lifeless 
 above. 
 
 He was buried in the Indian mound, the 
 tingle spot of strange perennial greenness, which 
 
234 NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD. 
 
 the poor aborigines had raised above the dusty 
 plain. A little slab of sandstone with the initials 
 " G-. T." is his monument, and one of the bearings 
 of the initial corner of the new survey of the 
 " Espiritu Santo Kancho." 
 
BOHEMIAN PAPERS. 
 
THE MISSION DOLOEES. 
 
 THE Mission Dolores is destined to be " The 
 Last Sigh " of the native Californian. When 
 the last "Greaser" shall indolently give way to 
 the bustling Yankee, I can imagine he will, like 
 the Moorish King, ascend one of the Mission hills 
 to take his last lingering look at the hilled city. 
 For a long time he will cling tenaciously to Pacific 
 Street. He will delve in the rocky fastnesses of 
 Telegraph Hill until progress shall remove it. He 
 will haunt Vallejo Street, and those back slums 
 which so vividly typify the degradation of a peo- 
 ple ; but he will eventually make way for improve- 
 ment. The Mission will be last to drop from his 
 nerveless fingers. 
 
 As I stand here this pleasant afternoon, looking 
 up at the old chapel, its ragged senility con- 
 trasting with the smart sprir^ sunshine, "its two 
 gouty pillars with the plaster dropping away like 
 tattered bandages, its rayles windows, its crum- 
 bling entrances, the lepe* sp^ts on its whitewashed 
 wall eating through tJie- dark adobe, I give the 
 ^oor old mendicant "but a few years longer to sit 
 by the highway and ask alms in the names of the 
 
238 THE MISSION DOLORES. 
 
 blessed saints. Already the vicinity is haunted with 
 the shadow of its dissolution. The shriek of the 
 locomotive discords with the Angelus bell. An 
 Episcopal church, of a green Gothic type, with mas- 
 sive buttresses of Oregon pine, even now mocks its 
 hoary age with imitation and supplants it with a 
 sham. Vain, alas ! were those rural accessories, the 
 nurseries and market-gardens, that once gathered 
 about its walls and resisted civic encroachment. 
 They, too, are passing away. Even those queer lit- 
 tle adobe buildings with tiled roofs like longitudi- 
 nal slips of cinnamon, and walled enclosures sa- 
 credly guarding a few bullock horns and strips of 
 hide. I look in vain for the half-reclaimed Mexi- 
 can, whose respectability stopped at his waist, and 
 whose red sash under his vest was the utter undo- 
 ing of his black broadcloth. I miss, too, those 
 black-haired women, with swaying unstable busts, 
 whose dresses were always unseasonable in texture 
 and pattern ; whose wearing of a shawl was a ter- 
 rible awakening from the poetic dream of the 
 Spanish mantilla. Traces of another nationality 
 are visible. The railroad " navvy " has builded his 
 shanty near the chapel, and smokes his pipe in the 
 Posada. Gutturals have taken the place of linguals 
 and sibilants ; I miss the half-chanted, half-drawled 
 cadences that used to mingle with the cheery " All 
 aboard " of the stage-driver, in those good old days 
 when the stages ran hourly to the Mission, and a 
 
THE MISSION DOLORES. 239 
 
 trip thither was an excursion. At the very gates 
 of the temple, in the place of those "who sell 
 doves for sacrifice," a vender of mechanical 
 spiders has halted with his unhallowed wares. 
 Even the old Padre last type of the Missionary, 
 and descendant of the good Junipero I cannot 
 find to-day; in his stead a light-haired Celt is 
 reading a lesson from a Vulgate that is wonderfully 
 replete with double r's. Gentle priest, in thy R- 
 isons, let the stranger and heretic be remembered. 
 I open a little gate and enter the Mission Church- 
 yard. There is no change here, though perhaps 
 the graves lie closer together. A willow-tree, 
 growing beside the deep, brown wall, has burst 
 into tufted plumes in the fulness of spring. The 
 tall grass-blades over each mound show a strange 
 quickening of the soil below. It is pleasanter 
 here than on the bleak mountain seaward, where 
 distracting winds continually bring the strife and 
 turmoil of the ocean. The Mission hills lovingly 
 embrace the little cemetery, whose decorative taste 
 is less ostentatious. The foreign flavor is strong ; 
 here are never-failing garlands of immortelles, with 
 their sepulchral spicery ; here are little cheap 
 medallions of pewter, with the adornment of three 
 black tears, that would look like the three of clubs, 
 but that the simple humility of the inscription 
 counterbalances all sense of the ridiculous. Here 
 are children's graves with guardian angels of great 
 
240 THE MISSION DOLORES. 
 
 specific gravity ; but here, too, are the little one's 
 toys in a glass case beside them. Here is the av- 
 erage quantity of execrable original verses ; but 
 one stanza over a sailor's grave is striking, 
 for it expresses a hope of salvation through the 
 " Lord High Admiral Christ " ! Over the foreign 
 graves there is a notable lack of scriptural quota- 
 tion, and an increase, if I may say it, of humanity 
 and tenderness. I cannot help thinking that too 
 many of my countrymen are influenced by a mor- 
 bid desire to make a practical point of this occa- 
 sion, and are too apt hastily to crowd a whole life 
 of omission into the culminating act. But when 
 I see the gray immortelles crowning a tombstone, I 
 know I shall find the mysteries of the resurrec- 
 tion shown rather in symbols, and only the love 
 taught in His new commandment left for the 
 graphic touch. But "they manage these things 
 better in France." 
 
 During my purposeless ramble the sun has been 
 steadily climbing the brown wall of the church, 
 and the air seems to grow cold and raw. The 
 bright green dies out of the grass, and the rich 
 bronze comes down from the wall The willow- 
 tree seems half inclined to doff its plumes, and 
 wears the dejected air of a broken faith and vio- 
 lated trust. The spice of the immortelles mixes 
 with the incense that steals through the open win- 
 
THE MISSION DOLORES. 241 
 
 dow. "Within, the barbaric gilt and crimson look 
 cold and cheap in this searching air ; by this light 
 the church certainly is old and ugly. I cannot 
 help wondering whether the old Fathers, if they 
 ever revisit the scene of their former labors, in their 
 larger comprehensions, view with regret the im- 
 pending change, or mourn over the day when the 
 Mission Dolores shall appropriately come to grief. 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN. 
 
 * I ^HE expression of the Chinese face in the 
 -I aggregate is neither cheerful nor happy. In 
 an acquaintance of half a dozen years, I can 
 only recall one or two exceptions to this rule. 
 There is an abiding consciousness of degradation, 
 a secret pain or self-humiliation visible in the 
 lines of the mouth and eye. Whether it is only 
 a modification of Turkish gravity, or whether it 
 is the dread Valley of the Shadow of the Drug 
 through which they are continually straying, I 
 cannot say. They seldom smile, and their laugh- 
 ter is of such an extraordinary and sardonic na- 
 ture so purely a mechanical spasm, quite inde- 
 pendent of any mirthful attribute that to this 
 day I am doubtful whether I ever saw a Chinaman 
 laugh. A theatrical representation by natives, 
 one might think, would have set my mind at ease 
 on this point ; but it did not. Indeed, a new dif- 
 ficulty presented itself, the impossibility of de- 
 termining whether the performance was a tragedy 
 or farce. I thought I detected the low comedian 
 in an active youth who turned two somersaults, 
 and knocked everybody down on entering the 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN. 243 
 
 stage. But, unfortunately, even this classic resem- 
 blance to the legitimate farce of our civilization 
 was deceptive. Another brocaded actor, who rep- 
 resented the hero of the play, turned three somer- 
 saults, and not only upset my theory and his fel- 
 low-actors at the same time, but apparently run 
 a-muck behind the scenes for some time after- 
 ward. I looked around at the glinting white 
 teeth to observe the effect of these two palpable 
 hits. They were received with equal acclamation, 
 and apparently equal facial spasms. One or two 
 beheadings which enlivened the play produced 
 the same sardonic effect, and left upon my mind 
 a painful anxiety to know what was the serious 
 business of life in China. It was noticeable, how- 
 ever, that my unrestrained laughter had a discord- 
 ant effect, and that triangular eyes sometimes 
 turned ominously toward the " Fanqui devil " ; 
 but as I retired discreetly before the play was 
 finished, there were no serious results. I have 
 only given the above as an instance of the impos- 
 sibility of deciding upon the outward and superfi- 
 cial expression of Chinese mirth. Of its inner 
 and deeper existence I have some private doubts. 
 An audience that will view with a serious aspect 
 the hero, after a frightful and agonizing death, 
 get up and quietly walk off the stage, cannot be 
 said to have remarkable perceptions of the ludi- 
 crous. 
 
244 JOHN CHINAMAN. 
 
 I have often been struck with the delicate plia- 
 bility of the Chinese expression and taste, that 
 might suggest a broader and deeper criticism than 
 is becoming these pages. A Chinaman will adopt 
 the American costume, and wear it with a taste of 
 color and detail that will surpass those " native, 
 and to the manner born." To look at a Chinese 
 slipper, one might imagine it impossible to shape 
 the original foot to anything less cumbrous and 
 roomy, yet a neater-fitting boot than that belong- 
 ing to the Americanized Chinaman is rarely seen 
 on this side of the Continent. When the loose 
 sack or paletot takes the place of his brocade 
 blouse, it is worn with a refinement and grace that 
 might bring a jealous pang to the exquisite of our 
 more refined civilization. Pantaloons fall easily 
 and naturally over legs that have known unlimited 
 freedom and bagginess, and even garrote collars 
 meet correctly around sun-tanned throats. The 
 new expression seldom overflows in gaudy cravats. 
 I will back my Americanized Chinaman against 
 any neophyte of European birth in the choice of 
 that article. While in our own State, the Greaser 
 resists one by one the garments of the Northern 
 invader, and even wears the livery of his conqueror 
 with a wild and buttonless freedom, the China- 
 man, abused and degraded as he is, changes 
 by correctly graded transition to the garments of 
 Christian civilization. There is but one article of 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN. 245 
 
 European wear that lie avoids. These Bohemian 
 eyes have never yet been pained by the spectacle 
 of a tall hat on the head of an intelligent China- 
 man. 
 
 My acquaintance with John has been made up 
 of weekly interviews, involving the adjustment of 
 the washing accounts, so that I have not been able 
 to study his character from a social view-point or 
 observe him in the privacy of the domestic circle. 
 I have gathered enough to justify me in believing 
 him to be generally honest, faithful, simple, and 
 painstaking. Of his simplicity let me record an 
 instance where a sad and civil young Chinaman 
 brought me certain shirts with most of the but* 
 tons missing and others hanging on delusively by 
 a single thread. In a moment of unguarded irony 
 I informed him that unity would at least have 
 been preserved if the buttons were removed alto- 
 gether. He smiled sadly and went away. I 
 thought I had hurt his feelings, until the next 
 week when he brought me my shirts with a look of '| 
 intelligence, and the buttons carefully and totally 
 erased. At another time, to guard against his 
 general disposition to carry off anything as soiled 
 clothes that he thought could hold water, I re- 
 quested him to always wait until he saw ma 
 Coming home late one evening, I found the house- 
 hold in great consternation, over an immovable 
 Celestial who had remained seated on the front 
 
246 JOHN CHINAMAN. 
 
 door-step during the day, sad and submissive, firm 
 but also patient, and only betraying any animation 
 or token of his mission when he saw me coming* 
 This same Chinaman evinced some evidences of 
 regard for a little girl in the family, who in he* 
 turn reposed such faith in his intellectual qualities 
 as to present him with a preternaturally unia* 
 teresting Sunday-school book, her own property. 
 This book John made a point of carrying osten- 
 tatiously with him in his weekly visits. It ap- 
 peared usually on the top of the clean clothes, 
 and was sometimes painfully clasped outside of 
 the big bundle of soiled linen. Whether John be- 
 lieved he unconsciously imbibed some spiritual 
 life through its pasteboard cover, as the Prince in 
 the Arabian Nights imbibed the medicine through 
 the handle of the mallet, or whether he wished to 
 exhibit a due sense of gratitude, or whether he 
 hadn't any pockets, I have never been able to 
 ascertain. In his turn he would sometimes cut 
 marvellous imitation roses from carrots for his lit- 
 tle friend. I am inclined to think that the few 
 roses strewn in John's path were such scentless 
 imitations. The thorns only were real From the 
 persecutions of the young and old of a certain 
 class, his life was a torment. I don't know what 
 was the exact philosophy that Confucius taught, 
 but it is to be hoped that poor John in his perse- 
 cution is still able to detect the conscious hate 
 
JOHN CHINAMAN. 247 
 
 and fear with which inferiority always regards the 
 possibility of even-handed justice, and which is 
 the key-note to the vulgar clamor about servile 
 and degraded races. 
 
FKOM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 IEEMEMBEE that long ago, as a sanguine and 
 trustful child, I became possessed of a highly 
 colored lithograph, representing a fair Circassian 
 sitting by a window. The price I paid for this 
 work of art may have been extravagant, even in 
 youth's fluctuating slate-pencil currency ; but the 
 secret joy I felt in its possession knew no pecuni- 
 ary equivalent. It was not alone that Nature in 
 Circassia lavished alike upon the cheek of beauty 
 and the vegetable kingdom that most expensive of 
 colors, Lake; nor was it that the rose which 
 bloomed beside the fair Circassian's window had no 
 visible stem, and was directly grafted upon a mar- 
 ble balcony; but it was because it embodied an 
 idea. That idea was a hinting of my Fate. I felt 
 that somewhere a young and fair Circassian was, 
 sitting by a window looking out for me. The 
 idea of resisting such an array of charms and 
 color never occurred to me, and to my honor be it 
 recorded, that during the feverish period of adoles- 
 cence I never thought of averting my destiny. 
 But as vacation and holiday came and went, and 
 as my picture at first grew blurred, and then faded 
 
FROM A BACK WINDOW. 249 
 
 quite away between the Eastern and "Western con- 
 tinents in my atlas, so its charm seemed mysteri- 
 ously to pass away. When I became convinced 
 that few females, of Circassian or other origin, sat 
 pensively resting their chins on their henna-tinged 
 nails, at their parlor windows, I turned my atten- 
 tion to back windows. Although the fair Circas- 
 sian has not yet burst upon me with open shutters, 
 some peculiarities not unworthy of note have 
 fallen under my observation. This knowledge has 
 not been gained without sacrifice. I have made 
 myself familiar with back windows and their 
 prospects, in the weak disguise of seeking lodg- 
 ings, heedless of the suspicious glances of land-, 
 ladies and their evident reluctance to show them. 
 I have caught cold by long exposure to draughts. 
 I have become estranged from friends by uncon- 
 sciously walking to their back windows during a 
 visit, when the weekly linen hung upon the line > 
 or where Miss Fanny (ostensibly indisposed) actu-! 
 ally assisted in the laundry, and Master Bobby, in 
 scant attire, disported himself on the area railings. 
 But I have thought of Galileo, and the invariable 
 experience of all seekers and discoverers of truth 
 has sustained me. 
 
 Show me the back windows of a man's dwelling, 
 
 and I will tell you his character. The rear of a 
 
 house only is sincere. The attitude of deception 
 
 kept up at the front windows leaves the back area 
 
 11* 
 
250 FROM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 defenceless. The world enters at the front door, 
 but nature comes out at the back passage. That 
 glossy, well-brushed individual, who lets himself 
 in with a latch-key at the front door at night, is a 
 very different being from the slipshod wretch who 
 growls of mornings for hot water at the door of the 
 kitchen. The same with Madame, whose contour 
 of figure grows angular, whose face grows pallid, 
 whose hair comes down, and who looks some ten 
 years older through the sincere medium of a back 
 window. No wonder that intimate friends fail to 
 recognize each other in this dos ct dos position. 
 You may imagine yourself familiar with the silver 
 door-plate and bow- windows of the mansion where 
 dwells your Saccharissa ; you may even fancy you 
 recognize her graceful figure between the lace cur- 
 tains of the upper chamber which you fondly 
 imagine to be hers ; but you shall dwell for months 
 in the rear of her dwelling and within whispering 
 distance of her bower, and never know it. You 
 shall see her with a handkerchief tied round her 
 head in confidential discussion with the butcher, 
 and know her not. You shall hear her voice in 
 shrill expostulation with her younger brother, and 
 it shall awaken no familiar response. 
 
 I am writing at a back window. As I prefer 
 the warmth of my coal-fire to the foggy freshness 
 of the afternoon breeze that rattles the leafless 
 shrubs in the garden below me, I have my 
 
FROM A BACK WINDOW. 251 
 
 sash closed ; consequently, I miss much of the 
 shrilly altercation that has been going on in the 
 kitchen of No. 7 just opposite. I have heard frag- 
 ments of an entertaining style of dialogue usually 
 known as "chaffing," which has just taken place 
 between Biddy in No. 9 and the butcher who 
 brings the dinner. I have been pitying the chilled 
 aspect of a poor canary, put out to taste the fresh 
 air, from the window of No. 5. I have been watch- 
 ing and envying, I fear the real enjoyment of 
 two children raking over an old dust-heap in the 
 alley, containing the waste and debris of all the 
 back yards in the neighborhood. What a wealth 
 of soda-water bottles and old iron they have ac- 
 quired ! But I am waiting for an even more fa- 
 miliar prospect from my back window. I know 
 that later in the afternoon, when the evening paper 
 comes, a thickset, gray-haired man will appear in 
 his shirt-sleeves at the back door of No. 9, and, 
 seating himself on the door-step, begin to read. 
 He lives in a pretentious house, and I hear he is a 
 rich man. But there is such humility in his atti- 
 tude, and such evidence of gratitude at being al- 
 lowed to sit outside of his own house and read his 
 paper in his shirt-sleeves, that I can picture his 
 domestic history pretty clearly. Perhaps he is fol- 
 lowing some old habit of humbler days. Perhaps 
 he has entered into an agreement with his wife not 
 to indulge his disgraceful habit in-doors. He does 
 
252 FROM A BACK WINDOW. 
 
 not look like a man who could be coaxed into a 
 dressing-gown. In front of his own palatial resi- 
 dence, I know him to be a quiet and respectable 
 middle-aged business-man, but it is from my back 
 window that my heart warms toward him in his 
 shirt-sleeved simplicity. So I sit and watch him 
 in the twilight as he reads gravely, and wonder 
 sometimes, when he looks up, squares his chest, and 
 folds his paper thoughtfully over his knee, whether 
 he does n't fancy he hears the letting down of bars, 
 or the tinkling of bells, as the cows come home 
 and stand lowing for him at the gate. 
 
BOONDEK. 
 
 I NEVER knew how the subject of this memoir 
 came to attach himself so closely to the affec- 
 tions of my family. He was not a prepossessing 
 dog. He was not a dog of even average birth and 
 breeding. His pedigree was involved in the deep- 
 est obscurity. He may have had brothers and 
 sisters, but in the whole range of my canine ac- 
 quaintance (a pretty extensive one), I never de- 
 tected any of Boonder's peculiarities in any other 
 of his species. His body was long, and his fore- 
 legs and hind-legs were very wide apart, as though. 
 Nature originally intended to put an extra pair be- 
 tween them, but had unwisely allowed herself to 
 be persuaded out of it. This peculiarity was an- 
 noying on cold nights, as it always prolonged the 
 interval of keeping the door open for Boonder's 
 ingress long enough to allow two or three dogs of 
 a reasonable length to enter. Boonder's feet were 
 decided ; his toes turned out considerably, and in 
 repose his favorite attitude was the first position 
 of dancing. Add to a pair of bright eyes ears 
 that seemed to belong to some other dog, and a 
 symmetrically pointed nose that fitted all aper- 
 tures like a pass-key, and you have Boonder as we 
 knew him. 
 
254 BOONDER. 
 
 I am inclined to think that his popularity was 
 mainly owing to his quiet impudence. His ad- 
 vent in the family was that of an old member, 
 who had been absent for a short time, but had 
 returned to familiar haunts and associations. In 
 a Pythagorean point of view this might have been 
 the case, but I cannot recall any deceased member 
 of the family who was in life partial to bone- 
 burying (though it might be post mortem a con- 
 sistent amusement), and this was Boonder's great 
 weakness. He was at first discovered coiled up 
 on a rug in an upper chamber, and was the least 
 disconcerted of the entire household. From that 
 moment Boonder became one of its recognized 
 members, and privileges, often denied the most in- 
 telligent and valuable of his species, were qui- 
 etly taken by him and submitted to by us. Thus, 
 if he were found coiled up in a clothes-basket, 
 or any article of clothing assumed locomotion 
 en its own account, we only said, " 0, it 's Boon- 
 der," with a feeling of relief that it was nothing 
 Worse. 
 
 I have spoken of his fondness for bone-burying. 
 It could not be called an economical faculty, for he 
 invariably forgot the locality of his treasure, and 
 covered the garden with purposeless holes ; but 
 although the violets and daisies were not improved 
 by Boonder's gardening, no one ever thought of 
 punishing him. He became a synonyme for Fate*, 
 a Boonder to be grumbled at, to be accepted phil- 
 
BOONDER. 255 
 
 osophically, but never to be averted. But al- 
 though he was not an intelligent dog, nor an orna- 
 namental dog, he possessed some gentlemanly 
 instincts. When he performed his only feat, 
 begging upon his hind legs (and looking remarka- 
 bly like a penguin), ignorant strangers would 
 offer him crackers or cake, which he did n't like, as 
 a reward of merit. Boonder always made a great 
 show of accepting the proffered dainties, and even 
 made hypocritical contortions as if swallowing, 
 but always deposited the morsel when he was 
 unobserved in the first convenient receptacle, 
 usually the visitor's overshoes. 
 
 In matters that did not involve courtesy, Boon- 
 der was sincere in his likes and dislikes. He 
 was instinctively opposed to the railroad. When 
 the track was laid through our street, Boon- 
 der maintained a defiant attitude toward every 
 rail as it went down, and resisted the cars shortly 
 after to the fullest extent of his lungs. I have 
 a vivid recollection of seeing him, on the day 
 of the trial trip, come down the street in front 
 of the car, barking himself out of all shape, 
 and thrown back several feet by the recoil of 
 each bark. But Boonder was not the only one 
 who has resisted innovations, or has lived to see 
 the innovation prosper and even crush But 1 
 am anticipating. Boonder had previously resisted 
 the gas, but although he spent one whole day in 
 angry altercation with the workmen, leaving 
 
256 BOONDER. 
 
 his bones unburied and bleaching in the sun, 
 somehow the gas went in. The Spring Valley 
 water was likewise unsuccessfully opposed, an<? 
 the grading of an adjoining lot was for a long 
 time a personal matter between Boonder and the 
 contractor. 
 
 These peculiarities seemed to evince some de j 
 cided character and embody some idea. A pro- 
 longed debate in the family upon this topic re- 
 sulted in an addition, to his name, we called 
 him " Boonder the Conservative," with a faint 
 acknowledgment of his fateful power. But, al* 
 though Boonder had his own way, his path was 
 not entirely of roses. Thorns sometimes pricked 
 his sensibilities. When certain minor chords wer6 
 struck on the piano, Boonder was always painfully 
 affected and howled a remonstrance. If he were 
 removed for company's sake to the back yard, at 
 the recurrence of the provocation, he would go his 
 whole length (which was something) to improvise 
 a howl that should reach the performer. But we 
 got accustomed to Boonder, and as we were fond 
 of music the playing went on. 
 
 One morning Boonder left the house in good 
 spirits with his regular bone in his mouth, and 
 apparently the usual intention of burying it. The 
 next day he was picked up lifeless on the track, 
 run over apparently by the first car that went out 
 of the depot. 
 
THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ 
 
 ____ ~ 
 
 This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. 
 
 100m-8,'65(F6282s8)2373 
 
3 2106 00206 9786